THE DEEP END
A. M. Hartnett

Copyright

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.mischiefbooks.com

Copyright © A. M. Hartnett 2014

A. M. Hartnett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007587834

Version: 2014-07-17

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

More from Mischief

About Mischief

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘I’m not used to a woman who takes charge,’ said the man from Philadelphia as he dragged her thong down to her ankles. He raised a brow as she parted her legs. ‘Is this your thing?’

Grace smirked down at him and leaned back. ‘I’m just efficient. We’ve got about a half an hour left before the meeting.’

‘So that gives us, what, fifteen minutes each?’

‘Assuming you’re as good as you claim to be. If you’re really good, you’ll get some extra time for yourself.’

The first thing she had noticed during the meeting yesterday afternoon was that this man talked too much. Her boss, Hugh Caroway, had barely contained his annoyance as again and again the man interjected.

He was supposed to be the one who went home with her the previous night. She liked his green eyes and wide mouth, and found his faint country-boy drawl charming. He was her bonus after a month’s worth of fifteen-hour days and the conversation had flowed freely between them as they joined the others for dinner, but drinks had been on the Taureau-Werner dime. Grace could have sworn Prohibition was still in effect in Pennsylvania, the way the whole visiting team from Breton-Craig drank, and by eleven o’clock her man was completely useless for anything more than a nauseous cab ride back to his hotel.

It’s a good thing I’m forgiving, she thought and looked down her body to where he knelt between her legs. She bit down on her lip and held her breath as he parted the slick folds of her pussy. He spoke again, too low for her to catch his words, and stroked his thumb across her swollen clit.

‘Tick-tock,’ she whispered and cupped the back of his head.

Thank God for her boss’s long liquid lunches. While Hugh Caroway was off comparing dick sizes with the heavies at Breton-Craig, she’d taken advantage of the impenetrable solitude of his office to make up for lost time.

Luckily for Grace, his wagging tongue was good for more than just being a pain in her boss’s ass in the boardroom. It was always a gamble when she came across a man who was insistent about going down. She found that those keeners were at one end of the spectrum or the other: true masters with their tongues, or sloppy messes who needed her to point her clit out to them.

She curled her toes and grasped the cushion under her head. This one definitely fell into the former category with the way he stroked his tongue across the underside of her hard nub. She preferred a more aggressive tongue, complete with rough hands holding her open and a little finger play at her bum, but for a bit of mid-morning cunnilingus he was just perfect.

Grace shook free of her shoes and propped the balls of her feet up against his shoulders. He glanced at her and she bit down on her smile. His suit was expensive, but she knew he wouldn’t say anything if he wanted to continue. She reached down with one hand and quickly flicked the buttons from her neck to her navel.

He lifted his head and rubbed his face into her thigh, concealing his grin. ‘Show me those great tits. Play with them while I play with you.’

Grace lost the fight to keep from smiling. She pushed against his shoulder and lifted her hips. ‘Why don’t you play with them for me?’

‘While you suck me,’ he murmured, his mouth moving back down to her swollen folds.

‘Not while you suck me, while you fuck me.’ She pushed up onto her elbows and nodded towards the executive desk before the window. ‘There are condoms in the top drawer.’

‘You are efficient,’ he said and stood. ‘We can both get off at the same time.’

‘Efficiency has nothing to do with it,’ she said to him as he dug into her boss’s desk. ‘Do you have any idea how much I’ve worked leading up to these meetings? This is just what I need to get rid of some of that tension. You’re a pro at eating pussy, but what I want is that big cock of yours.’

His expression was wary as he returned with a condom in hand, earning a laugh from Grace that rumbled up from deep in her belly. ‘Did you think I hadn’t noticed?’

‘Actually, yes. You were so … what’s the word? … aloof until you gave me that little invite.’

The invite had been anything but subtle. She’d had his attention since he entered the meeting room, but she’d waited until dinner. As they waited on their second round of drinks and after she was sure she wanted his company, she knocked his cellphone over the edge of the table and, when he bent to pick it up, she shifted her legs enough for her skirt to slide up to her thighs, enough to give him a peek of her bare pussy.

‘I noticed,’ she went on, her gaze falling to the bulge between his legs.

He’d been hard in the cab they’d shared the night before. He was a big boy. It had been hard to let him go and head home alone, but she’d had her fill of drunken fucks when she was in university.

And she hadn’t been kidding. Her free time was scarce, and in the last couple of years her social life had consisted of those who caught her eye as she passed through the office. Her longest dry spell had been four months, and she didn’t care to repeat it. The more intensive her job became, the more she needed to burn off that stress with something more than a vibrator.

Now that he was back before her, his erection prominent as he peeled away his jacket, she was glad she had waited. That seething male animal bristled beneath the surface as he went to work on his belt. He shoved his pants down and a glorious cock sprang up.

He was groomed and cut and utterly mouthwatering. The urge to take him into her mouth nearly derailed her, but the need to have his cock pumping against her G spot overruled all other urges.

She sank back into the sofa, drew her legs closer to her ass and circled her finger around her clit.

‘You think I can take it all?’ she asked, her voice coming thick from the back of her throat.

There: she saw it happen, that savage creature unleashed. Grace had gambled on her man from Breton-Craig, and, as he knelt between her legs with that gorgeous shaft bobbing over her pussy, she felt victorious.

He tore the condom wrapper with his teeth and quickly snapped the rubber down his length.

‘I think you can take it all, if I give it to you.’

He leaned over her and shoved the cups of her bra down, an action that pushed her breasts up for the taking, and tugged her nipples between thumb and forefinger. The sting was magnificent. Grace pushed up, but he put her back down.

She moaned as he sawed the length back and forth along her slick pussy. She once more grasped the cushions on either side of her head and rose up. ‘Don’t be a tease. Give it every fucking inch.’

A low grumble poured out of him. He grasped the edge of the sofa back with one hand and positioned the tip of his dick at the hot throbbing mouth that waited for him.

For just a moment as he slipped in and out, Grace worried that at the moment of truth he would prove clumsy and she’d have to take the reins, but he quickly found his mark and shoved balls-deep.

He worked his cock in and out with shallow thrusts. She didn’t know whether he was merely being careful with her or if he wanted her to keep urging him on, but Grace went with the latter.

Even if they’d had all the time in the world, she would have wanted it hard and fast, and so she bucked up and bared her teeth at him.

‘Fuck me into this sofa,’ she hissed, then cooed as he withdrew until only the head remained. He was red-faced and demonic as he looked down on her.

‘You are hungry for a cock, aren’t you?’

She released the cushions and slapped her hands on his waist. ‘We don’t have a lot of time. Just fuck me already.’

He winced as she dug her nails into him, but didn’t pick up his stride. His grin was strained, but the body he held her captive with was in perfect control. ‘Nice and slow for a minute. Let me hit the spot a little.’

A delirious smile broke across her mouth as he pushed forward and that magnificent friction against her G spot sent a tingle through her that ran along her spine in a shiver. He went deep again and she almost drew blood as once more he pulled out slowly.

‘I could stay another night,’ he was saying, somewhere far off from where her head was floating and her body was sinking into pleasure. ‘Spread you open and keep you wet like this all night long.’

She didn’t want to hear it. Not now. She only wanted this, the echo of their heaving breathing in the empty office and the thrill of knowing her boss could break routine and return early. She didn’t want to hear about the past or the future. With men like her Breton-Craig man there was only the hard cock and wet pussy to bridge the gap between the lover she had between her thighs and the next one she took when she needed the release of a hard body joined with hers.

The sting of his balls slapping against her ass jolted her, and she could see and feel the effect it had on him. The masterful facade he had been trying to maintain cracked.

She dropped one hand between them and flicked her middle finger against her clit. ‘Watch me while you fuck me.’

‘Oh, fuck, yes,’ he said in a croak. He pulled out all the way and draped her legs on his shoulders, then fumbled to get back in where it was warm and wet.

Grace grinned and smeared moisture across the hairless plane just so he could see how wet she was. She loved appearances: breasts out, pussy spread open and so wet things were bound to get messy.

He gripped her, arms wrapped around her legs at the knee, and began to pump her. The tingle as he passed over the sweet spot grew to a perfect current, coupled beautifully with the throbbing beneath her fingers. Held in place by his clutch and the pressure of his weight, Grace was precisely where she wanted to be: trapped by the dual friction rubbing in the places where she was most sensitive.

He picked up the pace, jutting his hips and filling her harder every time. He pressed his lips together and made a desperate humming sound as his gaze moved over her. She rubbed her clit faster to match his thrusts.

‘Do you do this all the time? Fuck strange men half-dressed in your boss’s office?’

‘You’ve got to admit, it’s dirtier when you know you’ll never see me again.’

She pushed up onto one elbow and looked down to where their bodies met. She could only catch a milky blur of his sheathed cock as he pumped her, but the sheen of her juices on his inner thighs told the story of how primed she was.

He reached down and cradled her ass, fingers digging in as his gaze followed hers. ‘You ought to see the view I have from here.’

In her last wicked act against him, Grace watched his face as she spread her fingers and showed him how wet and swollen she was.

His grip on her turned vice-like, and, as she resumed with two fingers on her throbbing bud, the man from Breton-Craig slammed against her.

As gorgeous as his dick was, it was her own fingers on either side of her sex that took her all the way. Grace hung her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. Her breath caught in a hiccup at the back of her throat and she rode that sensation of her pussy being stuffed as her clit pulsed.

‘I’m coming,’ she hissed and opened her eyes to his flushed and leering face. ‘Just hold off a few more … oh, fuck … just a little more …’

She bucked up as it hit her, riding fast through her explosive climax. He went deep one last time and her finger stilled over her clit as her sex squeezed around his length. This sensation of being utterly soaked with pleasure as his cock twitched inside held her suspended, heedless of the warning pangs from the muscles in her thighs and stomach that she had been contorted, nearly bent in half, in her lover’s climax.

With the ringing in her ears subsiding, Grace came back to life and shook herself until he released her and sagged back at his end of the sofa. One need sated, she was parched with the next immediate need and hobbled to her feet. From Caroway’s mini-fridge she pulled out a bottle of water and drank down half before offering it to the Breton-Craig man.

At first he looked at her like he didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there, but, just as she had, he shook it off and took the bottle from her. His gaze never left her as he drained the bottle, and Grace delved into the credenza behind Caroway’s desk.

His expression was amused as she laid out her emergency kit – moist towelettes, a small hairbrush and a secondary stash of make-up in her day colours, and a plastic zipper bag with extra panties. Caroway never went into his credenza; he wasn’t the type to look for something when he could call Grace and get her to do it, and so her stash was safe.

He pulled off the condom and dropped it into the wastebasket on top of her discarded wipes. ‘I was just making dirty talk, but you weren’t kidding. You do this a lot.’

There wasn’t any judgement in his tone, and so she chuckled as she wiped herself clean. ‘I’ve probably fucked more men here than I have in my own bed, but it’s not like I do this every day. I have my moments, and I told you I work long hours. Some weeks I live at my desk. I have to get laid when the opportunity presents itself’

‘And your bed, is it nearby?’

Grace perched on the edge of the desk and opened her compact in front of her. The damage wasn’t too bad. She looked fucked, but it was fixable.

She glanced at him. Her clit was still sensitive, but she was already cooling with the end of their fun. ‘You’re leaving on the red-eye.’

‘I don’t have to.’

Her gaze on her reflection, she started to powder her face. ‘Yes, you do, and I’ll be here half the night with no time for a second round. This has been great, but I’m afraid it’s not meant to be.’

As she lined her lips, he zipped himself up and moved on to the mirror by the door. From the corner of her eye she saw him fussing to put his hair back in place.

She knew what was coming out of his mouth next. There was always an excited tension that filled the room in the moments before the words, before that inevitable question surfaced.

‘Have you ever seen him?’

She pursed her lips, blew herself a kiss, then snapped the compact shut. ‘Seen who?’

‘Taureau.’

‘He doesn’t work in the office.’

‘I just thought he might, since we’re so close to his compound.’

Grace chuckled and went to work on smoothing out her suit. No stains. Perfect. ‘I don’t think it’s a compound. I think it’s just a house, and it’s not close. It’s ten hours between Toronto and Saguenay. Saying he’s that close is like saying Newfoundland is just a few doors down.’

‘He’s supposed to be in on our call this afternoon. Will I see him?’

‘No, you won’t. He’s like the Wizard of Oz. You’ll hear his voice but that’s all you’ll get.’

‘Is it true that woman cut half his face off and he wears a mask?’

‘Seriously, do you think a man with his money would be hiding out in the wilds of Quebec with no face like some third-rate Phantom of the Opera? He’s probably had it fixed, and besides, if you’d read the story, you’d know she didn’t cut his face off. She just sliced him up.’

‘They say he had her killed.’

She was starting to get irritated with the direction the conversation was veering. She’d had it dozens of times: every newcomer to the office thought, given Caroway’s position as president and her proximity as Caroway’s assistant, that she had seen the legendary Jacques Alain Taureau. She had no details to give them, and yet they persisted in gleefully throwing all these myths at her for her to confirm or refute, even after she had explained her ignorance.

She strode across the room to nudge him aside from the mirror, then went to work on her hair. ‘Unless he developed the power to give her breast cancer, I’m pretty sure he didn’t kill her.’

He leaned against the accent table beneath the mirror and grinned. ‘You’re defensive about him.’

‘I’m not defensive about anyone. I just hate repeating facts you can pluck off of the Internet.’ She pulled her blonde hair free of pins, and threw him an apologetic look as she ran a brush through the tangle. ‘Yes, Taureau is messed up. No, I’m not a part of his inner circle. When he’s involved in a call, I don’t even take minutes. If you want any more details from that, there’s a documentary online you can look at, but for now I suggest you stop thinking of him as a legend and start thinking of him as a colleague you need to impress. He doesn’t like stammering idiots, and I’ve seen a few walk out of the boardroom looking like they got a wedgie from the schoolyard bully.’

He said nothing as she stabbed and poked her hair back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck, but once she finished he reached out and ran a slender finger where her blouse split open just above her tits.

‘You could change your mind, you know. I just thought you might like me to finish what I started, and I have to say I’d love to see if your mouth sucks as good as your pussy.’

His words had the effect she was sure he intended. Just once she would have liked a little more than an hour or two. She would have liked to get to know one of these men who passed through the office. When the Breton-Craig team moved on, she’d go home and pour herself a glass of wine, have a long hot bath, spend a little quality time with the contents of her nightstand and wait until the next opportunity like this presented itself.

She stepped away from him and began collecting her things from Caroway’s desk. Once everything was in place and she had tied the garbage bag with the discarded condom in it, she glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Less than ten minutes. You’d better get going. Caroway will be coming back any second now and if you’re late you’ll miss the meeting. The doors are locked as soon as Taureau comes online.’

He went to the sofa and picked up his jacket. ‘Anything else I need to know about Taureau?’

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a wry smile. ‘Keep it short and don’t fuck up.’

She didn’t even know the name of the man from Philadelphia, she realised as she returned to her desk. Dan or Brent or something that clicked off the tongue during an introduction. Whatever his name was, he was smooth enough and he could talk. As long as he didn’t go long-winded, she had no doubt that the acquisition of Breton-Craig would be a done deal by the time the meeting was over, another financial notch on Taureau’s belt.

The clock read three minutes after two. She was tempted to take a stroll down the hall to see if anyone had taken too long to shake the piss off their dick and was locked out.

She’d long ago stopped questioning Taureau’s methods. From what Caroway and others had told her, the owner of Taureau-Werner Inc. came off as barely tolerant during every one of these meetings. If he was bored, he made it known. If he thought an idea or an opinion was stupid, he was quick to shred the offender.

Every so often in the office, there would be nostalgic talk about the days of the old man, Shane Werner, and his charm. Not many were alive who could remember the grandfather who had turned a small regional bus company into a conglomerate of airlines, hotels, restaurants and airport shops. Those who had worked for Werner, like Caroway, shook their heads and puzzled at how Shane had left the business to the grandson who was reportedly a mental case after his girlfriend tried to kill him.

Once the wild playboy, at the age of twenty-four Jacques had been attacked by his drug-addled lover. She slit his throat and carved up his face before turning the knife on herself. It was said that Jacques Alain Taureau wasn’t fit for the position of CEO. The torch should have been passed on to Jacques’s father, Dominic, who had earned himself a Senate seat after twenty years in politics, and was the polished type you would expect to excel in business.

And yet Taureau had done well in the decade since his grandfather’s death, in spite of the Howard Hughes mythology surrounding him. Since Grace had begun working for Taureau-Werner seven years ago, he’d acquired three smaller airlines and absorbed a chain of luxury hotels.

Breton-Craig didn’t own luxury hotels. They owned roadside motels across the Midwestern United States. The idea behind this merger was to revamp the brand and add a restaurant to each property. Breton-Craig would do the work while Taureau-Werner put in the capital and reaped the rewards.

She knew Caroway wasn’t entirely on board with this deal. He liked the shine of Taureau-Werner. He thought adding motor inns would tarnish the company’s reputation. Grace suspected that he had either kept his mouth shut about that or been put in his place by Taureau, and that once the money started coming in he’d shut his mouth for good.

Though Grace had put on a good front for the man from Breton-Craig, she had been left exhausted by their bout of fucking. It had burned off the tension that kept her alert, and the thought of having to stick around until after dark made her want to slip back into Caroway’s office and take a nap.

She settled for a half-hour coffee run and sent the phone to voicemail. One large coffee and something sugary would keep her going until she was able to head home.

* * *

‘It’s crazy,’ her mother said, and Grace leaned over the speaker and mouthed along to the next words. ‘Worse than crazy.’

With every call to her mother, Grace heard that expression at least four times. She couldn’t remember that phrase ever passing over Edwina’s lips when these conversations were face to face.

In fact, she didn’t recall, when her mother lived in town, talking this much about the weather, her cousin Martha’s hospital visits, her stepfather’s diabetes or people she’d never met. Before the move to Florida, they’d meet for tea and sandwiches on Sunday, or Grace would pop out for a long lunch so they could browse for nail polish at the mall. The conversation was light and Grace enjoyed the company.

Now the weekly conversation was just another obligation, and Grace spent the entire call looking for those cues that it was coming to an end. She called from her desk these days, knowing that Edwina wouldn’t delay her if she knew Grace hadn’t eaten or was at the end of a thirteen-hour day. When she hung up, the guilt would be heavy in her gut and she’d commit herself to showing more enthusiasm the next time she talked to Edwina. But she would still be glad it was over.

‘The next time you come down, I’ll get you to bring me some of those caramel cakes I used to get,’ Edwina said, and Grace closed her eyes to suppress a moan. She knew what was coming next.

‘I can mail them to you,’ she replied, and pushed her shoulders into the back of her seat. ‘They’ll be there in a week.’

‘No, I don’t want you to waste your money on postage.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll pick them up the next time I get groceries.’

‘I didn’t think you went grocery shopping anymore. The last time we were up your fridge was bare.’

‘Mom, stop.’

Grace didn’t need the reminder. Her fridge was bare most of the time. Her diet consisted of whatever could be found on the worn takeout menus from the break room and her fruit intake came entirely from the waxy pickings that collected dust at the café in the lobby. Every so often she’d get ambitious enough to have a cooking day, but whatever she made would be forgotten until she discovered some frost-caked plastic container in her fridge freezer.

‘You’re not drinking too much, are you?’

‘Mom, stop talking like I’m an alcoholic.’ She’d never be allowed to forget the presence of that quart of raspberry vodka in a fridge without milk or bread. ‘I don’t have time to be a drunk.’

‘Life isn’t all work, Gracie. You should get yourself a slow cooker –’

‘And I’d have to get up an hour early to cook.’

‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’ Edwina sounded defeated, and Grace got to her feet, trying to banish the thought that she was a horrible daughter.

‘I know you are, but I’m fine.’

‘Fine is what you tell people when you feel like shit.’

‘Mom –’

‘You should at least try and meet someone. It makes a huge difference when you have a warm body waiting for you when you get home.’

‘I really don’t want to discuss warm bodies with you,’ Grace said, and thought about shutting her mother up with details of the warm body she’d enjoyed earlier that day. ‘When did you develop such an interest in my social life, anyway? When you lived here you used to growl at me about having too big a social life.’

‘There’s a difference between being twenty years old and partying every night, and being thirty and spending all hours of the day at your desk. Have you tried that online dating?’

‘All right, I’m hanging up now.’ She couldn’t help laughing at her mother. It was like she was reading for the part of meddling mother in a romantic comedy. Maybe that’s what you became as you got older: a stock character.

‘I’ll give you a call next week?’ Grace asked. ‘I’ll mail you the caramel cakes next week, and I don’t want to hear anything about the postage.’

She disconnected but stayed sitting at her desk, turning her can of diet soda back and forth, until the guilt passed. Then she headed towards the boardroom.

If it hadn’t been Friday, Grace would have left the boardroom mess until the morning and been on the road with drive-thru and sleep on the agenda. Because the hard work was over for now, and because she was alone on the thirteenth floor, she took a moment to herself.

The acquisition was successful. Breton-Craig was now a part of Taureau-Werner.

She slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes into the expensive carpet, popped the top two buttons of her blouse, then sank back into the leather chair at the head of the conference table. All that was missing was a bottle of wine.

No doubt there were a few stragglers somewhere in the building trying to make a deadline, but aside from the cleaning crew and security she was alone. Especially on the thirteenth floor, the executive floor, where there was no one.

The view of the city skyline was ethereal, bringing to mind Zeus and his kin looking down on earth from Olympus. It was easy to imagine that the small world below could be so easily manipulated by a whim from above, that she could reach out and nudge a building out of the way to enhance her view.

She remained there overlooking creation for what seemed like hours, until something as common as the water cooler gurgling brought her back. It was a hateful intrusion, a reminder that she was no goddess and there was no real peace to be found in the Taureau-Werner building.

Grace didn’t dwell on it. She’d heard enough whining from the rest of the staff during the day; she didn’t want to hear it in her head when she had all this before her at the end of the day.

You’re tired. You’re cranky. You need sleep. Tomorrow, everything will look less grey.

She rose and stretched. Joints popped, and a yawn crawled up her throat. She went around the table and collected empty coffee cups and soiled napkins, wiped crumbs away and set all the chairs in perfect formation.

As she reached for the OFF button on the projector at the centre of the table, the room lit up. Reflected on the screen at the end of the table, the laptop had come out of sleep mode. The text on the screen informed her that a call was coming in from JAT: Jacques Alain Taureau.

For a moment, she was unsure whether to answer. There was no reason for him to be calling now. It had been Taureau who had adjourned the meeting.

Just the thought of Taureau made her nervous. She’d been telling the Breton-Craig man the truth: she never had any personal contact with him, and to her knowledge he never left his house in rural Quebec.

Though she wasn’t one for sharing gossip, Grace couldn’t help but absorb it when in earshot. There were so many stories out there. She’d heard from some that his face was like Frankenstein’s monster’s, while others said that he had had extensive plastic surgery to fix the damage.

He’d called in to the afternoon meeting with voice only. He was calling her now with full video.

After a moment, he disconnected and Grace exhaled.

It had just been a mistake, maybe a slip of a finger. Yet as she moved to the conference console the screen lit up with the words JAT INCOMING VIDEO CALL.

She quickly turned the lights back on, and then pressed the receiver button.

It took a moment to make out shape from shadow. A man was in near-darkness, sitting partially off-camera. All that was revealed to her was a broad arm and shoulder, an ear surrounded by dark hair that curled around a wide neck, the corner of a mouth, and one heavy-lidded dark eye.

Grace straightened and smiled. ‘Good evening, Mr Taureau.’

He said nothing, and a prickle ran across her neck. Taureau’s one-eyed gaze was so intense she didn’t feel the need to speak again. She knew that he heard her.

‘Miss Neely, isn’t it?’

Grace nodded. ‘Mr Caroway’s assistant. I’m afraid everyone’s gone home.’

‘Everyone but you.’

She couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or was merely amused. Taureau rarely spoke, but when he did it was a startling experience. She’d seen video clips of him in his youth. He’d had a silky voice with that fluid French-Canadian accent. Now, with apparent damage to his vocal cords, his voice was like the kind of smoke found in an anonymous bar, equal parts seductive and menacing.

Tucking her hands behind her back, she offered him a bright smile. ‘I’m just finishing up.’

‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’

Without the benefit of his expression, Grace couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic. She didn’t care for the question. She’d already had her weekly reminder of the lack of social intercourse in her life. Still, she didn’t falter. ‘It’s been a month of long nights. I was just about to be on my way.’

He moved slightly, enough to reveal the scar beneath this eye. Of all the rumours she’d heard, this was a fact: he had been left with scars as a gruesome memorial of what had happened to him.

‘I’ve seen you here late before, alone. Almost every night I see you in this office, but it doesn’t seem like a burden to you like it does with others.’

‘This is a demanding job, sir. If I didn’t –’

‘You seem to thrive on it, though. The more pressed you are to perform, the happier you seem.’

Grace couldn’t loosen her tongue. Her thoughts buzzed inside her head, impossibilities shifting from ghostly and translucent to solid and real. Here she was having a casual conversation with an enigma, and he was telling her that he had been watching her.

The tips of her fingers tingled, and then went numb with cold shock.

He’s seen everything.

Still, she kept smiling as he went on.

‘You’re not married.’ It was a statement, not a question.

She shrugged. ‘I prefer my independence.’

‘As do I. Some people just don’t get it, do they? Like the mother you were talking to earlier. She doesn’t understand why someone would choose to be alone.’

‘I don’t –’ She caught herself before she could tell him she didn’t choose to be alone. She simply was alone, because that was the life she had made. She had very few regrets, and when she did they were fleeting.

‘I have people in my life like that,’ he said, and laughed. It was a cynical sound he seemed to cover up after a moment. ‘Though I suppose it would be absurd to compare our situations, wouldn’t it? There’s a big difference between thriving on constant activity like you do and … well, me. Still, there’s something to be said for solitude, isn’t there, Miss Neely?’

‘Is that why you called in tonight?’ she asked, sure her voice shook a little as she did.

‘Are you asking if I’m looking for someone to validate my disdain for being alone? Am I so lonely I’d watch you like some horror-movie stalker? No, and there’s no need to be defensive, though I can hardly blame you after what I’ve seen. You’re often here alone, but sometimes you’re not alone.’

A cold chill settled in every bone. Grace sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. She let the smile go, but held her chin high.

So this is it. This is the moment when all those sinful little indiscretions are laid out before her. She’d always worried it would happen, but she could never have imagined Jacques Alain Taureau would be the one she’d be exposed to.

After a moment, she said, ‘Mr Taureau, sir, am I fired?’

‘Something else we have in common,’ Taureau went on, his tone as cool as ever. ‘I like discretion. I like control. I like knowing that once we’ve both gotten what we want, there’ll be no complications to follow.’

She couldn’t deny that his outlook mirrored hers, but it bothered her that it had been so obvious to him.

‘May I ask you something?’ she asked.

‘Please.’

‘Do you have cameras everywhere?’

‘I do, but not the CCTV monitored by security. My own.’

‘With sound.’

The corner of his eye crinkled. What she could see of his mouth twitched. Was that a smile? She couldn’t tell, and his voice betrayed no emotion, let alone amusement.

‘No one knows about it but me and a few trusted acquaintances.’

‘And me.’

‘But you’re not going to tell anyone.’

There it was: the challenge. She wasn’t going to reveal his secret and she knew it.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Why not?’

She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘For one, I understand your reasons. It’s not enough to keep your enemies close. You want to be able to manipulate them and if you know their secrets, you can pre-empt any moves against you.’

‘And for another?’

She began moving around the table. ‘Because I’m not stupid, Mr Taureau. I assume you put the cameras here in October when the room was being renovated. You’ve seen me with about five different men in this office.’

She could have sworn that smile got wider. He moved, his elbow now on the arm of the chair and his fingers against his temple. ‘Six men, actually. Not to mention the three times you sucked off John Stamp at his desk when you had your Christmas fling.’

Grace stopped at the head of the table and leaned back. Inside, she was spiralling. Outside, she matched his composure. ‘You are thorough.’

‘So are you, in more ways than one.’

She curled her fingers around the edge of the table. ‘Am I fired?’

‘What was his name? The last one, the one in Caroway’s office today.’

‘Sir, I’d like an answer to my question.’

‘You’re very formal. It’s like an on-and-off switch. I think you’re trying to take control away from me, like you do with your lovers.’ His chair squeaked as he leaned back. Still, he remained hidden in shadow. ‘No, you’re not fired. Not if you tell me his name.’

‘I don’t think –’

The room filled with a chaotic sound: a woman moaning, panting, urging.

‘You are hungry for a cock, aren’t you?’

Grace couldn’t breathe as she stared at the man in shadow and listened to the grainy voice of her man from Breton-Craig, and then her own.

‘You want to watch me rub my pussy while you fuck me?’

‘Spread you open and keep you wet like this all night long.’

‘Oh, fuck … just a little more …’

The sound cut off.

‘His name.’

If she couldn’t remember before, there was no way she’d think of it now. Her brain was fried. She no longer felt cold; she was on fire.

It was another moment before her tongue loosened. ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember. He’s an executive with Breton-Craig. We flirted at dinner last night.’

‘Did you fuck him last night or did you wait until this afternoon?’

Though she was beginning to feel cornered, she refused to give up her composure. She spoke matter-of-factly. ‘No. He was drunk by the end of the night, and I needed to be here at seven o’clock.’

‘Did you want to last night?’

Grace nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

He said nothing, and she was fraught with turmoil. Taureau had been right; the need for control gnawed at her. She took the opportunity in his silence to try and gain some semblance of an upper hand.

She gripped the edge of the table. ‘Is this the real reason you rang me tonight? You want the filthy details?’

‘I don’t need filthy details. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. No, I was curious. At one point in the video from today you looked right at the camera. I wanted to find out whether you were that clever and knew you were being watched.’

He moved again, this time to reveal a little more of his face. He had a strong chin dappled with whiskers and a wide mouth. The burgundy shirt he wore was unbuttoned partway to reveal a lightly furred chest. Just the slightest hint of a naked body gave her a thrill she had to suppress.

‘How do you feel about being watched? Be honest with me.’

‘How do you know I’d be telling you the truth when my livelihood is hanging in the balance?’

‘Is it? I thought we’d settled this when you admitted you didn’t know his name. Miss Neely, I’m not firing you. Now please, tell me how you feel about being watched.’

She had the urge to avert her gaze as a shiver teased between her shoulder blades. Indeed, when she made her connections at the office there was always the thrill of being caught, but that thrill only shimmered through her as she and her lover secreted themselves away. She wasn’t doing it because of any penchant for being watched.

‘I’ve never thought about it until tonight,’ she said honestly. ‘It’s never been my fantasy.’

‘Anonymous sex is your fantasy.’

‘It’s not anonymous,’ she insisted, then laughed at herself. ‘It’s not entirely anonymous. I do get their names most of the time.’

‘That’s more than I can say about my own activities these days, Miss Neely.’ Taureau chuckled, a low sound that surrounded her. ‘You’re evading my question again. Now that you know you’ve been watched all this time, how do you feel?’

‘Hot.’ His mouth twitched as the admission raced electric through her veins. ‘I would feel different if I found out there was a security guard jerking off somewhere, or if I caught someone peeking through a crack in the door.’

‘You’ve been lucky. No one’s caught on yet.’

‘But you have, and now that I know you’ve seen everything …’ She darted her gaze from side to side, wondering if he could see the slight movement as she pressed her thighs together. ‘You must know that’s one hell of a fantasy you’re peddling: a rich, brooding stranger watching me from the shadows while I’m bent over a table or a desk with a hard cock pounding between my legs.’

A sharp hissing sound came from the speakers. Grace couldn’t help smiling.

‘Is that what you needed to hear so you won’t feel like a pervert the next time you’re rubbing out while watching me?’

‘There you go again, trying to get control from me. One would think you like to be in charge, but we both know that’s not true. You like to be pushed around a little. You like to be told what to do.’

Regardless of how many miles separated them, Grace still felt the shift. It rushed up around her, leaving her light-headed as arousal weighed her down.

‘It’s late,’ she said quietly. ‘If you have no more questions for me, I should be on my way.’

‘I’m not quite ready to say good night yet,’ he answered quickly. ‘I enjoy talking to you. Too many people tell me what I want to hear, and apologise when I question them. You’re quite fearless.’

Taureau went silent. On the screen she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. When the pulse stopped, when he held his breath, so did she.

Something was about to happen. Even if she could think clearly, she doubted whether she could imagine what it might be, but whatever it was she was more than ready for it.

He moved again, withdrawing further into shadow. ‘I want you to ask me again if there’s anything you can do for me, Miss Neely.’

‘Mr Taureau,’ she said, but had a hard time accepting that the sultry voice she heard was actually hers, ‘is there anything I can do for you?’

The silence stretched on and on as the warmth flowed. A faint current went through her abdomen.

Finally, Taureau said, ‘Show me your garters.’

‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’

She thanked years of being able to stay focused under pressure for the steadiness in her voice and in her hands as she reached down, even as her heart began to drum a little faster.

Her gaze fixed on the screen, Grace worked the skirt up, tugging one side at a time until the hem brushed the tops of her stockings.

Taureau remained unmoving, his half-smile turning up the corner of his mouth. His dark sorcerer’s eyes seemed to look inside her.

When she had revealed just an inch of the garter, she stopped.

‘Turn around. Keep going.’

Grace obeyed. She wished she could see what he saw as she worked her skirt up around her waist. She could only imagine: black stockings, the creamy skin above bisected by the garters, her ass bare save for the skinny thong she wore.

When she was exposed to him, she looked over her shoulder. ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

‘One hand on the table. Touch yourself with the other.’

The fever inside her built, moving like a match to gasoline. Her face was on fire. She worked hard to draw a breath in and out.

Grace bent forward, hand flat on the surface of the conference table. Looking straight ahead, she was faced with the same skyline she had been admiring only minutes ago. The pink hues that had streaked across the sky had gone translucent and the moonlight bled through.

Goose flesh rose on her arms and legs. A thrill went up her spine. She knew even before she slipped her hand between her legs that she would find her panties soaked through.

‘Mr Taureau,’ she said in a murmur as she slid her fingers along the outline of her pussy, ‘tell me what I can do for you.’

An intake of breath preceded his words. The moment seemed to go on and on in silence as she stroked herself, her heart drumming faster and louder while she waited.

Finally: ‘Come for me.’

She couldn’t stop the moan that slipped over her lips and dissipated into the quiet. Closing her heavy lids so the panorama before her became a smudge, Grace ran her finger up and down. Her juices seeped through the thin lace barrier, wetting her fingertips.

The world was surreal to her. It was as though she was participating in something that shouldn’t be: caught at last taking her pleasure at work, ensnared by the mythical Taureau himself in this wicked game.

‘Spread yourself a little more for me.’

‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’ She could barely get the words around her thick, useless tongue. She gave up on it and pressed the tip to the roof of her mouth. Placing her feet wider apart, she lifted her ass and rubbed herself through her panties.

With every moment she grew wetter and hotter. Desperation was beginning to set in. The pressure against her clit wasn’t enough. Without waiting for his directive, Grace slipped her fingers beneath the band of fabric and delved into the wet heat she found.

All around was his heavy breathing and the unmistakable sound of shifting clothes. ‘Stop. Turn around.’

Her knees were weak as she pushed herself upright. She said a prayer in her head that he wouldn’t draw out her pleasure or, worse, deny it. Now that she was under his spell, she would do what he asked.

Facing the screen, Grace gritted her teeth at the sight of him now. He had moved the computer, the camera, whatever it was he used. In addition to his hard mouth and strong chin, she now discovered him shirtless with his pants bunched at his knees. His cock was delectably thick and long, the smooth underside meeting an inflamed crown, the tip shining with precome.

‘Tell me,’ she said, her voice cracking as she watched him tug the skin along the shaft, ‘tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Strip down to only the garters and stockings.’

Her hands shaking and her fingers almost useless, she fumbled to shuck off her blouse and skirt. It seemed like she’d never free herself of her bra. She sighed with relief as the garment finally gave way and the straps slid down her shoulders.

The sound of his breath came in hard, static spurts. That almost-smile was back on his mouth. His hand slowly worked the thick-veined column he held in his palm.

Finally, he spoke. ‘On the table. Lie back and spread for me.’

She obeyed and perched on the edge of the table, then leaned backwards and propped herself on her elbows. Dragging the soles of her shoes across the polished surface, she drew her knees close to her and spread them as far apart as she could.

‘Like this?’

He grunted, and the rhythm of his hand picked up pace. ‘Show me.’

Grace’s words came out as a whisper. ‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’

She ran her hand from the hollow of her throat, scraping her fingernails over her breastbone, between her breasts, and lower, lower, lower until the tips of her fingers met slick flesh.

Teasing herself, teasing him, she ran the pad of her middle finger back and forth over the soft hood covering her clit. It was a technique she had never used when performing for a lover. This was hers alone, and she joyfully gave it to him.

As her finger worked and her clit swelled from its sheath, Grace chewed her bottom lip and watched his performance. Her mouth watered as she watched that big hand squeezing his dark cock.

She longed to have it in her mouth at that moment, sliding back and forth between her lips and over her tongue while she touched herself.

‘Is this what you do?’ she asked, fingers slipping lower to tease at the wet mouth below. ‘I mean, do you prefer to watch rather than take part?’

‘It depends on my mood.’ His voice trembled in sync with the motions of his big hand. ‘Sometimes I pay people to come to me just to perform. Sometimes I pay them to fuck.’

‘Why pay them?’

‘It’s easier to keep them quiet that way.’

A stab of irritation went through her. She didn’t like the implication that she was anything like the people she paid. She lifted her head to glare at the screen, but he cut her to the quick.

‘The conversation is over, Miss Neely. You should be focused on what you can do for me, and right now you can show me how you finger-fuck yourself.’

Grace’s combativeness fizzled and was wholly replaced by the need to come for him. Her gaze still on the screen, where he jerked his cock with steady strokes, she matched his pace. She plunged her fingers deep into her pussy, then withdrew completely to slide up to her clit.

A damp fever formed on her cheeks, across her neck, under her arms, behind her knees and between her legs. The only way to expel the energy threatening to burn her up was in strangled whimpers that coincided with guttural moans from Taureau.

‘Come on, Miss Neely,’ he said in a growl. ‘Let me see you get off before I do.’

At this order she gave all, opening up as far as she could for him as she strummed her clit. Friction started an unstoppable fire that instantly enveloped her.

Though she hated to drag her gaze from him, she tilted her head back and gave in to splotches of coloured lights that accompanied the sudden tremor racing up and down her pussy that culminated in a glorious explosion.

Through the red cloud of need broken by white jolts of electricity, she was acutely aware that Taureau was attuned to everything. If he had been in the same room with her, she couldn’t have felt his presence more. As the last few throbs rendered her useless, she smiled and plunged her fingers into herself. Taureau made a choking sound, and Grace opened her eyes and lifted her head in time to see the first eruption rain down on his hand.

Licking her lips, she watched him to the finish, until his hand fell away and what she could see of his body went lifeless.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to rouse him, and in the end decided to simply flop back and try to catch her breath.

Worrisome reality nudged her but she shooed it away. She didn’t have it in her to think about her position with the company, or even the next few moments, in which Taureau could say anything.

The moment had to end, and it did with the sound of Taureau moving. Grace lifted her head and saw his bare ass fill the screen as he stood turned away from her and cleaned himself up.

She pushed herself to the edge of the table and hopped off. All was so silent as she wriggled back into her skirt that she feared he’d disconnected, but when she turned she found him in the same position as at the start, leaning back with his hand on his chin and watching her.

‘You won’t fuck any more strangers or co-workers in my building,’ he said. ‘If you open your legs in this room or any other room, it will be for me.’

Grace straightened, a sad attempt at composure considering how dishevelled she felt. Still, she smiled. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Taureau?’

His chuckle was so wicked it transformed Grace’s smile into something naughty. ‘Miss Neely, there are many things you can do for me, and in time you will.’

Grace tingled with pleasure as she leaned against the table and crossed one foot over the other. ‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’

Chapter Two

Grace prided herself in excelling under pressure. Most of the biggest fuck-ups in the office landed at her desk, and without flinching she merely forged ahead, coming out on the other side of carnage victorious.

But, riding the elevator to the thirteenth floor the next morning, she was actually sweating.

After she’d disconnected with Taureau, after she’d gotten behind the wheel of her SUV and picked up supper, after she’d gone nose-deep into the bath, she’d been calm. She’d actually been proud of herself for performing so well at Taureau’s edicts, and grew unspeakably hot as she remembered how he’d told her to finger-fuck herself.

She crawled into bed and killed the light and replayed the entire evening for about an hour before pulling out her vibrator. That gravel voice was in her head as she rolled the tapered end around her clit, and she screamed through one climax before plunging the vibe deep and bringing forth another.

Daylight was a different matter. She opened her eyes and stared at the toy she’d left discarded on the rug by her bedside. It all came back to her in a wave, but she was far from in the mood to relive that illicit encounter in the boardroom.

I’m going to get fired today.

As she prepared her coffee, double her usual amount – she had slept deep, but not long – she found herself wondering about Taureau’s mental state. She had never believed that he was mad, like some said. Paranoid, yes, but she doubted anyone would be completely there upstairs if they’d been butchered in their own bed.

Though he had been the intruder and had instigated their pornographic game last night, by the time she hit the shower she had convinced herself that Taureau had set a trap for her, that he had eased her anxieties with that little spiel about solitude only to bully her into putting on a show, shame her with one last performance, and send the evidence to Caroway.

But he didn’t bully you into anything, did he?

And that was the worst of it. If she’d become the pawn of a crazy recluse for one night, there was no one to blame but herself. She’d put herself in this position. From the first quickie in the ladies’ room with that intern to the hard fuck with her Breton-Craig man the day before, she’d screwed around at the office and she had been caught.

Even if she had enjoyed herself immensely with him, this was all on her shoulders.

That it was Taureau who had done the catching was irrelevant. She had to accept responsibility and hope that Caroway was generous enough to give her a civil referral. After all, she had been one hell of an assistant when she wasn’t on her back or on her knees for someone else.

Still, she wasn’t relishing the humiliation that was coming. The thought of sitting across from Caroway, waiting for him to get through his gratitude for her years of service and waiting for the axe to fall on her career and reputation, made her sick.

Stepping off the elevator onto the thirteenth floor, Grace held her head high. She strode between the rows of cubicles and through the glass partition separating Caroway’s office from the rest of the floor. His door was closed and she could hear his voice as she booted up her computer.

Her insides were ice as she sank down. She imagined him talking to Taureau, shaking his head as he watched scene after scene of Grace’s hook-ups.

Ten minutes passed and stretched into twenty. She couldn’t concentrate beyond the murmur coming from behind that heavy door. She scrolled through every email and, when it became clear she hadn’t retained a damn word, marked them all as unread. Then she just sat there with her hands folded in front of her and waited.

At Caroway’s sudden bark of laughter she jumped, then sat back. The tension in her limbs eased a little. He wasn’t talking to Taureau. Caroway didn’t joke with Taureau. No one joked with Taureau, she’d been told.

And so what? Now you have to just keep sweating.

She dug into her bottom drawer and pulled out her Dictaphone. There was nothing on her plate now that the Breton-Craig deal was done, but she couldn’t stand not having something to concentrate on. Transcribing minutes was as mundane as you could get, but she could put all of her attention into following the conversation that flowed into her ear.

Caroway eventually emerged from his office and chirped his morning greeting. Grace tried her best to return it, but the words came out deflated. Once his back was to her, as he made his jolly morning jaunt to his scheduled meeting, she sagged in her seat and decided that she was doing sweet fuck all that day unless he dropped something urgent on her desk.

Resigned to playing the waiting game, she opened her browser and clicked in the search bar. Her fingers paused over the keyboard as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

As she pressed down on the ‘J’ and a list of suggestions popped up, a spark of rebellion went through her. She swept her gaze around the office.

Was he watching? If she typed in the name, would he see it? Was he monitoring her computer? Was her work area important enough to monitor? Caroway’s office, obviously, but her little nook? Was there a camera hidden in the smoke detector above her office? Was her webcam wired to secretly feed back to some command central Taureau had set up for himself?

It wasn’t a crazy notion. Big Brother had nothing on Taureau’s set-up.

‘JACQUES ALAIN TAUREAU,’ she typed, and peered at the rows and rows of results that appeared in her browser.

She clicked on the first web encyclopedia page. Nothing too salacious here, but she still read through the section of his early life with interest:

Jacques Alain Taureau was born in Ottawa, Ontario.

His father, Dominic, was the son of a lobster fisherman and a schoolteacher from Mont Carmel, New Brunswick, near Shediac. Dominic worked on the lobster boats from the time he was twelve to fifteen, at which time he left home for Moncton and then Montreal. He returned a decade later with an education and began work in Saint John for a politician, and eventually won his seat as a Liberal MP. During his time in Montreal, Dominic married socialite Theresa Werner. Dominic and Theresa had one child, Jacques.

Jacques grew up in Montreal and spent his summers in Mont Carmel, spoiled by his mother and groomed by his grandfather to take over the family airline, but when he was a teen his partying ways led him to drugs and alcohol. He barely made it through university and dropped out of grad school. Famously described by his father as a ‘disappointment’ during the 1997 Federal election, Taureau frequently made headlines due to his multiple arrests, outbursts of violence, and trips to rehab. In April 1997, Taureau was arrested in in Simcoe County, north of the Greater Toronto Area, when his vehicle was pulled over for speeding. Marijuana and heroin were discovered on his person. He was sentenced to probation and required to undergo compulsory drug testing.

There was a small photo inlaid with the text: Taureau’s mugshot.

Even wrecked, he wore a panty-creaming smirk and blue bedroom eyes. Grace conjured up what little of him she had seen the previous night, but couldn’t see that arrogant smirk on the man who had ordered her to come for him.

Throughout most of the strife, Taureau was involved with Bette (Elizabeth) Laurin, whom he met his last year of high school. She and Taureau had a toxic relationship, and her drug use reportedly eclipsed even Taureau’s. Those who knew Laurin described her as volatile when she was high, and during one of Taureau’s stays in rehab she was arrested for domestic assault on Jeffrey Brown, with whom she was having a sexual relationship in Taureau’s absence. These charges were later dropped at Brown’s request.

The next section dealt exclusively with what Taureau was most famous for: the night almost sixteen years ago when Taureau woke up to Bette Laurin sitting on his chest with a knife in her hand.

Another mug shot, this one of Bette Laurin. Grace had been a teenager when the attack happened, and she had seen photos on news shows of Laurin and Taureau together. They were Barbie and Ken on cocaine. In this picture, Bette was the aftermath of a horror movie. Mascara ran down her face and her lipstick was smeared. Her blonde hair was mussed and caked with something black that Grace guessed was dried blood. The woman wore such a look of anguish that Grace felt a pang of sympathy for her.

What would she have been if she had lived a different life? During the trial, accusations of sexual abuse as a child had been used to explain the bad turns she’d taken in her life. No one had believed her, until her mother came forward and confirmed that Bette’s father had brutalised her. It wasn’t enough to garner sympathy among the jury.

As the article confirmed, Elizabeth Laurin had been sentenced to ten years. She probably would have gotten less if it wasn’t for the furore Dominic Taureau and Shane Werner had created in the media.

With the death of Shane Werner in 2004, he inherited his grandfather’s multinational aerospace and transportation company, Werner Transport, and renamed it Taureau-Werner Inc., He operates as Chief Executive Officer from his rumored home outside of Saguenay, Quebec. In 2005, he named Hugh Caroway as Executive Vice President of Taureau-Werner. Caroway acts in Taureau’s absence when necessary.

Since the attack, Taureau has lived his life out of the public eye. It is rumored that he suffers from depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder and extreme paranoia. Upon Laurin’s death in 2005 of breast cancer, Taureau refused comment (although Dominic Taureau claimed to speak for the entire family when he told a reporter, ‘good riddance’).

She next tried an image search. There weren’t even any photos of Taureau during the trial: apparently he had been let into the courtroom via a private entrance. The only thing she found was a sketch artist’s drawing, blurry and indistinct with only slashes of pink to represent his scars. Nothing after the trial, nothing in the last fifteen years. Nothing until he had showed himself to her the previous night.

Grace sat back and processed what she had read. Did this story really tell her anything about Taureau? That he’d been damaged by the attack? That he had preferred, and obviously still did prefer, his lovers with a streak of adventure?

She pulled open her top drawer and dug deep. She kept her emergency pack of cigarettes taped to the back panel, and for seven months she’d kept her hands off it, but what she wrapped her hand around wasn’t her cigarettes. It wasn’t a stapler or half a box of ballpoint pens.

She closed her fingers and electricity shot through her. She didn’t need to look to know her hand was wrapped around the smooth shaft of a vibrator.

Her temperature rising, she crooked her head and took a second sweep of the office.

An unfamiliar sound drew her attention to her computer screen where a small notification flashed before her eyes. No one in the office used the IM function of their email program any more. There had been too much abuse, and so it had been disabled.

She closed her drawer and moved her mouse to open the message from JAT.

OTHER DRAWER.

There it was, sitting in her tray on top of a mound of paper clips. It looked like a perfume roll-on, but the engraved writing on the cylinder read ‘Breathless Sensations Clitoral Gel.’ She’d read reviews of this stuff but had never taken it off her wish list.

Another line of text joined the first.

OFFICE.

She moved the cursor to the text area, but discovered that she couldn’t add her own message. It was symbolic of this whole thing: he could push her buttons from afar, but she was powerless to reciprocate.

Turning her screen off as she rose, Grace looked through the partition at the rest of the staff. Some bounced from cubicle to cubicle. Others typed furiously, earbuds drowning out the noise around them. No one paid her any attention as she took the vibrator and lube from her desk and slipped into Caroway’s office.

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, she heard the muffled ring of a telephone. She knew right where to look. There in the credenza, next to her emergency supplies, was an iPhone, face lit up with an incoming call from JAT.

She cradled the phone against her ear.

‘It’s not like you were going to do anything today, anyway,’ he murmured in that sinfully raspy voice.

Grace suppressed the shiver that danced along her spine. ‘You move fast. How did you get them into my desk so quickly? And this phone? You didn’t do it yourself.’

‘I have people who do that sort of thing for me. There’s a headset in with your stash. Put it on. I want your hands free.’

Digging into the credenza, she tingled as she thought of him the previous night, laid back in his chair looking at her like she was dinner. Her fingers trembled as she worked the earpiece in. She loathed wearing a headset, ever since her first job working at a call centre selling newspaper subscriptions, and preferred a crick in the neck over mobility, but, as soon as static crackled in her hear and she heard Taureau breathing, her heart beat faster at the thought of him giving those orders practically in her brain.

‘There, that’s better,’ he went on with laughter on his voice. ‘Now take your clothes off.’

She thought back to that mugshot she’d seen only moments ago, and couldn’t put that tweaked-out young man together with the voice in her head.

‘The morning meeting isn’t going to go on for ever,’ she reminded him, turning in a circle as she shimmied out of her cardigan. ‘Where do you want me to look?’

‘Don’t worry, I can see you, and the meeting will go on as long as I want it to.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I have someone in that room that makes sure it does.’

The authority in his voice was like a drug shot into her veins. She tossed the sweater onto the floor and went to work on the belt bisecting her dress. She let it fall and reached behind for her zipper. ‘Do you have a hard-on?’

‘Shush …’

There was only the sound of his breathing as she completed her disrobing. No garters and thong today. She had dressed in anticipation of getting canned. Navy bikinis and a bra to match were as wild as it got.

‘Everything,’ he said when she was down to her wedge sandals.

‘You know, I’ve never been completely stripped down in here,’ she said, and kicked her shoes under the desk.

‘I know. You seem to like getting fucked while you’re half-dressed. Go over to the conference table, and take your gifts with you.’

‘Is that what these are?’ She held up the vibrator as she strode towards the table. She tossed the lube onto the surface and placed her palm flat on the edge. ‘Do you want me like last night?’

‘No, I want you on your back to start.’

She stood on her toes and lifted her knee to the edge of the table, then stopped and looked around. ‘Why do I still have a job?’

He chuckled, so low and lovely. ‘Because you were a very good girl last night and you did exactly what I told you to.’

‘Fair enough,’ she said, out of breath.

She felt as though she was moving underwater as she climbed onto the table. Glancing around, she rolled onto her ass. The surface had never felt cooler, or perhaps it was because she was so hot.

‘I still don’t know where to look.’

‘Don’t look, just listen.’

As his words simmered in her blood, Grace leaned back on one elbow. ‘Tell me.’

‘Show me how wet you are.’

Her thighs trembled as she drew her knees apart, escalating to a hot shiver as she exposed herself to him. She slowly danced her fingers over her belly and into the waiting wet heat. As she stroked herself, the pulse of his breath picked up. She held hers, hoping to hear the sounds of clothes rustling or even a zipper, but there was only that sharp in-and-out.

‘Wet, but not wet enough,’ he murmured. ‘I think it’s about time you tried out that lube.’

Her fingers shook as she drew the lube closer. ‘I’ve always wanted to try this.’

‘Just use a little on the tip of your finger.’

She squeezed a dollop onto her finger and brought it up to her nose. ‘Minty. Must be like an Altoids kiss.’

‘A what?’

‘It’s when a man sucks a mint before going down on you. I read about it in Cosmo when I was in university and I wanted to give it a try, but my roommate beat me to the punch. She had a reaction and ended up in the hospital.’ She grinned and swept the tip of her finger around her clit. ‘I trust you spent a little more than the cost of an Altoids on this.’

‘If you could see yourself when you come, you’d agree there’s no price too high. Open up a little more for me.’

Grace drew her feet closer to her ass until there was nothing left to show. She didn’t feel any difference with the lube, not yet, but having him pull her strings once more had her dripping.

‘What would you do to me if you had me?’ she whispered. She needed to keep him talking as she rolled her finger around and around her clit.

And there in her ear, she heard it: the rustling of his clothes and the creak of his chair as he undressed, and the quick intake of his breath as he began to touch himself. She closed her eyes and summoned forth the image of his glorious, glistening cock.

‘Just like you are,’ he said, his voice shaky now, ‘spread out like that and squirming while I play with your clit.’

‘Oh, yes.’

She dropped back again, all the way down, and closed her eyes. She imagined herself from above, sprawled out like she was at that moment, but with a shadowy figure kneeling between her legs. She could almost feel his thick fingers stroking through the pink, wet heat he found.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said again, rolling the hard bud under her middle finger. ‘Yes, tell me more.’

‘You tell me,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me what you would do to please me.’

The crackle of static gave his voice an unearthly quality, once more the sorcerer prying into her thoughts. She pushed the balls of her feet against the hard surface of the table and rocked her ass in tune with her finger. She lived and breathed the fantasy behind her eyes of being slowly undone by her faceless lover.

Grace slid two fingers lower and pushed into the wetness. She didn’t go any further than the first joints. She needed to tease herself, to prolong this sweet torture as long as it suited him.

‘You want to watch me squirm. I can tell, and so you’ll make me squirm.’

‘How?’

‘I want your tongue on my clit. You know how badly I want you to lick me, to suck me, but you need me ready for you. A wet hole isn’t good enough, not for you.’ She squeezed her lids shut and quaked as she flexed her fingers at the mouth of her cunt. ‘You want me hungry.’

‘Back up to your clit,’ he said, breathless in her ear, and sucked in a quick breath as she delved a little deeper. ‘Grace, do as I say.’

His command was just as powerful as the sensation of being stretched, and she bit her lip and complied. She wondered if he had the perfect view of what he had done to her.

‘I’ll beg for something more, but you’ll just tease me.’ Two fingers on either side of her clit, she moaned as such a teasing touch sent a hot spasm though her. ‘Oh, wow, I think that stuff is really starting to work.’

‘Keep talking. You’ll beg for something.’

‘Oh, I’ll beg you, all right, but it won’t be enough. You’ll play with me, just like this, maybe using your fingers in my pussy like I just did to make me crazy.’

She shook her head, pushing up faster as the slight pinch evoked another throb. The shuffling sounds on the other end of the line became more pronounced. Though faint, she caught the squelch of flesh against flesh, his cock in his palm.

She opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. ‘You’ll tease me while you’re doing it. You’ll have your cock in hand, using my juices as lube, and you’ll make me watch you jerk off while you finger me.’

‘It’ll make you want it more.’

Nodding, Grace cranked her wrist and let the pleasure build and build. ‘You won’t let me have it, though. You let me know it, too. You might kneel up here by my head and let me suck your cock, but you won’t fuck me, and then you won’t even touch me any more.’

Her fingers stilled. She felt around her for the vibrator.

‘You’ll stand over me, knowing how bad I want you to do whatever you want at this point. Fuck my pussy, my mouth, my ass, but you get off on keeping me from coming. You know –’

‘How hungry you’ll be for my cock if I keep it from you a little longer.’

‘Yes, exactly, and so you show me what I can’t have.’ The vibrator in hand, she touched the button on the base of the shaft. ‘All you leave me with is this, knowing it will never be good enough.’

Engrossed completely in her fantasy, she pressed the tip of the vibe to her clit. It took only seconds for her sex to adjust to the sudden vibration, and then she turned it up almost all the way.

‘Close your eyes and keep talking. Tell me.’

He was puffing now, his authority cracking as desperation took over.

‘So close. God, you’re so close, kneeling with your cock just above my pussy.’ Pushing the vibe in, she ground down and moaned through clenched teeth. ‘You’re going to come anywhere but my pussy. Aren’t you?’

‘Because you want me to come inside you.’

‘Oh, yes.’

That perfect, throbbing energy took over. She was lost in the fantasy, in the blurry image of this man she’d never really seen, looming over her, pushing her down and keeping her there with his sheer will.

Her time to talk was over. Taureau took over, words exploding on radio waves and travelling over miles and miles to pummel her, to fuel this need that had built as she took them both into this fantasy.

‘I can see how bad you want it,’ he said, ‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Grace.’

‘Oh, tell me,’ she gasped, pushing up onto her toes as the surge grew closer and closer. ‘Tell me, please.’

‘Just what I’m doing to you. I want to fuck you, fuck your pussy, your mouth and your ass like you want me to. I want …’

His words became a garble of sounds just as the need for words became meaningless. She braced herself for the tsunami that was coming fast. She held her breath and the muscles in her bum went taut. It was so terrifyingly powerful she almost stopped, almost tossed the vibrator aside and wept, but there was no stopping it. She could hear him reaching his own climax, and the sound of her name gurgling in her ear spurred her on.

The shock of such a magnificent swell left her shaking inside and out. She released her grip on the vibrator and squeezed her eyes shut as it danced on the table between her legs. The starburst in her eyes blinded her, and she vainly tried to shut it out by throwing her arm over her eyes. Shaking her head as though to deny such a powerful rush of pleasure, Grace sobbed through the aftermath as the sound of Taureau fighting for breath filled her head.

‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered, forgetting that he could hear her, until his breathless chuckle brought her back to earth. She scrambled for the vibe, but couldn’t stay upright once she had turned it off. She flopped back and stared at the ceiling.

‘I can see you still throbbing,’ he said.

It was Grace’s turn to laugh. ‘You were right. That was money well spent. I haven’t come like that since I first learned what a clitoris was for.’

‘I’m sure it was more than the lube and vibrator, though you can add those to your collection in the desk. One of these days, Caroway is going to get a surprise when he goes on the hunt for something.’

She shook her floating head. ‘He won’t. He’s too important to even put sugar in his own coffee. Anything he wants, he asks me for.’

‘You are efficient.’

The quirk at the corner of her mouth was unstoppable. He wouldn’t let her forget that he had been paying attention to her office flings. As she lay there trying to steady her breath, she wondered about the fact that he’d caught her at all. Did he sit in front of a wall of computers all day and watch the goings-on at Taureau-Werner? What sort of existence did he live?

There she was, in the perfect position to learn more about a man who was all legend, and yet she didn’t probe as she pushed herself up. She was in no position to ask questions.

But she did want at least one answer.

‘I’ve been worrying all day that you were going to fire me. I need you to tell me.’ Her voice was froggy from thirst and every word scratched across her throat. She made her way to Caroway’s bar fridge. ‘Is that’s what’s going to happen if I decide not to take your orders any longer? Is that what would have happened if I had closed my desk drawer when I found your gift?’

‘Did I force you to come in here? Did I coerce you? Now? Last night?’

She wanted to say yes to save face and win the discussion, but she knew that wasn’t true. This wasn’t blackmail. This wasn’t sexual harassment or whatever you wanted to call it. He hadn’t intimidated her, had he? She didn’t pull down her panties and bend over the conference table because she felt she had to. He’d reached out to her, and she’d reached right back.

She wanted to play this game with him.

‘No,’ she said, and claimed a water bottle from the fridge. She drank half of it down, and then shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t. You never even threatened me with exposure.’

‘That would be stupid of me, wouldn’t it? I have no proof. The cameras can’t exist, and, even if they did, a little office indiscretion would pale in comparison to the scandal if you decided to hit me with a lawsuit.’

Grace returned to the table and collected the vibrator, then headed for Caroway’s bathroom. ‘I never thought of it that way.’

‘I’m sure you would have found a lawyer who would have no trouble connecting the dots.’

She laughed as she squirted a dollop of hand soap on the plastic shaft. ‘Can you see me in here?’

‘No. Bathrooms are off limits. Not out of respect for privacy, obviously, but because there are some things I prefer not to see.’

‘Have you seen Caroway’s “guests” on the weekend?’

‘You’d be surprised what I see.’ He said nothing more as she ran the water and soaped up the vibe, but spoke as soon as she cut the water. ‘Grace, your job is safe. What happened here today and last night in the boardroom has nothing to do with the other. If you walk away, there will be no repercussions for your job. I promise you.’

‘Your promise means nothing to me, not right now.’

He didn’t counter her words. As far as she could tell, he merely watched as she cleaned herself up and tidied Caroway’s office. The sound of his breathing was unnerving, but she didn’t try to remove the headpiece.

‘Leave them in the cupboard,’ he said as she picked up both the lube and the vibe. ‘Keep them close.’

‘I was thinking of taking them home with me.’

‘Maybe I should install cameras in your apartment.’ She heard the click of keys on a keyboard and grinned as he said, ‘578 Haughn Street, apartment 808. Correct?’

‘That’s not fair. You’ve already banned me from having sex here at the office. If you place restrictions at home, I might have to start going out for anonymous backseat sex to get my satisfaction.’

‘Caroway may be facing more meetings, if that’s the case, so I can send you home exhausted.’

She felt mad and giddy all at once. This was so surreal. An enigmatic lover watching her from afar, stroking her libido and filling her head with all sorts of wicked thoughts.

She sucked in a deep breath and tucked her presents in the credenza. ‘I should get back to my desk.’

‘Tomorrow is Saturday,’ he said quickly. ‘Can I convince you to come in the afternoon?’

Laughing, she stepped into her shoes. ‘And if I say no?’

‘I’ll make sure you’re here. A sudden project will come up, and Caroway will insist that you give up your weekend to give it your full attention.’

‘That’s a very dirty trick. Do you have something against Skype?’

‘I have a much better vantage point here at the office. What do you say?’

She could hear the laughter in his voice. A queer feeling hit her in the gut, the need to see it out completely. She leaned back against Caroway’s desk. ‘On one condition.’

‘Which is.’

‘I want to be able to see you again. When you come, I want to watch it happen like I did last night.’ She cocked her head and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You’re not the only one who likes to watch.’

‘I can arrange that.’

‘What do I do with the phone?’

‘Leave it here. I’ll have a charging dock put in there tonight.’

‘Do I call you when I’m here?’

Another low, husky laugh. ‘I’ll see you.’

‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Her words came out breathlessly, laced with anticipation. She raised her hand to her ear.

‘And Grace,’ he said, catching her just as she was ready to disconnect. ‘If you want to know more than what an Internet search will tell you, I’d recommend Everly Ledger’s book Burnout.’

Her cheeks went hot and she opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

‘I would have been very surprised if you didn’t look.’

‘Of course, Mr Taureau.’

‘Jacques.’

‘Jacques.’ She felt a funny little tickle in her chest. The name sounded so strange as she pronounced it, the thrill of addressing him so informally sparking at the tip of her tongue. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Chapter Three

‘This is a little like being the personal assistant to some high-maintenance celebrity,’ she teased from her perch on the edge of the conference table. ‘Must I really be at your beck and call at every moment of the day?’

It was her second weekend with Taureau, and like the first Grace arrived in the evening to find a bottle of wine on the conference table. The first had been red. She drank it, but couldn’t disguise her grimace. This weekend, now that he knew she loathed red wine, the Riesling had been left to chill in a dripping bucket of ice.

It was a funny little thing, like something most lovers did when they were separated by distance. In Grace’s case, she didn’t even know what he looked like or what he smelled like. She didn’t have the warmth of his arms to miss like she would any other lover who was away from her.

‘I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call,’ he said, and she could have sworn she caught a bit of sheepishness in his words. ‘I can give you something more mundane to do, if you’d like.’

‘I’m a little underdressed. Or maybe it’s overdressed.’

She gestured down her body with the hand that held her wine glass. This was not something he provided. The satiny red bustier, mesh panties and black stockings were from her closet. The matching red pumps were an impulse buy. Judging by the growl that came through the static when she slipped out of her raincoat earlier, Taureau approved.

A low laugh from the computer speakers, and she had to bite back the sudden burst of annoyance that went through her.

She didn’t know what his voice sounded like, not really. With the majority of people she came in contact with in this job, she did so via phone and email. It always gave her a turn when she finally came face to face with someone. The voice on the phone was never the same as the live one, just as a photograph could never truly capture how beautiful or ugly a person was.

The volatile feeling in the back of her throat went down hard, and she chased it with the wine.

That almost-smile appeared on the screen to accompany his laughter. ‘Actually, I was thinking I could send you on a little field trip.’

Instantly intrigued, Grace leaned forward.

‘Define field trip.’

A thrill went through her at the sight of his tongue touching the corner of his mouth. It was a quirk she was getting used to, revealing itself when he hit upon some dirty little task for her to complete. It was almost as good as those filthy phrases he dropped around her like bombs once she gave himself over to his demands.

‘A little drive through downtown. That’s all I’ll give you right now.’

‘You’re a cruel master, Jacques.’

‘That’s an interesting way of putting things.’

Grace found no words, and Taureau let his response hang there for her to chew on. She wondered what he was really like in the bedroom. His dominant streak was clear, but did he have rules he expected his lovers to adhere to, or would he simply use his body and his strength to push her around?

Though her mantra these days seemed to be ‘Yes, Mr Taureau’, she wasn’t sure how open she’d be to a demand to submit to any sort of ritual.

She set the glass aside and eased herself back onto her hands. Taureau tilted his head just slightly, enough for her to see the pucker on his mouth as she crossed one leg over the other.

‘You really like this little ensemble, don’t you?’ she said.

‘Very much.’

‘What is it about this that you like?’

‘Every inch, but since you’re clearly fishing I’ll indulge you.’

That struck her as funny. She tipped her head back as she laughed, and when there was only a little left to fizzle out she swallowed it and tried for a serious face. ‘Please, yes, indulge me.’

‘Your shoes,’ he said.

Grace stretched her foot out. ‘They are a little much, aren’t they?’

‘They’re perfect. I don’t care for those ones you wear with the straps across the foot, and the red really stands out.’ He leaned to the side, resting his chin on the edge of his chair. ‘I can image how they’d look if I had your legs draped over my shoulder, maybe one hanging off one foot. I could make a game of it – see how much I can make you squirm before the shoe drops.’

A sprite of mischief danced through her, tweaking a smile on her lips. ‘You know, it’s always about my weaknesses, what you could do to me. I wonder about your weaknesses and what I could do to you.’

‘Hold your horses, I’m getting there. Stand up for me.’

Though she rolled her eyes, her grin widened as she hopped off the edge of the table. Her laughter returned as he raised his hand and twirled his finger around, and she threw out her hands as she spun.

‘Stop. There. That’s my weakness.’

Grace placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder at the screen. ‘My ass?’

‘I can see through those panties,’ he went on. ‘I like that they cover you completely, but I can slip my hand inside and play with you, and you can watch my fingers moving.’

‘Do you want to watch my fingers now?’ she asked, plucking the lace ruffle at her hip bones.

‘No. You like hearing me talk, so I’m going to give you what you want.’

A shiver ran through her, but she didn’t bother to suppress it. ‘Go on, then.’

‘Do women know how inviting garters are?’ He spoke as though to himself. ‘They set off the same compulsion one gets when someone places a wrapped parcel in front of them at Christmas. It would be so easy to tug and tear, but isn’t it better to savour the unwrapping? Try to get those flimsy little panties over those bits of metal without snagging them, playing with the garters and watching your face when I give them a little snap.’

She ran her hand down and over, following the curve of her ass, and slipped her fingers under the garter. Though tempted to do just what he had described and let it snap back against her skin, she simply gave it a tug.

‘Stockings worn all on their own are always a nice touch,’ he went on. ‘Isn’t it funny how those things that are supposed to be practical make a man feel like an animal? I want to see you in nothing else when I have you in bed.’

Grace leaned back against the table and held on, desperate to do something far more wicked with her fingers than press them against the surface. ‘I want … I want … always what you want …’

‘What you want,’ he said with a sharp bite. ‘Not just me, you want it too. I know you. I’ve watched you. You perform, and what you wear, like this, turns you on as much as dirty talk. Try and deny that you wouldn’t want to be spread out, hands holding the flushed insides of your thighs apart. Tell me that seeing the contrast of the black stockings framing your pussy while you’re being fucked doesn’t turn you into a firecracker.’

Keeping her gaze low, she pressed her tongue to her upper lip and enjoyed the heat that filled every part of her. Once the fluttering in her head abated and the fever in her blood became a simmer, Grace was left with the suggestion perched on the end of her tongue.

She had no choice but to let it leap. Even though her throat burned with the need to swallow it back, she was powerless, and so she said, ‘We don’t have to talk about it any longer, you know. If that’s what you want, you can have it.’

For a few moments there was nothing left but her limbs taut with nervousness as she stared at the floor and the slight crackle coming from the computer speakers. Regret nipped her, but she bullied that thing with the sharp teeth back into whatever fathomless void it had come from.

It had been said, and it needed to be said, even if it was a mistake.

What came next was a guttural sound: Taureau clearing his throat, followed by his quiet words.

‘If you’re done with your wine, I think it’s about time to go.’

The electricity leapt from her body and left her feeling small and cold. She pressed her lips together as her regret squirmed, victorious, and she pushed away from the table.

‘Shall I call a cab?’ she asked, reaching for the coat she had tossed over a chair in her eagerness to show off her lingerie.

‘Use the service, but get the phone and the headset first.’

She didn’t say anything to him as she disconnected the computer and turned off the projector. Only after she had washed the glass in Caroway’s sink and tucked the bottle in his credenza did Taureau call her back, this time on the phone.

She quickly tucked the headset into her ear and answered the call, then slipped the phone into her pocket. ‘Where am I going?’

Taureau was quiet for a moment. ‘If you’re not in the mood …’

‘No, I’m fine.’

Her answer came out more as a retort. She had a sour feeling like she was heading out into the town in the midst of a lover’s spat. It made her feel foolish, and as she buttoned up to conceal every inch of the naughtiness underneath she filled her lungs and expelled it. She pulled her hair free of the collar.

‘Where are you taking me, Mr Taureau?’

He gave another pause, not as long as the first, and then he cited an address not far from the Taureau-Werner building. She called the car and was assured it would be there shortly.

‘Is this the executive condo?’ she asked as she headed for the lobby.

‘No, it’s mine.’

‘But you don’t live there?’

‘The last time I was there you were still in university.’

She wanted to probe deeper, to ask about the blank slate between his very tumultuous young adulthood and his present closeted existence, but she was still feeling the sting of his first rejection and didn’t care to receive a second.

‘You seem to know a lot about me,’ she said as she pressed the call button for the elevator. ‘I’d hate to make an enemy out of you.’

‘I only know what I can find on paper,’ he said, and Grace caught the sound of glass clinking against glass.

It was these little things that made her froth with curiosity on the inside. Where was he? What was in the blackness beyond where he sat day after day? He could have lived in that supposed compound in Saguenay or in a trailer park in Australia. She wouldn’t know the difference.

‘Tell me what I don’t know,’ he said, followed by another clink. ‘Tell me your story.’

She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that let loose. Even when she clapped her hand over her face to stave off another she failed, and dissolved into hysterical giggles as she waited for the elevator.

‘I’m sorry, but that sounds like a first-date question.’

‘Humour me,’ he said, and his inability to conceal his own laughter inspired another fit in her.

‘I can’t. It’s just so silly.’

The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. She leaned against the wall and, as her stomach flopped with the descent, her laughter died to a chuckle and her jaw ached from it.

‘Are you still there?’ she asked as she stepped onto the street.

He didn’t answer. It seemed as though the elevator ride had cut them off, and Grace prepared to disconnect. Her finger was on the narrow button on the face of the headset when he answered.

‘I’m here.’

He spoke barely above a whisper, and she lost her breath at the thought of having offended him with her fit.

But then, softly: ‘You have a beautiful laugh, you know.’

She was grateful that she was free of the Taureau-Werner building and his cameras. For him to see her face at that moment would have killed her. His gentle, admiring tone touched her deeply and spread warmth into every part of her body. She faltered down the steps and the buzzing city before she slowed down.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and lowered her gaze even though the one she wanted to hide from was miles away.

‘Please, tell me about yourself.’

‘Did you compliment me to butter me up into talking?’ she teased, but a little part of her believed the nasty little suspicion.

‘No, I didn’t.’

The sincerity in his voice won her over, and as she stepped to the curb to wait for the car she relented.

‘What do you want to know about?’

‘Who were you when you were growing up?’

It seemed like a poignant question, given the origins of the man who posed it. If she were to pose the same question to him and if he were to be honest with her, the picture he would paint would no doubt be filled with shadows.

She tucked herself deeper into the coat. ‘Nothing exciting has ever happened to me. I grew up with just me and my mom, mostly. When I was really small we lived with my grandmother. It was her house. She smoked like a chimney, as they say, and after she died my mom tried to scrub the nicotine off the walls. Have you ever tried to get rid of fifty years of smoking from a wall? Eventually she gave up and just painted the house a combination of yellows, browns and oranges.’

She laughed, rocking on her feet, as the scene before her eyes transformed into the tiny ginger room she’d grown up in. ‘God, do I ever hate the colour orange. I won’t wear it. I won’t even wear pantyhose that are too close to orange.’

‘I prefer the nude stockings with the black garters.’ He spoke so low the traffic drowned him out, but his voice was a frequency embedded in her brain. Even if he had whispered and she hadn’t caught a word, she’d still feel his sentiment in her blood.

‘I wasn’t dirt poor or anything,’ she went on, ‘Though we probably would have been homeless if my grandmother hadn’t left us the house. My mom – man, could she burn through a line of credit. There were always bill collectors on the phone. She only got out of debt when I moved out and she sold the house. She married an American about ten years ago and they live in Florida.’

‘No siblings?’

‘Not growing up. Tony, my stepfather, has a son and a daughter.’

‘Then you’re all alone in the world.’

So many people had said the same thing to Grace, and their condescending tone was always like sandpaper on her nerves. Like their first meeting in the boardroom, there was none of that in Taureau’s observation. No, there was kinship to be found in there.

‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’d bet money you’re even twitchy.’

‘I’m not,’ she lied. It wasn’t that his asking about her past made her ‘twitchy’, but answering made her uncomfortable. She’d had a good upbringing. Taureau’s eventual spiral into drug use suggested to her that he hadn’t.

Her life hadn’t been charmed, but it was warm, and she thought that perhaps her warmth was what he was looking for.

The car arrived before she could say any more, and, once she was nestled into the cushy backseat, Taureau spoke again.

‘Tell me about something else,’ he said. ‘Tell me about why you started taking your lovers at the office.’

‘Oh, that’s an easy one, but I don’t think now’s the time.’

‘Are you actually shy about talking sex in front of a stranger?’

‘Actually, yes, but I’ll give you the short answer: convenience. I can work and have my fun without giving up either of them. I have little time to myself outside work, and when I do I have all of those mundane little things that everyone needs to do. If I want sex, I don’t want to have to get to know someone first, and hooking up with people I meet in bars or online isn’t my thing. At the office, I at least have a sense of the calibre of man I’m screwing and there’s an understanding. So, for me, sex and work are a perfect combination.’

‘Efficient.’

She laughed and combed through her hair with her fingers. ‘Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘You could write a book,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Really, you could write a book.’

‘And many have,’ she pointed out, ‘but you know that I’m not interested in tabloid sludge. I want to know about you. Tell me something. In fact, tell me something that you haven’t told anyone before.’

He paused, and Grace didn’t mistake his silence for a disconnection this time. After at least a minute, she murmured, ‘Not so easy, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ he said, sounding irritated. ‘I’m thinking.’

‘Don’t make something up, either.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. All right, Miss Neely, you want something no one else knows about me? I’ll tell you, but brace yourself; it’s a shocker.’

She couldn’t tell if he was joking, and wondered if she would have been able to read him even if they were face to face, so she did what he said and braced herself.

‘When I was nine years old, a kid at school was giving me a hard time. I wasn’t small, but I was smaller than he was, so he started roughing me up where he could. One day he told me that he would kick my ass after Art class, and so I told him that my family hadn’t gotten its fortune from buses and airplanes. I told him that we were actually a mafia family, and if he laid another finger on me I’d have one of our hit men take him out.’

There was a shake to his voice, not quite a laugh but getting there.

Grace sat for a moment, hands folded over her knees as she stared out the window. She hadn’t been expecting an admission like this. She had steeled herself for something sordid and shocking, but this confession was just so … human.

A coughing laugh burst from the back of her throat, and then she smiled. ‘Did it work?’

‘Of course it did. I even named the hit man. Red “The Butcher” Belliveau. Red was actually a gardener, and we did call him “The Butcher” in my family because of the way he seemed to relish hacking the brush along the fence around the house. I told the kid this, too. I told him it was a front. I told him that Red’s speciality was castration by pruning shears.’

Grace laughed. ‘That is just evil. You were an evil child.’

‘I’ve always had a solid sense of preservation.’

‘And this is something no one else knows – aside from the kid who thought his dick was going to be snipped off.’

‘Not a soul,’ he said, and she heard the creak of him sitting back in his chair. ‘Are you close?’

Grace asked the driver, and reported to Taureau that they were just a few traffic lights from their destination.

‘I’m going to disconnect now,’ he told her. ‘Tell the driver to wait for you. Once you get there, identify yourself to the concierge and he’ll give you the key and tell you where to go. Put the phone in the dock to keep it charged.’

‘Am I going to be there all night?’

‘You can stay if you want, but I’m only interested in keeping you until just after dark. Keep the headset in. I’ll call you back in about fifteen minutes.’

After the click in her ear, Grace once more wondered about his surroundings. It almost seemed absurd to think that he was something more than a disembodied voice occasionally joined by a partial portrait on a screen. The idea of him doing things that normal people did, like running errands or answering the door to a pizza delivery, was laughable to her.

As the car passed through the gate of a park-like condominium community, Grace had to admit to herself that the initial lure of Jacques Taureau had been his mystery. The idea of some faceless man directing her from the shadows would have made her laugh a month ago, but once it became her reality she had been intoxicated by the mystery.

Now, things were changing. He was giving her little facets of himself that didn’t fit the image of the ubiquitous stranger. In her mind, Taureau was like the mummy from the horror movies who, piece by piece, went from dust and bone to flesh and blood.

The driver told her to have the concierge notify him when she was ready, and she watched him leave to no doubt while away the evening at one of the nearby eateries. The concierge greeted her with a practised smile and promptly produced a key to an apartment on the third floor.

She took the elevator up, and as she slid the key into the lock a sudden dread of the unknown came over her. No boundaries had been set with Taureau. None had been needed, what with the digital nature of their relationship, and she worried now that she was about to walk into something abhorrent.

As much as she enjoyed sexual experimentation, there were things that had never appealed to her. Group sex, for example. The occasional threesome was one thing, but a handful of times in her adult life she’d politely declined an invitation to take part in an orgy. The same went for sex with other women. She’d never had a lesbian experience, not because of any particular aversion to it – enough of her fantasies included women – but because she’d never met a woman she was so attracted to she could feel it in her bones.

Those were the soft scenarios of what might be behind the door. She refused to entertain the more chilling ones. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned the key and pushed the door open, and was relieved to discover an empty apartment.

Well, almost relieved. Part of her had still held out hope that she’d open the door and find herself face to face with Taureau, even though deep down she knew she had a better chance, that night, of being struck by lightning.

The apartment was what one would expect of an executive condo. The space was tastefully furnished and decorated in neutral colours and had the unlived-in smell of air freshener hanging in every room. Grace doubted that the chef’s kitchen had ever been used to its full potential. The bedrooms, perhaps, though when she peeked in both the master and the spare she saw nothing short of showroom perfection.

She was headed back to the living room when Taureau called back in.

‘What would you do if I told you I wanted to move in here like a kept woman?’

‘I’d say yes.’

‘Good to know.’ She dropped her handbag onto the sofa and walked towards the window as she unbuttoned her coat. ‘Cameras here, too?’

‘Temporarily. This condo is typically used for contract workers and their families. I give them their privacy.’

‘I guess I was wrong about the kitchen not being used much,’ she murmured, and swept out of her coat. She spun around like she had for him in the conference room, her gaze moving to every corner of the room. ‘Where’s the camera?’

‘Guess.’

Grace focused on a piece of metal art hanging over the sofa and took a step towards it. ‘This?’

‘Not even close.’

Turning away from her first deduction, Grace tucked her hands behind her and thumbed the bottom hook of the corset.

‘Don’t do that,’ he warned.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t take off the corset.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do I really need a reason? You can take your panties off, though. Slowly.’

‘After I find your little hiding spot.’ She fingered the elastic clinging to her hips as she moved around. ‘Shall we make a game of it? Hot and cold?’

‘I don’t play games. You’re a smart girl; figure it out, and quickly.’

‘Patience is a virtue.’

‘It’s been a very long time since I’ve had any virtues, but by all means keep spouting clichés if it helps you.’

She ruled out anything that wasn’t at least eye-level and named a few more harmless pieces in the room. Not the dock where she had left her phone. Not hidden on the flat screen hanging opposite the sofa. Not the wireless modem in the little business area off the kitchen.

She grew tired of what wasn’t a game and could tell by Taureau’s clipped answers that he was too. Lifting her hair off her hot neck, she sank down on the sofa with a growl.

‘Just tell me.’

‘Look, and think.’

‘Seriously, just …’ A grin crept up to her mouth and twisted it. ‘It has to be the flower urn on the balcony.’

‘Smart girl. Wave hello.’

‘I can do better than that.’

She got to her feet and turned to make a show out of wriggling her panties over the garters and stockings. She left them in a twisted rosette on the floor and knelt on the edge of the sofa.

‘No objections?’

‘I have you right where I want you.’

‘This is very odd, Jacques.’ She brushed her palm across the hump of her ass and twisted her face towards the balcony. ‘Something tells me you didn’t get me out of the office because you wanted me to be more comfortable.’

‘Just go slowly for now.’

Draping one arm over the back of the sofa to take her weight, she ran her hand from her ass to her abdomen, and kept it out of his sight as she crooked her middle finger over her clit.

‘Slowly.’

He delivered his seductive command in a whisper, eliciting a shiver from her as she thought of hearing that accented baritone urging ‘slowly’ as he did just now, as he pressed his lips to her ear’s shell, hands on her shoulders and fingers gripping harder, his body hot and demanding against her back.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in her imagination. In none of these wicked little episodes of fantasy could she conjure up his face. He was always in hiding, or behind her, sometimes slipping something over her eyes to keep her blind. It was vexing and stirring all at once, and even when frustration nipped at her she gave herself over to it.

‘Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking?’

Her breath hitched on her last word as her touch evoked an ecstatic, throbbing ribbon around her clit.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he told her. ‘It’s not so hard to read you. You tell me everything I need to know by the way you hold your pose.’

‘Tell me,’ she said, more of a chant than a plea.

‘You’re thinking of how you’d offer yourself up to me like you are now. You’ve got this silly little notion in your head that you might bring me to my knees this way, that I’d bow and follow your fingers through that wet gash, that eventually you’d be able to rest your head against the seat and let me finish you off.’

She slipped her fingers lower, not only to give him a glimpse of the tips slipping into her cunt but to gather the wetness there.

‘Tell me why I’m wrong.’

She adjusted her pose in anticipation, lowering her head and lifting her ass so that he could see her smear the shining juices through her swollen lips.

‘You tell me.’

It was uncanny how quickly this storytelling came with Taureau. Grace had always been what some would consider masculine in her arousal: dirty movies and dirty talk, kisses seeking a tongue from the start while she made her demands with her hands. It was always about the pulsing, breathless end and how she could get to it as quickly and furiously as possible.

With Taureau, she relished the wait, and relished the sanctions he imposed upon her. These scenarios flowed through her like music, and in return she sang for him.

‘Oh, if you had me like this, I’d still offer myself up to you,’ she said. ‘You’d give, too, wouldn’t you? For all your words, you’d give me just enough. You’d stand over me and watch the goose bumps rise on my hands and arms, and watch me get wetter and wetter just from having you where you are. You’d watch me play with myself, like this …’

She cranked her arm and used all four fingers to rub through her slick labia.

Slowly.

The word was unspoken, but the fact that she heard it nonetheless was a testament to how her psyche was getting used to absorbing his commands. She slowed down, forcing herself just to tease even though she still needed to go fast and hard.

‘Finally, you’d tell me you’ve seen enough, and put your hands on me: on my hips, my ass, or in my hair. It doesn’t matter except that you’re holding me when you start to fuck me.’ She used her fingers in her pussy once more, then held her breath and listened. She heard nothing, no static, no breathing, no tell-tale sounds to indicate that he had his cock out. ‘Jacques?’

‘It’s time to turn around, Grace.’

His voice carried that flint that signalled the change, and the animal inside Grace was tamed and lowered its gaze as she pushed away from the sofa.

‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’ She spoke the words as if bowing before a ruler. She went onto her ass and shifted, looking for the angle that would best suit him from his vantage point on the balcony.

‘Do you see it?’ Taureau asked breathily.

Grace paused. ‘See what?’

‘Look at the camera. Now, above. Straight above, I believe.’

She looked towards the urn, then up, and narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t … oh. Oh, my.’

The scene was blurred by the doors and the glass partition surrounding the balcony, but she saw it all right: a man and a woman in their living room in the building just across the courtyard. They didn’t quite stand before their window, but close enough. They were in a sordid profile: the man leaning against a chair, boxers around his thighs, and the woman completely naked and on her knees in front of him.

‘Did you hire them?’ Grace asked absently, riveted by the movement of the woman’s head as she sucked the man’s cock deeper.

‘I didn’t have to. Apparently they put on this little show every Saturday night. I was alerted to it by a man I had staying in the apartment for a month. They’re a fairly normal couple, two kids. They bundle the kids up and the father leaves with them, including the family Pomeranian, and then he takes them away somewhere. While he’s gone, she gets dressed for dinner. He returns and they go out. When they come home, they enjoy their kid-free time like this. I didn’t even see it for myself until last weekend. I have another camera on the opposite side of the planter.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t like to intrude on families.’

‘Families, no, and I only tuned in long enough to confirm what I was told. Once they’re alone, it’s not so much of an intrusion. You’ll see.’ His tone was rich with amusement. ‘I thought you might like to have a little show of your own for tonight.’

‘I …’

She didn’t know what to say. It did give her an odd creep across her bare shoulders to watch from afar as the woman used her lips and hand to milk the man’s cock, but she got the sense that there was little intimacy to the act.

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