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Helen tossed her coat over her arm and extended her hand to Monique. She offered it, fingers out, but instead of shaking it, Helen brought her hand up to Monique’s lips and kissed the tops of her knuckles. She wasn’t the first person at the Manoir to doso, but it made something tingle within Monique, nonetheless.What a dangerous woman.
The sunlight behind the door blinded her, almost making her miss Helen’s shadow disappearing into a Rolls-Royce parked in the front driveway. Helen got in the driver’s seat before pulling away, sticking her arm out the window to wave adieu to Monique and the Manoir.
“What is it?” Sybil asked after handing Monique a package a few days later. She happened to be there when the deliveryman arrived, but now there were too many questions to ask. Sure, Monique got packages all the time, but those were usually the kind wrapped in plain brown paper or nondescript cardboard boxes. This one was adorned in black with a red ribbon tied around it. “Is it your birthday? Shit, I had no idea!”
“It’s not my birthday.” Monique stood at the bottom of the grand staircase with the package in hand. Nothing big about it. Even in her small palms and between her thinner fingers, it was small enough to hide somewhere. Cubed. Heavy. Whatever was in it easily weighed more than a couple of pounds. “And I don’t know what it could be. You sure it was addressed to me?”
“Yes, the deliveryman said it was for Monique Grant. I heard him say it twice.”
“Hm.” Monique started up the stairs. “If it’s anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”
Sybil’s mood deflated, but with a rousing“Sure!”she disappeared into the dining room to get her lunch. It was Monday, the Manoir’s weekend, and after a busy Saturday, some of the ladies were still hungover. Even Monique, as she walked to her quarters with the package, still had yet to catch up on hersleep from helping entertain a dozen clients who wanted more food, more drinks, and more shows.
Her quarters were a total of three rooms: the primary bedroom, an adjacent office, and a nice bathroom that had a jetted tub and a sink big enough to bathe a Mastiff. Not that Monique had a dog.I would like a Pomeranian one day.She didn’t have time to dedicate to a puppy.
She placed the box on her desk and sat in her office chair.Why not tear into it now?Monique turned the box over but didn’t see anything but a strand of red ribbon held tightly in place. Her fingers touched the outline, but no hidden tags fell out to tell her who sent it. Why didn’t Sybil find out? Monique sat it upside right again and pulled the ribbon.
The lid came off easily enough. Inside was a copious amount of white tissue hiding something large and silver.
Large, silver, and encrusted with tiny, sparkling diamonds.
“What the…” She stood up, peering into the box as her fingers felt the smooth surface of metal. Then links. A chain. She uncoiled it, letting it snake in front of her as one foot, two feet, three feet pulled out of the box and revealed the collar on the other end.
The collar was encrusted with diamonds. Several small, sparkling, but expensive diamonds twinkling in and out of the light flashing through Monique’s office window.What is this?She knew, but her mind refused to believe that anybody had sent her a chain and collar. Monique hadn’t owned one since… since…Jacqueline. The one she gave Monique was gold.
Just because this was silver, however, didn’t mean it wasn’t insanely expensive! How many diamonds were in it? What grade were they? What cut? Was this pure silver or a coating? Monique dumped the collar and chain on her desk, the thud echoing between wood and leather.Who is giving this to me?She emptied the box, tearing apart the tissue in search of a card, apiece of paper, anything to discover what the hell had happened. Was this a prank? If it was, it was an expensive one! No, no, not a prank…
A horror hit her heart.
Jacqueline. It had to be from Jacqueline.
She was the type of sick snake to send something like this, to remind Monique that she existed and once controlled her… once chained and locked her up in her mansion to be used as a plaything for weeks at a time.Once she tied me to our bed and didn’t come back for a whole day.Monique had starved and nearly messed herself, which was exactly what Jacqueline wanted. Monique liked a little humiliation, but that was the beginning of the end between her and her former Mistress.
It didn’t matter how expensive this “gift” was. Jacqueline had billions to burn and wasn’t above wasting money. Monique grabbed the collar and had half a mind to throw it through the window, to rid herself of the asshole who made her life hell and nearly destroyed her spirit.
She held the collar up in her hand. Sunlight reflected off the silver, illuminating something engraved on the inside.
Monique held the collar in front of her face and squinted. She could barely make out the tiny words.
“I desire to be your patron.”
How long did she stare at those words? How long did she hold off the swelling sense of relief, desire, and that budding monstrosity called love?
How long did Monique pretend that she didn’t know who sent this? Even when she slowly turned the collar in her hand, she still did not believe she would see the name that popped up on the other side.
Helen Warner.
Monique collapsed into her chair. The business side of her brain wanted to grab a pen and paper, and write a lettertelling Helen that she appreciated the offer, but was not up for patronage.
The other side of her brain? The one that couldn’t think clearly because it was lost in a haze of imagining what a woman like that could do to her in the bedroom?
It didn’t want to write anything at all. It wanted to cry in relief.
Chapter 4
The Patron’s Gift
For some inexplicable reason, Monique did not have any of Helen’s contact information. Since she never paid for services, none of her phone numbers, addresses, or even e-mails were on file.No way I’m calling Ms. Witherspoon to ask. Monique would die from horror.
