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“Actually, I’m looking for a job,” I reply.
His face drops. “Oh.” He pulls his brows together. “If it’s work you want, I might be able to help.”
“Really?”
If half the stores on the high street hadn’t just turned me away, I would make my excuses and leave. Professor Segul’s four-figure sum will last the academic year but I still want a financial cushion.
The last thing I need is to become desperate and accept any old shitty position within the underworld. Not every gangster would find use for a female business manager.
“This way, please,” he says with a smile.
“Nick, isn’t it?” I ask.
His prominent eyes sparkle and he sweeps his brown locks over his shoulder. “You remembered.”
I cringe, wishing I hadn’t because now he’s going to look into it too deeply.
“What happened with that guy?” he asks. A beat later, he adds, “The burly one who acted like he was James Bondage.”
“Nothing ever came of it.” I shake my head.
“Thank fuck. I mean, what kind of experienced dom needs to buy thousands of pounds worth of toys?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend Professor Segul and say that people who sell whips shouldn’t judge those who buy them, but I clamp my mouth shut.
I don’t owe that man a thing.
Even if he claims it wasn’t a transaction, his parting words indicated otherwise. Maybe if I had kept emotions out of our arrangement I wouldn’t feel so much like shit.
Without meaning to, I ask, “What’s wrong with buying up the store if they can afford it?”
He raises his shoulders. “Nothing, only most doms already have their own equipment before luring subs to their homes. From the looks of things, I guess he was a newbie who was just bullshitting about his prowess.”
I stare into Nick’s weak features, which he now holds in a blank mask, and I wonder what’s really behind the words. Jealousy, a warning, or lies?
There’s no way Professor Segul put together that playroom in a week with the items he supposedly bought from the Red Room. And nothing about the man said that he was inexperienced.
But as I glance around the displays, I recognize all the items from his playroom.
“Do you sell furniture, then?” I ask, my mind running through every item of apparatus.
“No.” His gaze darts toward a door on the left of the store. “Anyway, you said you were looking for work.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a sub, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
He sweeps his arm toward the door. “I rent the downstairs dungeon to Pro dommes. They charge 250 an hour but they’re always looking for subs for dual sessions. They add on 200 for that, which you get to keep.”
A knot forms in my stomach, and I swallow. “How does that work?”
“Well, they pay 50 for the dungeon hire, so their profit is 200. Since having a second girl in the room lessens their workload, it’s a win-win for them.”
“I mean, what happens?”
“The domme is always in charge, and what takes place in the hour depends on if the client is a sub or a switch. Sometimes she’ll order you to dominate him. Other times, she’ll let him dominate you.”
