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I don’t say anything for a moment. The director lights up a cigarette. There is a minute of silence between us. I start to think about what J.T. Marcos said. Did I just squander the chance to become rich and famous on my own terms? Is Mr. Peak’s control over me so powerful that I can’t even make my own decisions. Perhaps, it is. But you know what? Perhaps my boss couldn’t survive without me the way I can’t survive without him. On the surface, our relationship appears one sided. Deep down, it’s much more complex.
I stand up and walk right up to this director’s smug face. “You’re right. He doesn’t want me to meet you. I am young. I am naive. And I do whatever my billionaire boss tells me to do. I strip for him. I get on my knees for him. He spanks me. He chokes me. He snaps his fingers and I run to his side. He orders me to jump and I say, ‘How high, Sir?’ Chances are, Mr. Peak will torture me for calling him at work. But it will be worth it to see what he will do to you.”
I sit back down.
J.T. Marcos doesn’t have much to say after that. Now, I know he is scared. As the director turns around to leave the room, we hear the front door of the townhouse swing open. The very thick and hard steps of Mr. Peak’s size 12 shoes stomp on the marble flooring of the reception area. Oh f**k, I don’t think calling him was such a good idea.
The director takes a step back from the doorway. Suddenly, my boss storms in, looking directly at me. “Dammit Sarah!” Mr. Peak yells. As my six-foot, five-inch boss walks past the director, he grabs the filmmaker by the neck and drags him towards the sofa.
J.T. Marcos loses complete control of his body while Mr. Peak manhandles him. My boss stands right over me, red-faced. “I had to leave the office, speed across town to find out what the f**k is going on here.”
The director tries to grabs my boss’s arm. Mr. Peak’s grip, however, is too damn powerful. The entire scene is just surreal. J.T. Marcos’s legs wobble like wet noodles, his eyes bulge out of head and drool begins to slide out of his mouth.
“Sir, the director was refusing to leave.”
“Well, I told you not to meet him. This is what happens when you defy me!” Mr. Peak yells while he tightens his grip around the filmmaker’s neck. J.T. Marcos falls to his knees, little bits of vomit and blood begin to spill out onto the director’s shirt and black leather jacket.
“I don’t think the director can breathe, Mr. Peak.”
“I don’t give a f**k!” my boss yells. “I am trying to set up the transfer of revenue from our new client in Odotan. Since there is a 12 hour time difference, we have to stay up all night and handle this. Now, I have to come back to my house and deal with your bullshit!”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say softly.
“Sorry won’t do it this time!” Mr. Peak bellows. He lets go of the director who crumbles to the ground. “Gabe!” Mr. Peak yells. Less than five seconds later, the butler appears in the room.
“How can I help you, Mr. Peak?” the butler asks.
“Two things. Get my leash and collar.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Peak,” the butler responds.
“Secondly. Eject this director as**shole from my premises.”
“With pleasure, Mr. Peak,” the butler exclaims with a slight hint of a smile.
My goodness. I look down at the director, whose entire neck of bruised from my boss’s merciless death grip. For a moment, I think about asking for an ambulance. However, I decide that this innocent question could further agitate my master. The butler returns with a black leather collar and a six foot long chain leash. What the f**k is that for?
The butler grabs the director by the legs and drags him out of the room. And presumably, out of the townhouse. Mr. Peak attaches the leash to the collar and then he looks at me. “You defied my direct order. It’s obvious that I will literally have to keep you on a short leash until you learn to obey every order I give you.”
Mr. Peak secures the collar around my neck. He yanks on the leash, causing me to fall on my hands and knees. “Are you going to be a good girl?!” Mr. Peak barks while he yanks on the leash.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you going to give me trouble from now on?!”
“No, sir.”
“Get up. You’re coming to the office with me,” Mr. Peak says as he leads me out of the townhouse.
I am taken outside as the leash is still attached to the collar around my neck. I look down on the sidewalk and see J.T. Marcos’s shaking body huddled in the fetal position. My boss leads me into his Maybach. We speed out of the Upper East Side and head over to my boss’s Columbus Circle office.
