Zero Tolerance

“I’m quitting.”
I jerked my head up from the dark, hazy memories I’d dreamed about the night before. It had been years since that shit had haunted me.
Arms crossed, my secretary Dina propped herself against the doorjamb of my office.
“What?” I asked.
“I said that I’m quitting.” Bland, expressionless hazel eyes peered at me, the same color as her sweatshirt.
“No fucking way.”
“Fucking way.” She smirked, and I thought again about how pretty she was, how lucky her fiancé was.
I tossed the file onto my desk and leaned back in my leather chair, narrowing my gaze. “You’re giving me two weeks’ notice?”
“Nope.” Her smile widened. “You knew this was coming.”
“I expected it with all that talk about needing time to plan your wedding and honeymooning for a month in Europe, yes, but what the fuck, Dina? On a Friday night?”
“This weekend is booked and all set. Everyone has their files, limos, and rooms are rented, goodie bags packed. Most of next week is all set too.”
I heaved a deep breath, my lips pursed. Elite Escorts had been rolling along for over seven years and didn’t show any signs of slowing. I’d hired a new escort a few days earlier, and the men and women employed by me were booked just about every weekend. Myself included. “And what am I supposed to do for office help? Payroll is Wednesday, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’ve got it covered, so don’t get your panties in a twist. My baby sister is going to take my place.”
“Just like that, huh?” I arched a brow.
“Yep. Just like that.”
“Aren’t even going to let me interview her first?”
Dina shrugged. “She’s way more organized than I am, worked as a phone operator in sales, and is kind and honest. She’ll fill my position without any issues. You’ll probably be thanking me for quitting and bringing her in before the month ends.”
“Awful confident,” I muttered.
“Yep.” She uncrossed her arms and straightened. “I’m bringing her here Monday and showing her the ropes, but she’s on her own come Wednesday.”
I grumbled a curse under my breath.
“I’m going out to grab some lunch, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Want anything?”
“You can stop at the liquor store and get me a bottle of Grey Goose for the shit you just dropped in my lap.”
She chuckled and moved out of my sight into the reception area of the office addition I’d had included in the plans for my house Harper’s Construction had just finished building. Dina left my door open. “Steak bomb?” she called, her keys clinking.
“Two!” I hollered back. “You owe me at least that! And, you can kiss your wedding present bonus goodbye!”
The shutting of the door cut off her laughter.
“Fuck.” I scrubbed a hand over the clipped beard lining my jaw and glanced out the open window to watch Dina climb into her Saab in my driveway.
After getting caught staring at my first secretary’s cleavage a few months into business and her crying foul, I’d been very careful about who I hired. While I had found Dina pretty the second she’d walked into my old office for an interview, there was no tug of want, no swelling of my cock at the thought of taking a flogger to her ass.
I hoped her sister would be the same.
A spring breeze rustled the file on my desk, and I put my mind back on the present rather than the past of last night’s dream and the future with a new secretary.
Pulling my laptop closer, I considered the client lined up for me. At eight sharp, I would find Widow Mayfield bent over her late husband’s desk. After our first session together, she’d gifted me a key to her swanky downtown Boston condo, promising to book me every other weekend.
That had been six months earlier.
I acted as her Dom, and she trusted me with her life, but there was no emotional pull between us. No deep connection binding us together.
She loved to have her ass reddened—hand, flogger, paddle—and anything I decided to use caused cum to pour from her pussy and pleadings from her lips. While she had hot, tight holes I enjoyed fucking, I’d grown bored with the arrangement. Thank Christ my cock at least was always up to the task, otherwise, I’d be popping blue pills like some of my employees when dick was on the menu.
I double-checked the schedule Dina had for the evening, making sure every I was dotted and T crossed. She hadn’t ever screwed up, but I never took chances. Elite promised to please its customers, and once I gave my word, I never went back on it.
Ever.
Unfortunately, I’d learned the hard way what happened when mixing pleasure with inebriation. Lines blurred. Consent dissolved. Integrity broke apart and maimed innocent victims. My employees were allotted two glasses of alcohol while on “dates”, and I personally vetted every person on my payroll. Background checks. References. Enough questions and blunt honesty about my expectations to even make the other Doms I’d hired squirm.
My intuition came from studying people because of poor judgment that had led to consequences which almost ruined my life.
Thank fuck for Dean’s family name and the hush money his dad had dished out to keep us from going to jail. He’d shipped Dean back the West Coast to live with his mom, and we had quickly lost touch.
For the best, all things considered.
With him gone from my life, I’d moved on from the mistakes we’d made. Learning how to become a real Dom, one who understood and honored the rules of the lifestyle, had been my focus. I’d proven to myself that such men existed, making it a point a few years earlier to clean up my guilt and shame over the entire affair.
And I’d built a business around the idea of ensuring pleasure could be found safely. I hoped like hell the bump in the road because of Dina leaving didn’t slow the company down. Filling shoes, I’d learned, sucked ass. I’d recently lost an unofficial employee and three of my best escorts and had yet to replace the hole their quitting had created. It meant I’d personally taken on more of the physical workload, something I’d had no desire to do.
There was nothing wrong with getting paid to fuck—or act like eye candy—but I’d begun feeling empty after every evening I spent with clients. I wanted more.
Seeing Blake, Reid, Jarod, and Daniel start new lives with their so-called soulmates filled me with something I hadn’t ever experienced before.
Jealousy.
I fucking hated it. Sure, I was happy as hell for my buddies, but our Sundays no longer consisted of guys, beer, good food, and sports. Christine came along with Jarod on occasion to hang out, but most times, I found myself alone or with my annoying little brother in my favorite threadbare recliner, me hollering at the flat screen while he trolled Grindr, looking for his next hookup.
“This fucking sucks,” I muttered at my computer screen and pulled up my email, needing to bury myself in work.

Content Warning: Past drug use and sexual assault. Stalking.

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