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Garfield leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other knee. He wasn’t wearing socks with his fancy-pants loafers, the preppy prick.
“Okay,” the asshole said with exaggerated patience. “Here’s the thing. Rowan doesn’t really know what she wants. But I do. I know her better than any of you, certainly, and probably better than she knows herself. I love Rowan, and she loves me. But underneath that timid, submissive exterior is a self-centered sub girl who wants me all to herself. She hasn’t yet wrapped her head around the fact that as a slave, she has abdicated the right to those feelings. By her own free will, she signed herself over to me. She is my cherished possession, to use and control as I see fit. I hired you to help get that through her selfish little head. You’ve been working with her for all of two days, for crying out loud. If she’s failed once, twice, three times, you keep at it until she gets it right.”
Holding on to his patience by a thread, Eric managed in a reasonably calm voice, “It’s not her failure, so much as her fear. I don’t know how to say this diplomatically, so I’ll just lay it out there. Rowan appears to be afraid of you. Terrified of failing you to the point that it renders her unable to cope.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Garfield snapped, color rising in his face. “She wants to please—of course she does. She’s a submissive slave. If she’s afraid, it’s only of disappointing me. How dare you insinuate anything else? Rowan is with me because she wants to be. Because I satisfy deep-seated needs in her that no one else ever met. I take care of her, freeing her financially so she can focus on her art, and on serving her Master. I give her the direction and focus she’s always longed for but was unable to attain on her own.”
He rose to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Where is she? Bring me my girl. I’m glad now that you called me back early. Rowan’s not staying another second in this amateur outfit. I should have known better than to trust her training to anyone else. This arrangement is terminated.”
“Mr. Garfield,” Grayson said, also getting to his feet. “The contract—”
“Bring me my girl,” Garfield demanded, cutting him off. “You can keep your fucking money. And I’ll honor your secret-handshake NDA, don’t worry,” he added derisively. “Just bring me my slave girl. Now.”
Eric stared up at the man, speechless. Anger surged through him. If it had just been the two of them, he might not have been able to control his nearly overwhelming impulse to sock the guy in the jaw. This had gone as bad as it could go, and now he was losing Rowan and any chance to help make things better.
Had he made a terrible mistake in calling the guy back in? Should he have kept his worries to himself?
No. He’d done what any ethical trainer would have. He would have been remiss not to express his concerns. And clearly, they’d been justified. Garfield’s behavior had only confirmed his fears. Grayson never should have accepted this gig without a more thorough vetting.
Eric could only hope that their brief time together had made Rowan at least begin to question her choices. After all, a Master/slave relationship could only exist if both parties consented. It wasn’t as if she was a slave in the literal sense. Would she figure out on her own that she was tied to a bully in Dom’s clothing? Would she get herself free?
“I’ll go get her,” he said through clenched teeth.
Dominique rose. “No, Eric. I’ll go.” To Garfield, she said, “I’m sorry things took this turn. I do hope you’ll consider some training of your own, Mr. Garfield. It’s a very big responsibility to claim a BDSM slave, perhaps more than you’re able or willing to handle.”
Garfield’s mouth fell open, but before he could respond, Dominique had swept gracefully from the room.
They glowered at one another for several long beats. Finally, Grayson walked over to the filing cabinet behind Dominique’s glass-topped desk. “I’ve got a copy of your contract here,” he said in a tight voice. “We’ll issue a refund for the balance of the training period. My wife is right, by the way. Just calling yourself a Master doesn’t make you one. You should consider taking a good look at yourself, Garfield. From where I stand, Rowan is not the problem.”
The man snorted, his handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I don’t give a—”
At the sound of Dominique’s heels clicking in the hallway just outside the door, an amazing thing happened. Garfield cut himself off midsentence, the rage slipping off his face like water sliding down a glass. His aggressive stance shifted to one of relaxed calm, one hand sliding into his pants pocket as if posing for a photo shoot.
