Chapter 1 #2
When I graduated with a masters in psychology and a PhD in genders studies and no prospects other than sales clerk at the soon-to-be out-of-business indie bookstore, I had to make a career for myself.
I wanted to teach, or rather I wanted to write a book that would change the world—kind of a Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus for smart women and the enlightened men who loved them.
Being a professor seemed like the best way to get there.
Except there were only a couple of dozen jobs in my chosen field, and they were all currently occupied by other people.
The obscure degree from the well-known university let me move in better social circles, but it didn’t offer anything else except astronomical student loans, which I now had to pay back.
So, I took what I learned from contemporary women’s fiction, and I started the Gentleman’s Submissive.
It seemed pretty obvious to me with the popularity of BDSM-lite books and movies that women were interested in the fantasy of being dominated by a strong male.
Nothing new, I know, but given how much we’d heaped on our plates in the last three or four decades, the desire seemed stronger than ever.
Equally obvious was the fact that very few men had any idea what a Dom did, let alone how to become one for his partner.
That’s where I stepped in, wearing my G-string and stilettos.
I have no illusions about training real Doms. I’m not sure they exist—not in the classic definition anyway.
What I do is try to give men like Peter the confidence they need to give their partner some of what they want.
No easy feat, let me tell you, especially with men as tentative (read clueless) as most of the men who come to me.
“It’s too soon to tell, but even if they have a case, it doesn’t mean they’ll win.
” She reached across the table for my hand.
“Or even that the case will ever make it to court. In fact, it’s odd that they’d jump to filing a complaint so quickly.
Usually there would be a lot more back-and-forth before it got to this point.
Most of these kinds of suits are about settling, not going to trial. ”
My hand clenched involuntarily at the mention of court. I’d never dealt with more than an unpaid parking ticket. The idea of going to court scared the crap out of me.
“It’s okay, baby. The guy I know is a lousy lay but a phenomenal intellectual property attorney. I’m sure he can make this go away, and if not, he’s more than up for a fight.”
“Can’t you handle it?” I repeated, hating the slight whine in my voice but too worried to do much about it.
“I specialize in cheating husbands, not copyright issues. Waters knows more about it than I do. Really, Alex, you’d be in better hands with him.”
“I don’t care. I trust you.”
“Can’t you do it?” asked Meredith, turning her green eyes on Charlotte. “You put the fear of God into millionaires and their attorneys on a regular basis. How hard could it be to get a movie producer to back down?”
“She has a point,” said Elena.
I plastered my best you know you wanna help me look on my face and hoped we’d managed to wear Charlotte down.
“Fine,” she finally said, rolling her eyes. “I still think you’d be better off with Waters but I’ll at least start the process. But...” She held up her index finger when I started to squeal. “If I ever feel like I’m jeopardizing your chances, I’m getting out. No argument.”
“Deal,” I said, jumping up to reach across the table to hug her. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me until it’s over. I might fuck it up.” Charlotte gave her head a shake but I could tell by the way her lips curved that she wasn’t as concerned as her words sounded.
“You won’t,” I said, knowing it was true. The women at the table loved me. Any one of them would do whatever it took to make things right, and I’d do the same for them.
“I wish I had your confidence. I feel like I’m swimming upstream right now.” She took a sip of her wine and a wrinkle creased her forehead. I’d been so absorbed—understandably maybe, but still—in my own stuff, I hadn’t noticed Charlotte’s expression.
“With work or something else?” asked Kindra, scooting her chair closer.
“I have a client. He’s a friend, or he was,” said Charlotte, looking almost uncertain. “His wife says he cheated on her, and she’s filed for divorce. He asked me to represent him.”
“You’re defending a cheater?” asked Meredith, her eyes wide enough to see white around the green.
Her disbelief was understandable. Of all of us, Charlotte seemed to have the fewest rules but as far as I knew, she’d never represented someone who’d cheated. She’d made an impressive living taking the adulterers to the cleaners. It was a point of personal pride.
“Do you think he did it?” asked Kindra.
“I don’t know. I always liked him. He was a dog in college, but he was honest about it. You knew what you were getting,” she said, her lips curving at the memory. “Looking in from the outside, how can you really know what someone’s like?”
That was true, I thought, nodding. I’d done a couple of sessions with a ball-busting corporate trader who took companies apart for fun.
At first glance, he looked like an alpha on steroids, but not only did he have trouble being dominant sexually, by the end of our first session, I wondered if he’d be happier if we switched places.
He seemed so uncomfortable even role-playing when I suggested it to him. It was the last time I saw him.
“True, but what do you think?” asked Kindra, sliding seamlessly into her professional persona.
“He swears he didn’t do it.” Charlotte rolled her eyes at the disbelieving looks around the table.
It wasn’t that any of us hated men, but none of us were the na?ve girls we’d started out as.
“I know. I know,” she said, holding her hands up in front of her.
“I have a hard time believing it too, but he signed a prenup giving her half of everything if he cheats. I can’t see him risking the company he built from the ground up just to get his dick sucked. ”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and kept my gaze fixed to hers. I’ve known men who’d risked a lot more to get off.
“Admittedly, it’s a long shot,” said Charlotte. “But it’s not fair for him to lose what he’s worked so hard for if he didn’t do it.”
“You like him,” said Meredith, at the same time Kindra said, “You believe him.”
“I’m not sure,” said Charlotte, looking miserable. “And what’s worse, I can’t trust that one thing isn’t feeding the other.”
She wouldn’t be the first woman to make a stupid choice about a man for what seemed like a rational reason, I thought.
I let my eyes drift over my friend’s shoulder, remembering a list of stupid choices I’ve made.
My gaze landed on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, watching me from a group of men gathered near the bar.
Perfect case in point.
I looked away, feeling my face flush, wondering why simply meeting his eyes would make me blush. I was long past the age when a man’s attention made me self-conscious.
“Can you get him out of the prenup?” I asked, dragging my attention back to the conversation in front of me.
“I can try, but it looks ironclad, even for me,” said Charlotte, a fierce glint in her eyes. “I’d feel better if I had something on her or an alibi from him. Or even knew exactly what she had on him. I’ll figure something out.”
She sounded determined, which was something. I had a feeling a determined Charlotte could move mountains.
“Enough of legal stuff,” she said, her clear blue gaze meeting mine, wordlessly willing me to relax. “What’s going on with the rest of you?”
I laughed with the others as Meredith told a story about a bride who wanted a penguin wedding cake. When the waiter brought our drinks, I glanced at the doorway, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed to find Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous gone.