Their Famous Dominant Page 2

  “Is there anything I can get you?” Troy offered.

  Casting a sideways glance his way, I kept my initial response to myself. There was something I wanted from him, but we had a long way to go before we ever got to that place.

  “I’m good for now,” I replied. “We’re here to relax, not work.”

  “Right, boss.” His eyes widened as a Domme walked by, leading her scantily clad submissive around with a leash.

  While Troy was otherwise preoccupied ogling the people around us, I let my gaze trail over him momentarily. I had no idea what I was doing checking him out, but I found something uniquely appealing about the man. Although my mind had been set on one particular woman for so long, I couldn’t deny the fact that I had an overwhelming urge to dominate Troy.

  Better yet, both of them together.

  At the same time.

  For those who knew me, that was an important detail that would come into play one day.

  I just had no idea that one day would come quite so soon.

  TWO

  Clarissa

  Two weeks later

  Wednesday, August 15

  I STABBED THE MUTE BUTTON on my phone.

  “You have got to be freaking kidding me!”

  Was this guy for real? What? Did he think I worked for free?

  Of course, those questions were redundant because it was obvious Alan Dillis did based on the fact he was giving me the second degree just a few minutes into the conversation.

  Once again, I jabbed my finger against the button, following my muted tirade with a calm, collected, “Yes, Mr. Dillis.” I chewed on my bottom lip to keep from spewing words into the phone that would only guarantee I wouldn’t get the job. “If you’ll send over a sample of the contract, I’ll be glad to review and provide my initial findings.”

  If I didn’t need the job so badly, I would’ve hung up by now. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option when self-employment was my lifeboat in this vast sea of debt I found myself in. More accurately, Mr. Dillis and his potential contract was my only lead, which made it doubly important that I mind my manners.

  I started a slow count backward from ten, knowing exactly what was coming next.

  Ten.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  Mr. Dillis’s nasally whine came across the line. “Will you charge me for that?”

  My finger found the mute button again.

  “Of course I’ll freaking charge you, otherwise I’ll be living on the street,” I snapped. My outburst was followed by another push of the button and a sweet reply of, “Mr. Dillis, I do charge for my time. However, I can give the contract a cursory glance and let you know what I think, free of charge. At that point, if you’d like me to do an in-depth analysis and provide specifics on what needs to be modified, my hourly rate will apply.”

  I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. This was turning into a freaking disaster. I should’ve known that the only potential client I had would want me to work for free.

  Holding in a sigh of frustration, I gripped the phone more firmly, waiting for his response.

  “And with a cursory glance, you’ll be able to tell me whether or not this is to my detriment?”

  “For fuck’s sake!”

  “Umm … Ms. Tinsley?”

  Oh, shit. I forgot to hit mute.

  “Sorry, Mr. Dillis. There was … a … a spider.” I pretended to compose myself. “And yes, I’ll be able to give you some information by glancing at it.”

  My cell phone buzzed on my desk and I peered down at it. It was a text from Mercedes that simply read: Meet for lunch at one?

  I grabbed my phone and tapped out a reply: Today?

  Her response was immediate: Yep. Same place as always. Want to chat about a potential client.

  As usual, my friend did not give me an out, knowing I couldn’t decline with that particular carrot being dangled in front of me.

  After tapping out a quick, Fine, I tossed my phone on my desk and rolled my eyes.

  “Do you want me to send it to your email?” Mr. Dillis asked, his tone cautious.

  I released a frustrated breath, then flopped back into my leather desk chair. “That would be fine.” I rattled off my email address.

  With my free hand, I rubbed my temples. There was a headache coming on and it only partly had to do with the fact that I hadn’t eaten yet today.

  “And you’ll provide me with enough information for me to make an informed decision as to whether I want to utilize your services?”

  I worked hard to keep the frustration out of my tone. “Yes, Mr. Dillis.”

  This was my life. Contract law. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, but I enjoyed it. Usually.

  Unfortunately, what should’ve been a good-paying gig had turned into something else entirely. At this rate, there was no way I was going to be able to pay my mortgage and my car payment, much less utilities. Working out of my home temporarily helped to keep my overhead low, but it still wasn’t working in my favor.

  Surprisingly enough, at one point in my life, I had looked forward to finding new clients and persuading them to hire my firm. Of course, that was back when I’d worked in a law office, spending my days dealing with clients who understood exactly what we were there for.

  That certainly wasn’t the case anymore.

  I’d been let go from my well-paying position at a top firm in the city because some jackass thought he could blackmail me. A client, of all people. Unfortunately, we’d somehow ended up at the same club and he recognized me since I’d been sitting in on several meetings he’d had with my firm.

  I was happy to say, his attempt to persuade me to sleep with him had backfired on him in a big way. After he found out I was a submissive, he thought harassing me with sexual innuendo was the way to handle our professional interactions. He learned the hard way that I wasn’t intimidated the way some people thought I was.

  I firmly but politely told him to forget my name and my number and to find someone else to represent him because I was not going to endure his disgusting abuse, and I certainly wasn’t going to get on my knees for him. Not if he was the last man on earth. There might’ve been a few F-bombs tossed in for good measure.

  Granted, my bosses hadn’t approved of how I’d handled myself, so they had let me go, but oh, well. I told them I understood—although I didn’t—but a girl could only tolerate so much.

  Yes, I was a submissive. The need to serve was great within me, yet at the same time I’d never found a place where I felt I truly belonged. I longed to find a Master who could calm me with his dominance, not only sexually but in my everyday life. Someone I could serve and cherish and dedicate myself to. Someone who would offer me the love, respect, and guidance I so desperately needed. However, I wasn’t letting just any man run roughshod over me. There was a significant difference between being a submissive and being a doormat. A doormat I was not.

  Mr. Dillis cleared his throat. “Okay, then. I’ll send it over in a bit.”

  Before he could change his mind, I bid him a good afternoon, then quickly hung up the phone and glanced at the clock dancing across my darkened laptop screen. It was already twelve twenty, and it appeared I was meeting Mercedes and Xander for lunch at one to discuss a possible client. A friend of theirs, no doubt. Someone who would want special treatment, probably for me to work for pennies.

  Perhaps I was a little jaded.

  I sighed. “The days of free advice are over.” Money paid the bills and I was quickly running out of it.

  Granted, I had to give Mercedes and Xander credit. My two closest friends in the world had never attempted to interfere, even when they knew my business wasn’t as profitable as I’d hoped it would be. I appreciated what they were trying to do, but I was learning from experience that building this business was far more difficult than I’d anticipated.

  If I could only go back in time and not send that stupid email. If I’d held on to my temper, I would still be employed, s
till be strolling into the Dallas office wearing my power suit and four-inch heels, my head held high, knowing I was good at my job. Not jumping at every potential client or having nightmares about doing nothing but drawing up wills for the rest of my life.

  Then again, I’d be enduring the disgusting harassment from a client who felt he had the authority to do so. In the end, it was all for the best.

  God, what had happened to the good old days? Back before jeans and T-shirts had become my daily attire.

  I huffed out a laugh.

  Right.

  Good old days.

  Okay, self-pity wasn’t my strong suit. Not to mention, I couldn’t play the poor me card. Although the past couple of years hadn’t gone my way, I’d had a phenomenal life, starting from my childhood.

  Since I was an only child, my mother and father had doted on me. Right up until my father had an affair and left my mother when I was six. A couple years later, my mother married Sean and my new stepfather had thought I hung the moon. I’d split my time between my father’s and my mother’s, being treated like a princess and enjoying life to the fullest.

  Of course, things had changed once again when Sean cheated on my mother with his secretary. She divorced him when I was ten. A year and a half later, Mike came into our lives and my mother married the man who would become my second stepfather.

  Again, no complaints because Mike had loved me as much as my father and my previous stepfather, and he treated me well.

  Right up until…

  Yep, you guessed it. Mike and my mother split two years ago—after nearly nineteen years of marriage—when he came forth to admit he’d been cheating on her for years. For whatever reason, my mother seemed to fall in love with men who didn’t know how to keep it in their pants.

  Although they’d warped me where relationships were concerned, I couldn’t complain about my childhood. In fact, my father and I were close and I was still in touch with both Sean and Mike. They called to check up on me frequently, having chosen not to disappear from my life even though my mother thought they were the spawns of Satan.

  My father had even offered to support me once I left the nest to venture out on my own when I graduated from high school. Granted, I was highly independent and strong-willed, so I’d refused to accept his assistance, wanting to do things on my own because, as I’d learned, you couldn’t really depend on anyone to stick around in the long run.

  Sometimes I wished I’d asked him to pay for school. It seemed the mountain of debt I had acquired in order to obtain a law degree had only continued to pile up and I could never seem to get ahead. At thirty-two, I was starting to wonder if I would ever get those loans paid off.

  Pushing up from my chair, I massaged my left shoulder and headed toward the master bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the cold concrete floors. I had no idea what I’d been thinking when I ripped the carpet right out in hopes of putting down hardwood. I should’ve known my finances wouldn’t allow for that.

  But that was the story of my life. Always one step behind.

  “Oh, Lord,” I grumbled when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. “This is not a good look for you.”

  I leaned in closer to the reflective glass and poked at the puffy circles under my eyes, wondering if concealer would help. It might cover up the dark pigment, but it wasn’t a miracle cream. I hadn’t slept in what felt like ages, and now my complexion was paying the price.

  “Maybe you should back out of lunch,” I told my reflection, although I was already shaking my head.

  I couldn’t back out. Mercedes and Xander were my friends, so I wouldn’t even dream of backing out on them. As it was, I’d spent far too many months focused on nothing but trying to dig myself out of the financial hole I seemed to be buried in.

  Nope.

  No backing out today.

  It was time for me to take a breather, even if it was only lunch on a Wednesday.

  Trent

  I TRIED TO PAY ATTENTION to the television mounted on the wall in front of me. The midday news was on, but I didn’t have the slightest fucking clue what the story was about. I honestly didn’t care, either. Ever since I climbed onto the treadmill forty-nine minutes ago, I’d been attempting to outrun the demons chasing me. Those fuckers were fast considering I was closing in on eight miles for the day and I didn’t seem to be any farther in the process of leaving them behind.

  Not that I really thought it would help.

  Well, it helped me physically, sure. Sort of. If I lost any more weight, my personal trainer was going to have my hide. Although I wasn’t slated for another movie in the near future, I still held myself to a different standard.

  Unfortunately, my mental state wasn’t allowing me to concentrate on much of anything these days. No matter how hard I tried, how many times I committed to something, how many days I spent busting my ass on the set, in the club, networking with others, or how many miles I put on this damn treadmill, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was missing or how to fill the void I was reminded of every single day.

  I was at a crossroads. A point in my life when I knew I needed to make some changes, to go after what would have me excited to get up in the morning. At thirty-five, I was finding myself lacking in the happiness department. Probably didn’t help that my friends—new and old—were all settling down, getting married, having babies, living their happily-ever-afters.

  Yet I hadn’t found mine.

  An image appeared in my head. A handsome dark-haired man alongside a beautiful woman with chestnut hair, honey-gold eyes, plump lips, soft, smooth skin…

  Once again, I was fantasizing about them.

  Clarissa Tinsley, the sweet submissive who had captured my attention like no one else ever had. The same woman who made a man dream about endless kisses and nights spent fulfilling erotic fantasies. Granted, I’d only had one kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve nearly four years ago, but I’d thought about it every single day since.

  Yeah, I had spent far too much time distracted by thoughts of that auburn-haired beauty. Sometimes I even let myself get carried away, giving the fantasies more attention than was appropriate. In fact, they’d become more salacious as of late, since I’d somehow superimposed my assistant into each and every one of them.

  Problem wasn’t with the fantasy itself. I knew good and damn well Clarissa could handle the type of libidinous desires I had—and I had some doozies—but convincing her to take a chance on me was the hard part.

  From somewhere behind me, my cell phone rang. I peered down at the treadmill’s screen and realized I’d hit the hour mark. I stabbed the stop button and waited for the machine to slow enough to step off. Grabbing a towel, I wiped my neck, my face, my arms, then reached for the phone, only to see the call had gone to voice mail.

  Two missed calls and one unread text message.

  I pulled up the text when I noticed it was from Mercedes Boone.

  Lunch today? At one? I’ve invited someone you might be interested in chatting with.

  Without considering what might possibly be on my agenda for the day, I messaged her back with an affirmation that I would be there. I’d been waiting a damn long time for this particular meeting. No way in hell was I going to miss it.

  With that out of the way, that left the two missed calls.

  Knowing I had too much shit to do today, I hit the button to call my agent back as I made my way through the massive house toward the master bathroom. I glanced in the kitchen and made a quick detour to my office.

  Son of a bitch.

  Troy better be here by the time I was done with my shower or my assistant was going to be looking for a new job. I wasn’t sure what the hell was up with him these past few weeks, but he needed to get his shit together. I didn’t have time for this.

  “What’s up, Ken?” I greeted, the lack of pleasantry in my tone evident.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Why didn’t you call Troy?” I asked, ignoring
his question.

  “Because I’m not Troy’s agent,” Ken snarled.

  What Ken didn’t know was that he wouldn’t be my agent for much longer.

  I rolled my eyes as I opened the linen closet and retrieved a towel. “What do you need, Ken?”

  “Goddammit, Trent. You can’t simply fall off the face of the earth whenever you feel like it.”

  Actually, I could. And I had. But I didn’t need to tell Ken that. The man clearly already knew, and he obviously wasn’t happy about it.

  Not that I cared. Not about Ken or his pissy fucking attitude. Not today, anyway.

  Instead of arguing that he worked for me and it wasn’t his business what the hell I was doing, I flung the towel over the shower wall, then swiped my hand over the scruff on my jaw. It was a style I was still trying to get used to. Usually, I went for the clean-shaven look, but I was going for something different these days. Although it required a little more effort than simply shaving daily, it wasn’t bothering me the way I thought it would. I had no idea what brought about the need to change some things in my life, but here I was.

  Despite the irritated words from Ken telling me I wasn’t Hollywood’s golden boy anymore and I couldn’t pick and choose what roles I wanted, I knew he was wrong. I was in my prime and I had years in front of me. No matter what Ken said, I still had it, and the constant roles being sent my way were proof.

  Then again, I’d seen Ken’s devious side ever since I started turning down those roles hand over fist. Turned out, the man wasn’t as nice as he wanted people to believe he was.

  However, that wasn’t my problem anymore. I wasn’t that bright-eyed kid who had just landed his first role and was eager to move on to the next.

  Early on in my career, I had taken everything sent my way. From deodorant commercials to a couple of modeling jobs. Until I got my big break roughly fifteen years ago with a walk-on role on a popular sitcom.