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She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t yet four o’clock. She still had plenty of time to groom and dress. She could even pop out and get something new at her favorite fetish shop in the Village.
Slow down, she ordered herself, aware she was getting ahead of herself.
Was it really wise to get involved outside the office with one of the equity partners? Even if it wasn’t a dating situation, it could definitely be compromising, and might even destroy her career.
“Are you insane, Jess?” she asked aloud.
But, even as she asked herself this very sensible question, she knew what she was going to do. She couldn’t not do it. In spite of all the potential risks, it was too great an opportunity to let slip away.
Her fingers poised over the keyboard, she clicked ACCEPT.
Chapter 3
The Manhattan Masters Club was housed in a private four-story brownstone nestled in a little pocket of privileged seclusion in Greenwich Village. Its presence was obscured and protected from the loud, bustling city by a high stone wall covered in flowering ivy. There was no outward indication that it was anything other than a private residence.
Cameron sat alone in the observation room, which was separated from the audition chamber by a mirrored wall. Save for that two-way mirror, the observation room looked like any comfortable den, with chairs and sofas set in a conversational grouping. It would provide him an ideal opportunity to observe without being seen.
As the Master who had extended the invitation, he could have sat on the judges’ panel, but he’d declined. He preferred to watch surreptitiously from the sidelines, not only for himself, but to prevent adding extra stress for Jess by making her audition in front of one of her work colleagues.
He had spent the day at the office getting very little done, distracted by his ruminations on the lovely Jess. The fact that they worked in the same office complicated things, yes. But his commitment to the Masters Club was as important, as his law career, if not more so. He owed it both to the club and to the submissive he’d observed at Spankees to give the girl a chance. A steady supply of well-trained, committed pleasure subs was vital to the membership.” And someone like Jess needed Doms who could give her the BDSM experience she both longed for and deserved.
If he were a betting man, he would have wagered she would accept the invitation, but he couldn’t be sure. He kept obsessively checking the Masters Club website once he’d been informed the invitation had been delivered to her home address. He’d been delighted when she’d finally hit the ACCEPT button. She might not pass the audition, but at least she was going to give it a shot, and that pleased him more than he might admit.
His phone dinged, indicating a text from the club driver. He clicked on the screen. Vince had texted that Jess had just climbed into the backseat of the Mercedes. Cameron rose from the chair where he’d been reading and moved to the desk, taking a seat. He clicked the club’s security laptop awake.
The laptop was connected to several monitors, each of which afforded a different view. Both audio and visual feeds were available. By moving between screens, he could see the entrance foyer, the main dungeon on the second floor, the private dungeons on the third floor, and even the back seat of the club driver’s sedan. There was also a camera discreetly placed in the auction room.
That room looked like a formal living room you might find in any fine home, with its comfortable but elegant furniture, antique Persian rugs and large fireplace. But then you noticed the St. Andrew’s cross to the left of the marble mantlepiece, where slaves brought for auction were put on display. Further inspection of the room revealed the slave cages set around the perimeter of the space, in case a Master wanted to park his sub while relaxing with a glass of fine brandy.
But the view he was interested in at the moment was of the audio and visual feed from the hidden security camera set up in the sedan now whisking Jess to her destination, its lens trained on the back seat.
There she was, sitting in the back, biting her lower lip as she stared out a window. It was early spring, still sometimes chilly at night, and she was wearing a beige trench coat.
Though she might not realize it, the audition had already begun.
He placed a call to Vince’s cell phone. Vince, also active in the BDSM scene, had standing orders while driving potential submissives to keep his phone on silent, a Bluetooth bud in his ear. He knew not to speak when he took a call, but only to listen and obey. The well-paid club employee was utterly discreet and trustworthy.
