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***
The next morning I wake up to find Mr. Peak gone. I rise out of bed and find myself alone. I go to the bathroom and there is no sign of my boss. “Mr. Peak?” I call out. There is no answer. This Malibu mansion is so huge I don’t know where to begin my search.
I put on a dress and begin to walk around the top level of the house. I continue to call out my boss’s name to no avail. I walk downstairs and begin to get a little nervous. Where the hell can he be?
As I walk down a long hallway, I hear my boss grunting. It is an animalistic sound. I slowly creep to an open room at the end of the hall and find Mr. Peak working out with a pair of fifty pound dumbbells. Damn, now I know how he gets that incredible body.
I stare at my boss as he works out. I just admire the sweat dripping down from his muscles. As Mr. Peak finishes a set of curls, he drops the weights to the ground and grabs a towel. “I’m disappointed in you Sarah,” Mr. Peak says as his back is turned.
My posture jolts upright. “Sir?” I say meekly. My boss simply motions for me to come into the room. Fuck. How in the world did he know I was spying on him?! Mr. Peak wipes the sweat from his face and looks me up and down.
“I thought you would be a better spy than that,” my boss growls as he snaps the towel at my right thigh. I dare not scream nor do I jump back. My boss tosses the towel to the side. He grabs me and sits down on one of the workout benches. He pulls up my dress, exposing my as**s. I feel his strong right hand slam against my backside.
I grab onto the workout bench as my boss slams his hand against my as**s. I bite my lower lip, I close my eyes but I dare not scream out in pain. Mr. Peak stands me on my feet and grabs me by the hi**ps.
“Get ready. We will be going out soon,” Mr. Peak orders.
“Where, Sir?”
“You can’t go off to Monaco dressed like some college girl backpacking through Europe,” my boss explains as he walks out of his home gym. I follow him while rubbing my sore butt. “In order to attract the attention of the Dictator’s son you will have to stand out in a sea of well-dressed, well-heeled young women.”
***
Before I know it, my boss and I get dressed and head downstairs. He walks over to the garage and drives out in a Bentley Sedan. I get inside. Mr. Peak speeds out of his private driveway and races down PCH.
We don’t talk much in the car. My boss turns into the city of Santa Monica and heads east. We enter Beverly Hills. My heart begins to race. The car reaches Rodeo Drive. Oh my goodness. You have to be kidding me!
I have been up here a few times before. Of course, I was broke. Coming up to Rodeo Drive is the worst feeling in the world. You see these wealthy people walking around with bags from Fendi, Bucceli and Chanel. And you know that there is no way in hell any average human being can afford to shop on this street. Rodeo Drive sure looks a lot more friendly and inviting from the cabin of a $300,000 car.
Mr. Peak pulls up to the Hermes store where a valet is waiting for him. We get out. The Valet takes his car and drives off. I follow my boss into one of the most expensive stores on Rodeo Drive.
When we walk inside, there is already a store manager and a young woman waiting for Mr. Peak. And boy do they sure look ready to cater to my boss’s demands.
“Good afternoon Mr. Peak, welcome to Hermes. My name is Simon. I am the store manager. To my right is Alicia. She is the director of our women’s department.”
“I will be going to Monaco with my friend and as**sociate Sarah.”
“Excellent Sir,” the impeccably dressed Hermes nanager says.
“When Sarah walks into the Monte Carlo Casino, I want the eyes of every heiress, every billionaire, every playboy, Duchess and every last croupier to be directed in the direction of young Sarah,” Mr. Peak orders.
“When we are done, Mr. Peak, Prince Albert himself will propose to your woman.”
Alicia walks me to the women’s department. I look back and Mr. Peak remains at the front of the store in deep conversations with the store manager.
“Monaco. You truly are a lucky girl,” Alicia says as she leads me down the hallway flanked by a glass wall display of Hermes handbags bathed in golden light. My eyes dart in every direction. My legs struggle to keep up with the tall Hermes employee who seems eager to please my boss and meet my every whim.
I am led to this open atrium area where a staff of people are lined up with racks of clothing and boxes of shoes. Alright, I can officially die now. Before I have a chance to open my mouth, the Hermes staff is measuring my body, opening boxes and consulting amongst themselves.
