Page 38 of Vienna Bliss

Chapter 9

“I do not like this.” Alexander’s English was clipped, his accent thicker than normal, and more formal.

Alena smoothed the lapels of his suit coat and adjusted his tie. Both were perfect, but she liked touching him. And it seemed sort of…wifely.

She really was a masochist if she was, even only in the secret recesses of her mind, playing house with him.

It was early the next morning, and Alexander intended to go back to work, though just in his office on the first floor, not to the Wagner Global headquarters.

“I will be back in one hour to get you,” he continued.

“I’ll be ready.” She winked up at him. “I plan to snoop through all your things and maybe masturbate.”

He didn’t smile. “I hate this plan.”

“I know you do. Interpol knows you do too.” They’d had an early conference call with Rolf and Agent de Gaul to go over the plan. The senior agent hadn’t even blinked that a slave auction was a part of the plan. That and the fact that half a dozen Interpol agents from around Europe were being assigned to this operation made it very clear that stopping Absolon and the people he worked with was high on Interpol’s priority list. “But you’re willing to go through with it.”

Alexander sighed and absentmindedly ran his hand down her back, cupping her ass in a way that made her breath catch.

“I will be back.” He turned to the door.

“Have a good day at work, suga’.” She blew him a kiss, and when he turned to look at her on his way out the door he was smiling.

Alena headed for the bedroom. Though she was tempted to do exactly what she’d told Alexander she was going to—poke through his stuff and masturbate—she actually jumped on the treadmill in his small private gym for half an hour—mindful of her knee—stretched, and then showered.

As she did, she ran though the plan over and over again, imagining different scenarios. Planning out her game play.

Except this time she wasn’t playing alone. She had Alexander as her secret ally, and Interpol would be taking a much more active part in the process.

Today she and Alexander were going to meet with Absolon, and announce the gala and discuss what Alexander wanted from him. Then she was going to meet with Absolon alone and drop some serious hints about their relationship, while discussing the details of the party.

A local Interpol agent would be posing as the party planner—which primarily consisted of issuing invitations and making decor suggestions, since the housekeeper had a system in place for events. RTW would send over a team to discuss event security with the Interpol agent and Absolon either later today or tomorrow depending on how the morning went.

The event itself was scheduled for this Friday. An insanely short time for planning something of this magnitude, and it wouldn’t have been possible if the catering couldn’t have been handled by the in-house chef, but the hope was the sense of urgency would dovetail nicely with Alexander’s supposed need to get rid of her.

That was, after all, what this boiled down to. The billionaire was going to sell his troublesome sex slave to another billionaire with the same perversions.

Between now and then Alexander needed to behave normally. Luckily his default mode was silence, which was perfect for this. She would plan the event, Interpol would provide individuals who could both play along and keep their mouths shut to add veracity, and there were a few other key individuals who would be coming to the actual gala. Apparently the CEO of RTW was an Orchid Club member; though she hadn’t seen him at either of the events, according to Alexander he’d recognized her during the interrogation.

By the time Alexander returned to his apartment, she was dressed and ready. She’d officially run out of new things to wear from among the clothes she’d brought, but Dieter had proven that he wasn’t just an excellent shopper in the men’s department. She’d given him a list of pieces, and he’d delivered a dozen shopping bags, all from luxury brands or small boutiques, last night. The housekeeper had taken the rest of her clothes to be laundered, and so she had her own bras and underwear.

Not that she was going to wear underwear.

“Alena.”

He leaned against the doorjamb of his closet and watched as she rolled on thigh-high stockings and clipped them to the white garters.

“Alexander.” She looked over at him and smiled, but it was a soft smile. She’d been slowly working herself towards feeling submissive since he left.

They were playing games within games, and this meeting was the first of the smaller skirmishes within the larger match. The easiest way to play would be to actually be submissive to Alexander. That way she didn’t have to think about, or worry about, her reactions. She would rely on her own submission to put truth to the lie they were selling.

“I hate this,” he murmured.

Alena rose and slipped the shirt she’d chosen off the hanger. “You don’t like my choice of outfit, Sir?”

She put on the silvery silk button up blouse over her bare chest. No bra, and the thin, cool silk clung to the curves of her breasts. Her nipples were hard, and clearly visible.

“Already calling me Sir?” He stepped into the dressing room, his walk predatory.