Chapter 1
Genevieve
The faint scent of freshly bloomed cherry blossoms permeates the air as I stroll down the bustling streets of Washington, D.C. I take a deep breath, savoring my favorite time of the year. A season of newness, a fresh start, the revealing of a blank slate.
A man bumps into me in his mad dash to cross the street while the walk signal still flashes with his permission. I memorize his face, locking it into the same memory vault where I keep everyone else’s. In my line of work, you can’t be too careful.
Everyone’s a threat, an enemy. Safety is an optical illusion created by those who seek to harm you.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see Henry Fisher’s name flash across the screen. I roll my eyes good-naturedly, swiping to answer.
“Hello, Henry,” I purr. I swear I can hear him adjusting himself to the sound of my candy-coated voice, despite the early hour.
“Hi, sugar. Do you have time to see me today?”
My stilettos clack against the concrete as I navigate the throng of people, the pedestrian traffic thinning slightly. “My favorite client? Of course. I can see you at eleven.”
“That won’t work. I have a committee meeting then.”
Assuming he’s referring to the Senate Judiciary Committee that he’s been appointed to, my ears perk up, so I offer, “I suppose I could carve out some time for you, say about six?” So much for the peaceful dinner I thought I’d get to have at home, but if I can milk him for information—literally—it’ll be worth it.
“Done. Thanks, sugar.”
I dial my assistant’s number next. I’m only four blocks from the office, but Corinne will, undoubtedly, be running late.
“I swear I’m almost there,” she rushes by way of greeting, and I laugh, easily translating her statement to mean I’m leaving the house in five minutes.
“Take your time. I was wondering if you could move things around for me. I told Henry I’d see him at six.”
I can practically imagine her features twisting in revulsion. “I don’t know why you still see him.”
“Yes, you do,” I remind her, and she scoffs through the phone as cars honk nearby. Henry isn’t much of a looker, but that doesn’t bother me. Besides, he’s nice and never balks at my outrageous price tag.
“His dick better be worth it.”
His brain might be is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the retort. We hang up, and I strut the remaining few blocks to the towering chrome office building that holds my empire.
Shoving through the glass doors, Marcus and Ethan are the two private security guards on duty this morning, standing sentry inside the lobby.
They nod to me as I make my way to the elevator, and I smile politely in return.
I bought this building eight years ago, and it remains my greatest investment.
Inside the lift, I press the button for the top floor, scrolling through my emails as the car whisks me to my office.
As the doors open, I’m met with Corinne’s empty desk, and I snigger to myself.
The day that girl is on time will be the day snow falls in the summer.
Bypassing her desk, the marble floor gives way to plush carpet.
I sink into my desk chair, gazing out the wall of windows to my right that overlook the sunny city.
When I was young and na?ve, I loved this place; drunk on the power, the sophistication, the prestige, the ruthlessness that floated through the air of Washington, D.C. like an oppressive emotional smog.
Now, I see it for what it is: a chessboard.
Only, this beguiling game isn’t played fairly—it’s brutal and bloody. The stakes are high, the players unscrupulous.
Tired of being just one more piece in the larger game, I set out to make myself a queen. Better to be treated as a prized predator than one of the many pawns.
Now, I have this fucking city kissing my shoes, begging me from their knees to ride them, worshiping the ground beneath my feet, presenting me with their precious floggers, and passing me the keys to their chastity belts.
With a sigh, I swivel my chair toward my computer and fire it up, just as there’s a knock on my open glass door. Glancing up, I find Liam entering my office, closing us in here together.
“Hey, Allie,” he starts, a charismatic grin lighting up his face that I return. “Do you have a second?”
I pride myself on having an open-door policy with my employees. There’s nothing more important to me than their comfort and safety, and thankfully, all the people who work for me treat me like a trusted friend.
“Of course. What can I do for you this morning?”
Liam’s long legs consume the short distance, taking one of the plush gray seats opposite my desk. “Last night, my client asked me if we could act out a fantasy of his.”
Settling back in my seat, I ask, “What’s the fantasy?”
He blushes a little, his flawless, tanned skin tinging a rosy shade of pink. “He asked if we could turn the playroom into a padded cell and act out an ‘asylum’ fantasy. His words, not mine. He wants to be here all weekend.”
I hum, thinking it through from every angle. “Who’s the client?”
“Max Tuften.” Tuften is a Silicon Valley tech billionaire with a questionable rap sheet—I know because I have it.
“Does he want you to be the patient?”
Liam shakes his head, and relief trickles through my brain. I wouldn’t have signed off on that without some hefty guardrails in place, if at all.
I nod. “We can do that, if you’re comfortable with it. As always, you have autonomy over what you agree to.”
The corner of his lips quirks, displaying a dimple that has put him on the map. No one—not even me—is immune to the devastating charm of a dimple. “Thanks, Allie. I’m cool with it.”
“Set it up then, but I’d prefer that you use the playroom on the second floor and that you coordinate with Marcus regarding security.”
The second floor has more safety protocols in place, including additional panic buttons and extra security, should things go south. For Liam’s safety, that’s what I’ll require.
As he nods, I add, “Tell him that the fee will double per day for the weekend, though.”
His grin widens, likely loving the sound of that. Me, too.
“You were such a good boy for me this evening, Henry. You pushed yourself. I’m proud of you for that.”
Tilting his head back to look at me, his eyes are warm in the low, amber light of the room. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Thank you, Madam Allison.”
Henry doesn’t accept compliments well, but he deserves the praise today. I was being truthful when I’d said he did well.
While Henry’s a submissive, he keeps a tether of dominion in his palm, fighting his nature.
But we’ve spent the better part of a decade and a half establishing trust. It’s our working relationship that keeps him on my books.
He’s one of my original clients, having been with me since the beginning.
I don’t take on many new clients anymore, being highly selective.
While my personal client list is short, the idea of handing Henry over to one of my girls doesn’t sit well with me.
I don’t trust his masochism with anyone but myself.
I stroke his arm gingerly, as part of our arranged aftercare.
Suddenly shifting, he leans in for what I’m positive will be a kiss, but I shake my head and press the pad of my finger against the seam of his lips.
It’s been a long time since he tried to kiss me, and while I’ve never permitted it, I should’ve known he’d try it again at some point.
“Henry.” I keep my voice soft as I continue. “You know that’s not on the table.” For any client.
His gaze flicks down to his clasped hands as he sighs. “I apologize. You just…look beautiful.”
I run my fingers through my thick blunt bob. “Thank you, Henry. Are you feeling better?” When I stepped into the room, he was stressed and harried. He forgot his manners, but after he took his paddling, I found the layer beneath coiled with stress, tension that I aided him in releasing.
“Yes, Madam Allison.” He addresses me formally, likely hoping to avoid another punishment, though our scene is over. “The new attorney general is a ball-buster. He claims the Department of Justice is going to be cracking down on the corruption in this city.”
With that, he snorts, getting to his feet, and I don’t make a move to stop the amused tip of my crimson lips. That’s what they all say.
Corruption is a disease that’s been spreading since the dawn of time. It’s antibiotic resistant, and the only way to truly inoculate yourself against the infection is to open your eyes.
Tucking his tidbit of information away for later, I recline on the black couch while Henry changes back into his street clothes. As I watch him fix his tie in the ornate silver mirror on the dark gray wall opposite me, my fingernails tap silently against the back of the sofa.
All the playrooms in this building are sleek and modern, decorated in hues of gray, ivory, and black, but this room—my playroom—is my favorite, having chosen every last provocative, erotic detail myself.
I get up and call the elevator for Henry’s exit, but just before the doors slide open, he kisses my cheek and murmurs an ominous goodbye.
“You should watch your back, sugar.”