Starting Over
20
B rynne opened her eyes and groaned, “Oh. Wow.”
The hairdresser’s smile faltered when she saw her face. “Please say you like it. I think it looks amazing. You suit a pixie cut!”
Brynne forced herself to smile at the girl. After all, she got what she asked for.
Cut it all off. Those words came back to bite her.
“I like it, really, I do. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Brynne examined her new look and took a deep breath. Okay, it’s not so bad. I can style it a few ways, and it’ll be easy to care for.
The girl had a mirror in her hand, but she stood there biting her lip nervously. “It’s always an adjustment when you do a big change like this.”
“You’re right. You did a great job. I needed this. Thank you.” She smiled fully to put her at ease. “I love it.”
She headed into the grocery store, feeling lighter than she had in days. She loaded the cart with all her favorite comfort foods and a few vegetables because her conscience told her to. At the checkout line, she was debating a chocolate bar when a headline stabbed her between the eyes.
Who is the Real Owner of Club Dominus?
Her stomach dropped. The hounds were out for blood. It was obvious that this disreputable excuse for a paper wanted to keep the story front and center. They were capitalizing on the mystery surrounding Gage. She hated to give that gossip rag any money but added it to her order, then hurried to the car with her bags.
We have not yet uncovered the identity of the elusive owner of London’s poshest BDSM club. It’s buried in several numbered companies.
Her head fell back to the headrest in relief. They hadn’t uncovered any information on Gage. He might hate her right now, but she hoped to one day exonerate herself and have his forgiveness. Fat chance.
They also speculated that Russian mafia money backed him. That was a ridiculous way to sell papers. Then her eyes zeroed in on her own name near the end of the page. Fuck!
Brynne Larimore, a lowly copyeditor who worked at the paper, allegedly wrote the article to punish MacLeod for dumping her. The Mirror fired her, and she has not responded to requests for an interview.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Her screech was loud enough to draw the attention of two people walking by. Gage had to be the source of that made up shit!
She dialed Jared as she reread the lies, getting increasingly agitated.
“Have you seen the tabloid? That bastard told everyone a story about me to cover his own ass! He basically said I made the whole thing up to punish him!”
“Calm down, Bree. I don’t think it’s such a terrible thing.”
“Not terrible? In what universe, J?”
“The sooner this thing dies down, the better for all of us. You included.” His placating tone was annoying as shit.
“So, you think it’s better I look like a woman scorned than a journalist writing an exposé that angered London’s kinky elite?” As she said it, she could see the logic, but it still pissed her off.
“Yep. It will take the sizzle out of the story. And Gage got a retraction printed on the front page on Tuesday. Didn’t you see it?”
“No. Today was my first day off the couch. I guess I should be glad.” Her harsh laugh was devoid of humor. “Maybe now he won’t put a hit out on me.”
“Not funny. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Nigel took a leave of absence. I don’t know if he’ll be back.”
“Oh great, one more horrible thing they’re laying at my feet. They need to figure out who did this so innocent people don’t get blamed.”
“I agree, but everyone just wants it forgotten.” Jared paused, then added, “The club reopened yesterday.”
“Do you think they’ll let you back?”
Jared paused. “Not likely. There is a member who might go to bat for me, though.”
Brynne bit her lip. It must be John. God, she hoped nothing bad happened to him because of the story. “I hope so. I know you loved it as much as I did. Too bad it put an end to my sex education.”
“Speaking of that, how is the editing going?”
Brynne snorted. “It’s going nowhere. I could barely summon the energy to walk and talk last week, let alone write. But I’m pulling myself together. And I cut off all my hair today. I’m taking a job in town and will try to summon the energy to do some editing next.”
“What? Send me a picture! I want to see!”
“Hang on.” Brynne snapped a selfie and texted it to Jared. “I expect you to lie to me if you don’t like it. I’m in a very fragile state.”
His squeal burst though the phone. “Oh my god, I love it! It’s sexy and feisty—like you.”
“You really like it?”
“I do. I think it’s fabulous. The men of Skye will be all over you.”
“Dude, there are like eight eligible men on this entire island. Besides, I’m not ready to put my rod in the water. I’m liable to catch myself a toothless fisherman.”
Jared couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh my god, you mean your line, not your rod, babe. But I’m going to steal that phrase.”
“Be my guest. It suits you more than it does me.”
“I think you should get back on the horse, or the boat, as soon as possible.”
If only it were that easy. Jared didn’t know how hard she fell for Gage MacLeod. “I’ll take that under advisement. I’ve got to go now; my butter pecan ice cream is melting.”
“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Ciao, bella!”
“Ciao, J!”
Brynne returned home and got to work cleaning up the evidence of her meltdown. She collected all the debris, washed the dishes, stripped the bed, and threw a load of laundry in. At some point, she would go through Josie’s closets, but that project could wait. For now, she put her things away in the main floor guest bedroom.
She set up her laptop at her aunt’s beautiful antique writing desk, which faced a window with a picturesque view of the water. It sat near the big wood-burning stove, so she would be toasty when the colder weather came.
As her old laptop whirred to life, she looked for the Wi-Fi network. It never occurred to Brynne to ask Alistair about it, since she hadn’t planned on staying. It was another expense she had to take over in six months. Without Declan’s job, she would have run out of cash well before that.
First, she needed the internet, especially since she had no other sources of research. Two networks popped up, both protected by passwords. Brynne started looking through the old desk and found Josie’s day timer in the bottom drawer, under a sheaf of her personal letterhead. She’d stuffed loose papers and sticky notes between many pages and tied it with a ribbon. Brynne carefully released the bow and flipped through it.
Behind the last calendar, she found an address book filled with all her handwritten contacts. She shook her head, recalling Josie’s distrust of technology. When she reached the Ps, she found a list of passwords, including one for Wi-Fi Guest . It was LLJ1952!
Brynne smiled. Josie’s favorite saying was “Live life juicy!” and she always signed off her letters LLJ, Josie . Since there was no password for the main Wi-Fi network, she signed in as a guest, and expelled a breath when the emails started downloading.
Ten minutes later, a strange grinding sound started coming from the back of the house. Brynne rushed to the mudroom to find the shuddering washing machine hemorrhaging water. Suds were drifting across the floor.
She turned off the machine and ran upstairs for towels.
Soon every towel in the house was drenched. However, that wasn’t the worst of it. The washer had shifted away from the wall to reveal rotted floorboards beneath. It was a miracle that the machine hadn’t fallen through the wet planks. Now she had a major repair job to deal with, not to mention two loads of soaking wet laundry.
Of all the shitty luck!
She called Declan, who gave her the number of a local tradesman who could do plumbing, carpentry, and just about everything else. Declan added a warning that he was handsome and incorrigible with the ladies, so she needed to beware. Brynne laughed at his concern and said, “Declan, there’s nothing to worry about. I am immune to those kinds of boys.”
She was still smiling as she dialed the number. As she listened to his greeting, she considered the possibility that a bad boy with a sexy accent might be just the cure-all she needed. If only there was a cure. She doubted it very much.
The club was getting back to normal. Since the retraction, the majority of members had calmed down and come back. Thank Christ there were no more requests to cancel and divest. John told him that his superiors at Scotland Yard seemed satisfied with his explanation for being at the club. He assured them nothing illegal was going on. They also supported his plan to drop in occasionally to ensure things continued that way, especially since London’s most influential players were members.
These days, Gage rarely left his office except to get his dinner, and Garrick was giving him grief about being a hermit. He didn’t care. He was taking extreme care not to get his photo taken until after his mother’s appointment came through. As an extra measure, he was going to Edinburgh to focus on his VC firm’s new projects.
Before he left for the day, he had one last appointment. Patricia Valentine had written two days ago requesting to meet and discuss a new business proposition. Curious, he agreed to the meeting, provided she came to him. Gage sent his driver so she could enter discreetly from the underground garage.
He could hear her laughing down the hall at something Garrick said just before he delivered her to his door. He went to take her hand, but she pulled him into an embrace and kissed his cheek. She looked resplendent in a designer cream suit.
She stood back and looked at him, her eyes sharp and assessing. “It’s been too long, Gage. I’ve been worried about you with all that rot in the press.”
“I’m relieved to say it has died down and we’ve had a satisfactory retraction. There was no lasting damage to our reputation; in fact, inquiries have picked up.”
Her head tilted, and she hadn’t let go of his arms. “Then why do you look so tired, darling?”
He smiled at her perceptive comment. “Just working too hard. But you’ll be happy to know I’m heading to Edinburgh and will follow that up with a week off.”
“That’s wonderful news! The timing couldn’t be better. I want to ask your advice on a new business venture I’m looking to develop—and coincidentally, the property is in Edinburgh.”
Gage poured her a gin and tonic and they sat down to talk. Patricia’s face lit up when she told him of her plans to open a private club for women.
“I believe there is a market for a club like Dominus for women, Gage. I’m conducting market research in the UK and more broadly in Europe. There are plenty of women who would come to a club that caters exclusively to their whims. We won’t have a punishment room like yours, but there will be a state-of- the-art spa where a woman can have a massage with a happy ending.”
Gage chuckled at that thought, but he couldn’t help but question the viability of her plan. He tread carefully, not wanting to discourage her. “This is an interesting concept. Are you looking to attract single or married women? Husbands might object to your special services unless they think it’s just a health spa. You’ll need a good base willing to pay the entry fees, and the percentage of single wealthy businesswomen in the UK is quite low.”
“I’m still working on the numbers and deciding whether we should have a high membership fee or keep the initial costs lower and have the restaurant and spa services be pay-as-you-go. You are right about the lack of independently wealthy women, but if we can draw people to the club as a destination, that could make the difference. It will be a place they save up and escape to for girls’ weekends, birthdays—where they won’t see anyone they know. What do you think?”
“I would need to see the property specs and review the costs to convert it. What is the building used for now?”
“It’s a twenty-four-room hotel and decent-size spa leased on the top floor, so it would convert well to what I want. It’s listed for 2.2 million pounds and would need about a million in renovations.”
He ran his hand over his chin as he considered the numbers. “Why don’t I put you in touch with someone from my office who can help you dig into the details? Armand has done multiple conversion projects for me; he can get access to building code info, construction costs, and a ton of market research. Then you’ll know exactly what is required.”
“Oh Gage, that would be amazing! I need a strong business case to take to prospective investors.” She paused and winked. “Like you.”
He laughed. “I had a feeling it wasn’t just advice you were looking for.”
“You are always so perceptive. I want more than your brains; I need you for your experience in running an enterprise with all these service elements. The Hellcat Club will be one of a kind.”
His eyes widened. “The Hellcat Club? That name should raise eyebrows. I love it.”
“Did I mention that all the waiters will be astonishingly hot and very submissive?”
“Of course they will. I expected no less from you, Madame Valentine.” He grinned and went to his desk. “I’ll email him and make the introductions.” Gage welcomed the distraction, so he told her he would go see the property with Armand.
Patricia rose to give him another hug. She held his hands and caught his gaze.
“I cannot thank you enough for your help, Gage. But I have one more favor to ask.”
One dark eyebrow rose.
“I know you think Brynne wrote that story and put it in the Mirror, but I just don’t believe it.”
His jaw hardened, and he stepped back from her. “You’re wrong. Just like I was wrong. She is a conniving little liar, trying to make a name for herself.”
“It makes no sense. She wants to be a novelist, not a reporter. I cannot fathom why she would do anything to harm you. There could be another person behind this. Have you hired a private investigator to prove it one way or the other?”
“No. There was no one else with the means to get the story published, and she had access to our members’ names.”
“I’ve been studying people and their motives my whole life and I would bet a substantial sum of money that something else is at play.”
Gage stared at her and shook his head.
She put a hand on his arm. “If I’m right, will you become an investor in The Hellcat Club?”
Gage ran a hand through his hair. “And what if you’re wrong?”
She considered that for a minute, then smiled. “If I’m wrong, I’ll settle for you being an advisor and I won’t ask you to invest.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very palatable wager for you. If you’re right, I will give you half a million pounds in seed capital and I’ll be an advisor—provided the business case works. And if you’re wrong, you come to my club and let me lay my favorite flogger across your bare ass.”
Her eyes widened. “Christ, you drive a hard bargain. But I’ll take that wager. For one, I want your help and your money, and two, I think you’re wrong about that girl.”
After Patricia left, he sat for a while contemplating what she’d said. Would it be worthwhile to have an investigator look into it? Only to prove that he was right about her. Angry at the dredging up of old wounds, Gage pulled out Brynne’s employee file and read the reference letter.
Brynne is a natural. She became aroused the moment the restraints went on her wrists; however, she continued to fight her submissive nature. Her endurance and threshold for pain were not fully tested, but I believe elements of her personality drive her to seek more intense punishments. The strap shocked her initially, but she let herself go and came hard with the last few blows.
She can be willful and struggles to obey explicit directions. It appears she wants to be pushed past her limits and rebels against fully submitting, as one way to up the ante. It is my conclusion that she would be suited to a male Dom with a firm hand, one with whom she has an emotional connection.
Her hard and soft limits were surprising—in that she will try things she has no experience with. This stems from a need to prove her worthiness and her strength. Her fantasies are about being forced to comply, not submitting willingly. In the wrong hands, it could get her into trouble.
He slapped the folder shut, intending to dismiss Patricia’s suggestion, but he couldn’t. He wanted the truth, so he rang John and asked him to recommend a private eye. Then he packed his briefcase and went to see Garrick. The club would be in excellent hands, and he looked forward to getting out of London. It had lost a bit of its luster in the last week.