I string together a pair of files and pull some information from archives. I see the same mistake repeated for accounts in Monaco and again for records on the Isle of Man. Now that I know what I’m looking for, it’s easy to back out the defective code.
“There,” I say. “Try it on your end.”
I hear the clack of fingernails on a keyboard. A repeat. Again. “All right,” she says. “It’s all there.” She takes a moment to review the records. On my screen, I can see her opening files and closing them, tracing her assets with admirable efficiency. “Wolf?” She finally says. “This was sloppy work.”
“You’re right,” I say. She’s too smart for me to lie to.
“I can’t use sloppy.”
“I understand that.”
“People in my line of work get killed over sloppy.”
From another Irish mob captain, those words would be a threat. But I’m certain Fiona hasn’t forgotten how I bailed her out of a tight spot when she was fighting for control of her clan. She won’t order a hit on me. She won’t even try to back out of the open-ended favor she still owes me from those early days. “I’ll speak to Madison,” I say.
“I don’t want youspeakingto anyone. I need someone new.”
“I don’t have anyone new. I promise, Madison is my best.”
“It seems like I’ve heard that before. Three other times, in fact.”
“Fiona…” I’m out of options for Lone Wolf staffers to put on her account.
“Wolf.” She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t make my name a challenge. She’s a professional businesswoman demanding the service she’s paid for.
“I’ll monitor everything myself,” I say. “Every step Madison takes. Nothing will hit your system before it’s crossed my desk.”
“And when the next problem comes up?”
I want to say there won’t be a next problem, but I can’t make that promise. “You have my personal guarantee your work will be done properly.”
She hesitates for a moment, but she finally gives in. “This is his last chance.”
“Last chance,” I confirm.
I end the call and look up to find Kate standing in the doorway. Her lips are still swollen from where she bit them last night. She’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and her hair runs wild, as if she’s barely combed it with her fingers.
She’s never looked more desirable.
“Good morning,” she says, sounding shy.
“Good morning.” I smile.
Something comes unpinned in her shoulders, and I recognize the softness of her sigh. It’s relief. For just a moment, I wonder what she has to be relieved about, but then the penny drops.
She thought I’d make her call meMaster.
I could do it. I could bring our dungeon games upstairs and put her in a collar—a diamond, a pearl, maybe just a chain. I could order her to wear my brand day and night because she’s my sub. We could make this a total power exchange.
She’d fight me, of course, because Kate fights everyone. I’d win, because she’d use her safeword if she truly wanted out.
But I don’t want to collar her. That’s not what I need and not what she deserves. Managing Kate requires my most concentrated attention, my finest control. We both need breaks from the wild power we release downstairs.
I nearly ruined everything at the Andersons last night. Taking Kate to the dungeon once we got home was a way to restore balance. Watching her fall apart—knowing I did that for her—healed some of the damaged parts inside me.
That’s why I denied myself. Penance. Control.
So no, I don’t need Kate calling meMasterhere, in my office, in the public parts of our house.
