The Full Service

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Billie Brown liked to keep her day tidy.

It was a deal she’d made with herself a long time ago.

Thirty minutes before a client arrived for an appointment, she would cross the floor several times and check everything was as it should be.

Twenty minutes before, she would watch people coming and going out on the street, the bustle of London settling her in a way she couldn’t describe.

And fifteen minutes before, she would retreat to her office and wait for her assistant to arrive.

She didn’t bother looking up. “You’re late.”

Billie felt Nina hovering in the doorway, likely with the posture of someone who knew what was coming. Shoulders back, chin dipped, with an apology ready and waiting. She set her pen down and relaxed into her high-backed leather chair. As she eyed the clock, Nina took a breath.

“I’m sorry. The signals on the Jubilee line—”

“Mm.” Billie inched her seat back a little as she glanced down at her list of clients today.

All very wealthy, and all expecting the Brown it was ritual. The difference mattered.

“We keep time here,” Billie said as she trailed her knuckles up the back of Nina’s thigh.

As always, her assistant wasn’t wearing underwear.

“We keep standards because we like what standards allow.” She grazed the back of her hand over Nina’s pretty pussy, smiling when her legs shook. “Do you understand that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Are you sure?” Billie nudged her legs further apart and slipped a finger inside. “Or do you do this with the expectation that I’ll inspect your aching pussy when you disobey me?”

Nina pressed herself harder against the desk as she clenched around Billie. “N-no.”

“Up.”

Nina straightened, her eyes dark when she turned to face Billie. She looked down at her as though being touched had become some kind of relief for her.

Billie pushed her chair back further and crooked two fingers. “Sit.”

Nina stepped closer, and Billie guided her in with a hand on her hip. She straddled Billie’s leg, facing her, every ounce of attention firmly on Billie’s face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Billie said, aware of the heat already seeping through the leg of her Italian suit.

Nina’s focus was razor-sharp, sending a shiver down Billie’s spine. But she wouldn’t show it. Billie would never let any woman know what they did to her. Because that meant vulnerability, and vulnerability wasn’t something she intended to become familiar with ever again.

“Such a good girl,” Billie murmured, feeling the praise as it landed. The small change in Nina’s mouth. The way her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Nina’s breath hitched as the warmth of Billie’s thigh settled beneath her, the fabric of her skirt bunching around her hips. Her arms hovered awkwardly at her sides until Billie reached up and took Nina’s wrists in her hands and guided them to her shoulders.

“Support yourself. I don’t want you collapsing before I say so.”

Nina nodded, her breath unsteady as she settled her palms against Billie’s shoulders. Her eyes, wide and waiting, locked with Billie’s again. “C-can I?”

Billie leaned back in her chair, her gaze travelling deliberately from Nina’s flushed face to where their bodies were touching. She angled her thigh, offering Nina the barest hint of friction as she whispered, “Go on.”

Nina’s hips rocked. A hesitant roll at first, that soft grind of her heat against the solid muscle of Billie’s leg. But even the smallest movement made Nina’s breath grow ragged.

“That’s it,” Billie said, one hand sliding up Nina’s thigh beneath the skirt, her fingers curling into the soft flesh just below her arse. “Slow. You know what happens if you make a mess on my suit.”

Nina bit her bottom lip, trying to pace herself. Billie could see the effort it took, the control in every tremble. She wasn’t a woman who ever gave in easily, not with clients and their often ridiculous demands, but here…with Billie, on command.

“Such a neat little worker each and every day,” Billie smirked. “But look at you now. Grinding on my leg like you were made to be pleasured by me.”

“I…” Nina shuddered, her hips tightening for a moment, as though she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Careful, now.” Billie’s other hand came up to frame Nina’s jaw, her thumb pressing against Nina’s lower lip. “You’re close, and I haven’t said you could be.”

“I-I know,” Nina managed, her voice thin and needy, a confession offered on the edge of restraint. “I know, I’m just—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses,” Billie growled as she pulled her in closer. “I asked for obedience.”

Nina’s thighs quaked, but she kept up her pace. That slow, soft sway of her hips, riding the fabric and the woman beneath it, her breath catching on every glide.

“That’s better,” Billie said, tightening her hand at Nina’s jaw until they were barely a breath apart. “That’s how good girls do it. With control and focus. With what I want in mind.”

Nina whimpered, and Billie savoured every wavering second of it. The way Nina’s eyes clung to hers, frantic and hungry…but desperate not to fall.

“You’ve got nine hours left,” Billie whispered. “And if you come before then?” She leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of Nina’s jaw. “You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The shudder that shot through Nina was violent, but Billie would make it worth her while. “Now get up,” Billie said as she lowered her hands from Nina’s body. “And get to work.”

Nina froze for a moment, still straddling Billie’s leg as she panted, her body trembling with unfinished need. “I…”

Billie arched a brow. “Is that hesitation?”

Nina swallowed as she slowly rose to her feet on shaky legs. She straightened her skirt and gathered herself…barely. “No. No, Billie. No hesitation.”

Billie leaned back, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Good. I want you in here at six for another inspection. If you can keep yourself together until then, you’ll be rewarded.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you’ll get nothing at all.” Billie watched her walk towards the door, every step stiff with desire and discipline. “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting twice.”

As the door closed, Billie opened a new swatch book and perused the colours.

The muscle in her thigh sent up a small complaint, but she ignored it.

She had to change her pants, and she had work to do.

Her thigh would be the least of her worries if she didn’t put some order into her routine in the next thirty seconds.

Maeve’s flat had always been the kind of place that looked lived in, unlike Debra’s new home.

She smiled as she glanced around, the half-finished book on the arm of the couch, a vase of flowers that had started to droop but had no intention of dying just yet.

Then she looked down at the hand-painted cup in her hand, the very one that Maeve always insisted made the coffee taste better.

Debra sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around her cup. She’d already drunk most of it, though she couldn’t remember when. That was a regular occurrence lately. Not knowing how she’d gotten from A to B. Most days, she didn’t know if she was coming or going.

“So it’s done?” Maeve asked as she settled opposite her. “Papers signed, accounts split, freedom officially yours?”

“All done.” While she’d said that lightly, she still ached every time she heard the word freedom.

Maeve studied her in a way only someone who’d known her long enough to see through every performance could. “You don’t sound thrilled.”

“Oh, I am.” Debra smiled. “Thrilled, liberated, euphoric.”

“Then why are you using your ‘please stop asking’ voice?”

“I suppose I just thought I’d feel…different.” Debra looked down into her cup, focusing on the ring of coffee at the bottom. “It’s strange. You spend years waiting for something to end, and then it does, and you don’t quite know what to do with what’s left behind.”

Maeve leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm. “You do what every freshly liberated woman does, darling. You get a haircut, buy yourself something scandalous, and start flirting with waiters half your age.”

Debra laughed and shook her head. “I can’t even flirt with the Sainsbury’s delivery driver without apologising for existing.”

“You need something to mark this huge change. Something that makes you feel good.” Maeve sipped her coffee and sighed. “Clothes are a good start. A suit, maybe.”

“A suit?” Debra repeated with amusement. “I think the last time I wore a suit was to Gerald’s company dinner, and even then, it was beige. Hardly a statement.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re getting a proper one this time. Something that makes you look in the mirror and want to take on the world.”

Debra smiled against the rim of her cup. “I love you, but I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“It is. Trust me. You just need the right tailor.” Maeve grinned. “There’s that place on Savile Row. Brown & Co. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

Debra burst out laughing at that. That was not her kind of place.

She was a divorced mother of two whose kids didn’t bother to call her lately unless they wanted something from her.

“Maeve, that’s where celebrities go. And CEOs.

People with red carpets in their future.

I’m just trying to work out how to operate my new dishwasher without Gerald being there to explain the bloody manual. ”

Maeve waved her off. “Oh, please. You could absolutely walk in there. They’d be lucky to have you. Besides, you’ve earned a little extravagance. That man drained twenty-odd years of your life and most of your patience. It’s time for something that gives back.”

Debra sighed, but she couldn’t quite shake the small spark that flared in her chest at the thought of a new suit. Something that wasn’t picked for her or approved by someone else. Something she’d chosen herself. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly. Book an appointment. Go in. Let them spoil you a bit.”

“I don’t need spoiling.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Maybe not, but I think you’d enjoy it. They do a full service, you know. Suit and lingerie. My cousin went after her divorce last year. I believe she said that her experience with the owner was life-changing.”

“Lingerie? I hardly think—”

“Debra.” Maeve lifted a hand and cut her off. “When was the last time you bought lingerie for yourself? Not because Gerald expected it, not because it was Christmas or Valentine’s Day or some other performative nonsense, but just because it made you feel good?”

“That’s not really the point. It’s not like anyone’s going to see it.”

“And that’s not the point either.” Maeve took another sip of her coffee. “You’ll see it. That’s enough. And apparently, the owner…what’s her name? Billie Brown? She’s known for making women feel good about themselves. Especially the ones who’ve had a rough time.”

“Feel good how?” Debra’s brows drew together.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Debra shook her head. “I don’t see the point. I really don’t.”

“I’ve already looked. They’ve got appointments this week. Go tomorrow. Take it as a post-divorce rite of passage.”

Debra hesitated as she traced the rim of her cup with one finger. The idea felt absurd, but not unpleasantly so. There was something indulgent about it, yes, but also something necessary. Something about choosing to be seen again, but on her own terms. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s as good as a yes. I’ll text you the link.”

Debra narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. If I decide to go ahead with it, I’ll find the link myself.”

“Oh, I absolutely will send it.”

Debra rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile slowly spreading on her lips. She sat back against the couch, realising that it had been a long time since anyone had pushed her towards something purely for herself. Longer still since she’d wanted to be pushed.

Maybe Maeve was right. Maybe she did need a suit.

And maybe—though she wouldn’t admit it out loud—she wanted to see what kind of woman walked out of a place like Brown & Co.