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Quinn was the reason Mother stayed away from drugs. Perhaps she wanted to do a better job with her little sister than she did with me, but Quinn’s presence gave us a sense of family we never had before.
“The sweeper found eighteen hidden cameras and just as many recording devices,” she says.
I whistle. “Anything else?”
“The landline is bugged.”
“Naturally.” I take a right into Sydney Crescent, a U-shaped road with tall Georgian townhouses arranged around a large garden square.
The one Crius rented for me is in the very middle, with uninterrupted views of the sea. It’s a white Victorian villa that vaguely resembles the townhouse I left in Belgravia.
Seeing it sends a surge of resentment that makes my jaw clench.
“And the locks?” I ask.
“Changed. And the sweeper removed all the monitoring devices. If Crius wants to keep tabs on you, he’ll have to call like everyone else.”
By the time I park outside, the removal company vans are gone, and the cleaning staff are vacating the premises.
“Thank you,” I say.
She hesitates. “Just be careful. This isn’t like the last time he made you work for him. You’ll be at the university long enough for anyone to intervene if you’re suspected.”
“Don’t worry about me, little sister,” I say to lighten her mood.
“Auntie,” she snaps.
“This is the last assignment I’ll ever perform for him.”
“We’ll both make sure he won’t be alive to claw you back again.”
Quinn hangs up, and the reminder of why I’m here sours my mood. Good thing I have a sweet little sub to work out my frustrations.
Phoenix might not be as bratty as she claims, but she’s clearly in need of guidance if she couldn’t tell the difference between a real dom and an opportunist trying to get laid.
The last of the housekeepers leave, and I hurry through the white hallway and down the stairs that lead to the basement. Its walls are exposed brick, with dark wood floors, and it’s devoid of my playroom equipment.
The bastards must have left it in London.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, pull out my phone, and call the delivery company’s representative. It rings twice before I cut off his greeting. “Marius Segul here,” I say. “Where the fuck is my basement furniture?”
“Your, erm…” The man coughs and stumbles over his words. “Your dungeon wasn’t part of the arrangement—”
“I want it delivered tomorrow,” I say, vaguely remembering having told them to leave the London playroom intact.
The rep falls silent. “Sunday isn’t possible, but Wednesday—”
“Fine. Be there by eight AM.”
I hang up and run my fingers through my hair. Wednesday could work. The Red Room is delivering my purchases tomorrow, and I only lecture on Mondays and Thursdays. The playroom will be more than ready for her by Saturday.
On the subject of Phoenix…
How the hell did my fortunes change from losing my tenure at the London School of Finance to finding a potentially eager and willing sub?
And one I can mold to my desires.
I leave the basement, ascend the stairs, passing the villa’s living room and white kitchen. After another flight, I’m in a replica of my bedroom in Belgravia. Except this one has an uninterrupted view of the sea.
