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3. Damien

My morning starts with a headache. Not even the smell of fresh coffee cures the throbbing in my skull. Two bottles of wine from my late-night dinner with Mrs. Molson and I'm reaping the consequences.

I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a moment. It takes me a few minutes to clear my vision enough not to fall on my ass while getting out of bed.

I sit up, yanking blankets off my legs and before my feet touch the ground, my phone's beeping from an incoming message. I'm less than excited to see Kassandra's name appear on the screen. I have half the mind to throw the damn thing and just say I never got her text, but she knows I'm lying. She's always had a knack for calling me out on my bullshit.

I decide it's dangerous to look at the phone before coffee. With grogginess I walk out of the bedroom, down the stairs and to the kitchen where I know Dayna is bustling around. The firm, older woman did know the meaning of sleeping in. Every morning at six am there's always been a pot of fresh coffee. She's the only thing that's kept me punctual.

She waves at me with a rag in one hand when I enter the kitchen. She's always reminded me of my mother - with the same dark locks, and brown eyes and wisdom of someone who's lived a lot longer than me.

"Morning Damien," she greets. She grabs a coffee cup and the pot, pouring me a cup before I sit down. The sugar's next. She pulls it out of the cupboard, pours it in and hands me a small spoon to stir it.

I return her gesture with an appreciative tight-lipped smile, and I bring the coffee to my lips. She continues staring at me until I've had a sip and praised the taste.

"I guess it's safe to check my phone now," I say jokingly. She shakes her head with her usual knowing smile.

"I keep telling you to keep work separate from home."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I add as I press a button to light up the screen. Six words turn my morning into a pile of shit.

I gave Heath the Reynolds account.

Kassandra made a cold move. She's being a heartless bitch and she knows it. I clench the phone in my hand, fingers turning white with anger that boils my blood. Dayna rests her hand on my forearm and gives me a soft smile.

"Can you ever just enjoy your morning coffee?"

I pull my eyes away from the phone and soften the hardened expression of my face.

"You know me, I can't."

I haven't had a decent breakfast since grade school. She 'tsks' while shaking her head and walking out of the kitchen.

"Let me know if you need anything," she calls behind her before disappearing.

What I need is to pound my fists against something. I didn't even want to hire that little shit and now he's getting all the major accounts. Accounts for a company I had part in building. I hate how she keeps micromanaging me like I'm beneath her.

I sourly raise the cup to my lips and take a swig, sputtering the coffee back into the cup after realizing how hot it is. I'm so angry, I'm distracted.

I don't want to reply over text, I want to bitch her out in person. I leave a half empty cup of coffee for Dayna - who will be surprised considering I never leave coffee unconsumed - and climb the stairs two at a time.

I can't shower and dress quick enough. I fly through the morning, hurrying to work while my anger still flares.

Kassandra's at her desk when I arrive. She acknowledges me with a quick glance that turns into a deep gaze when she realizes I'm stomping towards her desk, ready to kill.

"What the fuck do you mean you're giving Heath the Reynolds account. I'm the usual lawyer that represents the entire family."

She shakes her head, presses her hands down on her desk firmly and sighs.

"Damien, you lost that privilege when you fucked around with Garrett Reynolds daughter Katie."

"Oh please, hardly fucked around, she gave me a blowjob at the wedding for her sister."

"On accounts I know you're going to mess around with, you will no longer be the representative," she states like it's final, like my last name isn't on that giant fucking plaque on the building.

"I think you're forgetting that I started this fucking company too, Kassandra."

She leans forward with a sardonic grin.

"If you keep things up you're going to ruin the company." She swipes her bangs out of her eyes, leans back in her chair and slumps her shoulders. "Besides, this isn't my decision. Garrett Reynolds specifically requested that you be taken off."

"Fuckin eh."

That old bastard doesn't mind fucking his chef but has a problem with me fucking his daughter. Makes no sense to me.

"Whatever," I mumble and turn towards my office.

"Your new assistant started this morning," Kassandra adds when I begin walking away. I stop and twist my head to look at her.

"Who?"

"One of my dear friend-"

"Who?" I interject persistently. She glowers.

"Mila Wright."

As if she's heard her name she comes lancing out of my office.

Fuck, she's attractive. Wild curls, curvy body and a sexy dress that outlines every inch of her. My cock twitches in response to having laid eyes on her. She greets me with professionalism, a firm handshake and a sharp nod of her head.

"Good morning Sir, Mila Wright," She introduces. I nod, shake her hand, and watch as Kassandra sits behind her desk with a mischievous expression on her face.

I flip her the bird behind my back and hear Kass inhale a sharp breath.

"Please tell me you don't have a stick up your ass like that one," I reply to Mila. She blinks rapidly, glancing back and forth between Kassandra and I, and I think she's speechless. A few moments pass, and I watch her surprised expression turn into one of confidence.

She slides a hand on her hip, tilts her head, and quirks a brow at me.

"She told me you'd be difficult."

I don't expect that response. She sports a wolfish grin, and twists on her heels to saunter back into my office.

I turn to Kassandra.

"We'll see how long this one lasts."

"Oh, be nice. she'll be good for you."

"Oh, that's not what I'm worried about. I might be bad for her," I respond, and smirk. Kassandra rolls her eyes.

"You're not getting your claws into this one, Damien."

"We'll see about that," I grumble and make my way into my office, closing the door behind me.

Mila stands by my desk which has been organized. I set my bag down next to my desk and raise my brows at her.

"Sir, I've organized your desk, confirmed all of your appointments this afternoon, placed an order for sushi to be delivered for lunch, and got you a coffee, sugar, no cream."

"You're very on top of things, Miss Wright."

"I try to be, Sir."

I imagine her in my playroom at the club, bound, skin red from my belt. It's a satisfying image.

She bends to pick up a piece of paper that's escaped my desk, and I enjoy the view of her ass. My hand twitches with the urge to smack her ass raw.

"So, Mila, how you so confident that you'll be able to handle everything that working for me entails?"

She smiles, and a small snicker comes from her lips.

"I'm very good at controlling myself. It tends to influence others."

"Control," I repeat, and ponder the word momentarily. "We'll see how long that lasts," I continue, before dismissing her with a wave of my hand.

A withering look flashes across her face but it's gone in a second.

"Welcome aboard, Mila."


Gentleman's Club is always crowded on the first of the months. Potential members and investors alike come around to see exactly what the club's about. The halls and rooms are populated with women. Some fully clothed in leather, bound with muzzles, some even completely naked.

Gregory – the clubs owner rushes over to me before I have time to fully enter the front door. He places a hand on my shoulder, one that I regard cautiously because I'm not in the fucking mood for games or bullshit.

"Damien, will you please take over the show case. These men want to see what we're offering them, and Preston's gonna fuck up the show."

"Then why even ask him in the first place," I snap, and glare at his hand. He removes his hand from my shoulder, crackers the knuckles and sighs.

"Listen, I really want to make a good impression."

"Well, Greg, I'm not exactly in the greatest of moods – "

"Even better," He pipes excitedly. "You always fuck better when you're pissed off."

"Fucking eh," I respond, but I know he's right. When I'm raging, I claim everything and everyone in the fucking room. I know I can win them over. I can fuck like it's all I know how to do.

The perks of being an exclusive VIP member of the club means we can also make money by being a part of the show that brings more money into the club if we choose. It's not necessarily the money I'm after. No. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm after the control, the dominance. Anything that will release the rage I'm feeling inside.

Every single person in this room has signed a non-disclosure agreement so our identities and activities are always safe. That's part of what makes the club so great.

"Fine."

Greg sighs and offers me a genuine 'thank you' before disappearing in the crowd.

My eyes land on a familiar face, and I grin. Silas strolls over to me, dragging a hand through dirty blonde hair. We shake hands.

"Haven't seen you around here in a little while," I comment. Silas nods, but lifts his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Club's still as popular as ever."

"Glad to see you're getting back into it."

He silently moves his gaze over the crowd of people, and his smile falters.

"Yeah, glad to be back here. Is it true you're on the stage tonight?"

I give him a tight-lipped smile, and stuff my hands in my suit-pants pockets.

"Guilty."

"With who, that cute little blonde?"

"Tatiana," I confirm, and nod. He smacks my shoulder, and chuckles.

"Fuck, I almost wish I could stay to watch."

"I'm flattered," I joke, and he shoves me jokingly. "Nah, but it was good seeing you man."

"Thanks."

"Don't be a stranger," I say before we say a quick goodbye and he's slipping out the front door.

I dial Tatiana's number. I know she'll answer. She always does.

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