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Smart, using the submissives who got off on being helpful and pleasing people.
“Shatterproof glass?” Atticus wondered.
“Yes. Dominic is out of the picture now, but there are still those who hate BDSM and what it stands for, not to mention our LGBTQ members. All glass is bulletproof, and as many of the building materials we could source are flame retardant.”
“Any questions, comments, proposed changes?” Evander asked.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Saul replied, a note of approval in his voice. “It’s quieter, more peaceful. Watching the stars while waiting for a sub to stir doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
“Perfect.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, Evander made a note. “Okay, back to the main space.”
Zeke rubbed his hand over his face. This was going to be a long afternoon.
***
Olivia
Two years was an awful long time to be away from home.
As her ancient Ford Focus put-put-putted its way up her neglected drive, Olivia calculated the distance between the hood and the garage door. Pumping the brakes with her foot, she simultaneously yanked on the e-brake, cringing as the heap of junk stopped a bare inch from cruising straight through the barrier.
How she hadn’t died a dozen times on her way home, she didn’t know.
Guardian angels, maybe.
Switching off the engine, she sat and stared at the place she’d once called home. The yard was hellishly overgrown, the paintwork was deplorable, and only God knew how much dust was waiting for her inside.
Two years ago, she’d gotten a call that threw her life completely out of whack. She’d been happy, sitting with Zeke while he was awake and working remotely when he slept. Their chats were the highlight of her day, every day, for months.
Then her stepfather had blown it all to hell with one phone call. Her mother was in the hospital, eight hundred miles away. Minor injuries from a car crash, but investigations into a fractured forearm brought to light a vicious and unbeatable bone cancer.
Ever the dutiful daughter, no matter how much she hated the asshole her mother had married when Olivia was just ten years old, she’d dropped everything and gone to be with her mom.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that rose swiftly.
Zeke hadn’t responded to the note she’d left him while he was asleep. She should have woken him and explained, but he’d been so tired, and the pain meds messed with his sleep cycles.
He hadn’t called her or written to the address she noted down. No emails pinged her inbox with his name on them, not even in the spam folder which she’d checked religiously.
Luckily, Atticus hadn’t ghosted her as quickly. Not only was he generous enough to let her continue working away from the office, but he also hadn’t docked her pay. Not even after the first couple of months turned into six, then twelve, then two whole years.
Now, her mother was dead and buried, and Olivia was broke.
Every cent she earned got sucked straight into medical bills, which was why her car had ten percent braking capacity, a growing hole in the passenger side floor where rust was slowly gnawing through the metal, and about two miles’ worth of gas left in the tank.
With a sigh, she unfastened her seatbelt and threaded it back into position; the thing that retracted it automatically was broken. The door creaked open, threatening to drop if she pushed it too far, so she slipped out carefully, gingerly clicking it shut.
Retrieving her laptop case from the trunk, Olivia knuckled her left eye tiredly and walked up the sun-cracked path to her front door. Honestly, the way her luck was going, she was surprised someone hadn’t broken in, robbed her blind, and left her to come home to a disaster.
It would be dark in an hour, but she was past caring. A blistering argument between her and Jared, her stepfather, had worn her down to the bone before she even got in her car for the hellish drive home. She just hadn’t been able to put up with his drunken ramblings about how she never did anything for him.
“No,” she muttered bitterly to herself, “I’ve just paid a hundred thousand dollars of medical bills off for him, with more due. I’ve been paying the rent, my mortgage, the goddamn beer he downs like water. But, of course, Ineverdo anything.”
The key slid into the lock, but it took some effort to turn. After giving the door a bump with her hip that would likely bruise, and jiggling the handle around, it finally spun the tumblers open.
A shower and a bed were all she hoped for. She couldn’t remember what was in her cupboards, but she supposed whatever was in there suffered the same fate as everything in her refrigerator.
She wasn’t the best at remembering to do grocery shopping, anyway.
