Chapter 16
Sebastian
Ipinched the bridge of my nose and drew in a long breath, resisting the urge to shove every stack of paperwork off my desk and let it all crash to the floor. That or set the whole damn pile on fire. One would make a mess. The other, I wouldn’t be able to clean up nearly as easily.
A knock cut through my spiraling thoughts.
“What?” I growled.
Mira huffed. I’d been snapping at her daily, but instead of shrinking like the rest of my staff, she’d adjusted. Ignoring my mood and quietly tackling whatever I threw at her. Efficient, unflappable, and somehow, infuriating.
She walked in without waiting for permission, a paper cup in one hand, a wrapped sandwich in the other. She set them both down on my desk with a thud that said she was unimpressed with my attitude.
“What’s this?” I asked. She’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t my assistant, but despite her objections, she always had my calendar open and made sure coffee magically appeared every morning.
I’d assumed it was Maggie—Ethan and Victor’s assistant—until Maggie left for the week and the coffee still showed up.
Ethan was gone too, dealing with investor fallout in Chicago.
Everything was falling apart, and I wasn’t sure I could stop it.
“Breakfast,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe lunch. Or whatever meal it’s supposed to be when you haven’t gone home yet.”
I frowned. She wasn’t wrong, and I was vaguely grateful she didn’t point out it was already noon. “You keeping tabs on my personal life now?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Not much to keep tabs on when you live here.”
I shot her a look, but she ignored it, straightening a few stray files on the corner of my desk.
She did that sometimes—organizing while she talked, quietly fixing what I refused to deal with.
She wasn’t the same girl who’d sat across from me three weeks ago, terrified she was about to lose her job.
“Don’t start with me,” she said, still not looking up. “Just eat something. You’re useless when you’re running on fumes.”
“I’m not useless.”
If she knew who she was talking to, she might not say half the things she did. The punishments I could dream up for that tone…
Maybe I’d add something to Saturday.
“Then prove it.” She nudged the sandwich closer. “Eat the damn sandwich before I regret being nice.”
A reluctant laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re getting real bold, Ms. Rhodes.”
“I’ve been bold. You’re just tired enough to notice.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying her. She wasn’t wrong. The way she’d shut everything down just to make sure I got the information that would have brought my business to a screeching halt.
Her dark hair was pulled up, but a few strands had escaped to frame her face. She looked exhausted, too, but still somehow put together. Meanwhile, I was a walking disaster in yesterday’s clothes.
“Ever think maybe you do too much?” I asked.
Her brows rose, unimpressed. “Says the man who hasn’t left this office in two days.”
Touché.
I hadn’t left my office much. Not since the weekend, after a blissful Saturday buried deep in her.
Hours later, I’d gotten word that our issue had been leaked to one of our biggest clients.
Ethan had taken the first plane out to smooth things over.
So now, not only did I have someone stealing from us, but the information was out there.
If that client bolted, half our contracts would follow and we’d be ruined.
I sighed and tore the sandwich in half, taking a bite just to shut her up. Cold turkey and havarti, mayo, no mustard—my usual. Of course she remembered.
“Happy now?” I muttered, mouth full.
“Not even a little,” she said, collecting a stack of folders from the other side of my desk. “But it’s a start.”
She flipped around and left without another word.
My mouth curved as I watched her go, the click of her heels fading down the hall.
Black Mary Jane platforms, my gift from two weeks ago.
She wasn’t a stiletto girl, but I’d wanted to show her she had more options than those worn ballerina flats she favored.
The skirt she wore today wasn’t floor-length like usual but tea-length, skimming her calves and offering a hint of something softer beneath her usual armor. I couldn’t help wondering if the bra and panty set I’d given her on Saturday was hidden under that fabric.
Sure, I’d torn the blue lace in my hurry when she wore them last, but the color had looked so damn good on her that I’d had Mistress Vivienne gift her a set this Sunday.
I closed my eyes, as I forced myself to think of code, contracts, paperwork, anything other than Mira strung up, blindfolded, laying her complete trust in a man with no face.
I startled awake as my head slipped from my hand and hit the desk. “Fuck.”
My desk was a disaster. Our client back East had given us three weeks to fix this or he’d pull his funding, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing we could do about it.
By some grace, divine or otherwise, he was leaving for Europe with his family and didn’t want to deal with it until he got back.
That bought us time. Not much, but I’d take it.
He’d even agreed not to go public yet, which meant he wouldn’t shop for a new security firm and accidentally expose what happened.
The problem was, the four of us hadn’t come up with a single viable solution in the last three weeks, so I wasn’t sure another three was going to make a difference, especially if we didn’t plug the leak in the meantime.
Accounting was on my ass because I’d frozen all outgoing payments with the exception of payroll until further notice.
It was supposed to buy us time, but all it did was ripple down to the staff.
Everyone was on edge now, passing around rumors.
The last thing I needed was panic spreading through the company and more of our clients getting information without the whole story.
I straightened the piles on my desk, slid the papers into their folders, and locked them away. Then I dumped my empty coffee cups and half-eaten protein bar wrappers into the trash, along with the wrapper from the sandwich Mira had brought in earlier.
Almost seven. Another day gone. Damn it all to hell. Was it Friday yet?
I pulled out my phone and hovered over my personal email—the one I used to talk to Mira. Not Mira, my employee. My Pet, my submissive.
Lately, I’d started asking her questions.
At first, it was under the pretense of getting to know her better for training purposes.
But it had become more than that. Once we entered a scene, there wasn’t time to talk—no space for conversation, only commands and reactions.
The kind of relationship we’d agreed to didn’t require anything outside of limits and consent.
It had been what we’d both wanted. Right?
But I wanted to know her anyway.
Like how the dark blue lace set she wore last weekend wasn’t arbitrary. It was her favorite color. Or how I’d sent her red roses the first two weeks after our sessions as a thank-you, until I learned she didn’t like red roses. So last week, I sent white instead.
Red was easy. Classic. Dominant. Powerful.
But while it said something– everything– about me, it didn’t say a damn thing about her.
My thumb hovered over her name longer than I wanted to admit.
I shouldn’t.
We didn’t talk outside of the dynamic. At least, we weren’t supposed to. Didn’t need to. But somewhere along the way, the rules had started to bend, and I hadn’t stopped it.
She’d started slipping through the cracks I’d built to keep my worlds separate.
Mira wasn’t supposed to exist there. My Pet, and my employee were two separate people.
It had to be that way, but I couldn’t keep the lines clean anymore.
The way Mira had come out of her shell, not only in our scenes but in the office as well.
I wondered if she noticed how she’d changed.
The way she stood straighter. The way she didn’t back down when I snapped at her.
God, she was everywhere. The quiet mess of my office, she was the insomnia that followed me home each and every night. She was supposed to exist there—in the dark, in control I could hold onto.
My worlds didn’t collide. My kinks stayed at Sanctum.
My professional life stayed here. On paper, the media painted me as a playboy, a bachelor with too much money and not enough sense.
But if the press ever got ahold of my real preferences—the things I actually needed—the fallout would be catastrophic.
I tapped the screen before I could talk myself out of it and emailed her.
Pet,
Hope you had a good day at work. I can’t wait to get you alone and have some dessert on Saturday. I have something sweet in mind. Do you accept?
I was tempted to ask if she was available tonight, but that would show my hand. Show how desperate I was to see her. I couldn’t do that.
I stared at the blinking cursor, waiting. Wondering if she’d answer. When had she left for the day? She’d dropped another coffee on my desk with a protein bar around three without a word.
The first time I messaged her afterward, I’d convinced myself it was a one-time thing—just checking in, making sure she was okay after that scene. Aftercare, after all, right?
Now, it was becoming a habit. A tether.
When her reply came through, I exhaled without meaning to.
Master,
It’s been a long day and apparently not over yet. I look forward to whatever you have planned on Saturday, given I’m not still at work.
Your Pet.
I leaned back in my chair, tension loosening across my shoulders. The day she’d screamed out Master had undone me in ways I hadn’t imagined or expected. I’d had submissives before that defaulted to calling me Master, but with Mira, she’d made me earn it.
My thumbs hovered over my phone, as I focused on if I was going to send another email or not. I knew I shouldn’t. It would be crossing a line but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay on my side.
Before I made a decision, another reply came.
Master,
Did you have a good day?
-Your Pet
No one asked me that. Ever.
Not my partners. Not my staff. Not the people who shook my hand and called me “Sir” in a different tone. It was such a simple question, but from her…it cut right through me.
I shouldn’t have answered.
I did anyway.
Not really but it’s better now, talking to you.
My finger hovered again. Too honest. Too much. I should’ve deleted it.
But then another message appeared before I could.
I probably can’t do much, but could listen if you’d like, Sir?
-Your Pet
That word—Sir—slipped through the screen like a promise, threading heat through exhaustion.
Even in text, she could undo me. What was it about this girl?
I typed it before I could stop myself, and watched the words appear in the message box. Was it too much? Would it reveal the identity I’d kept hidden?
I deleted it.
Instead, I wrote—
It’s under control.
A lie. But one that felt safer.
See you Saturday.
My reflection glared back at me in the dark glass of the office window. The truth was, everything was not under control.
The company was bleeding money. The clients were losing faith. And the only thing that seemed to ground me anymore was her voice, her obedience, the soft yes, Sir that made everything else fade away. The things I shouldn’t want outside of the club but fuck it all to hell, I did.
I set the phone down, dragged my hand over my face, and stared at my now clear desk, trying not to imagine Mira tied to it, begging for release.
If I kept this up—if I let the lines keep blurring—I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep Master hidden at the club.