Sub Rosa Read online

  “Right ho, off we go as my old man used to say.”

  I ran the brush through my hair on the way, making little difference to the bedraggled state it was in. So, to sum up. Hair flat as a pancake, blouse all right if a bit tight, Emma’s chest was definitely smaller than mine. Make up? I took the mirror from my bag. Make up not waterproof. Fantastic. Tights, laddered. Notepad questions I was supposed to ask, indecipherable. Four minutes to get there. Traffic slowing, now at a standstill. How far was it from here? I could see the building over the other side of the river.

  I swore under my breath. “I’ll walk from here.”

  I shoved a fiver into the driver’s hand and pushed the door open. From here, if I sprinted, I might just make it. The cars beeped as I darted between them, not that they were moving anywhere. The rain made it hard to see, my vision blurring as I crossed the bridge to the far side of the river. The building was getting closer. I looked down at my watch. Two minutes. I looked up, straight into the briefcase of a man who had just climbed out of a black car, his door opening in my face. I tried to skid to a halt but formal shoes and wet pavement do not lead to a good stopping time.

  I slammed into him, bouncing back and falling on my ass on the pavement, legs flailing in the air. “Oof,” was all I managed to say as my breath left my lungs in a huff.

  “Here,” the man said, face hidden under an enormous green umbrella. “Let me help.”

  I took his hand and was pulled upright in under a second. Just how strong was his arm? No time for flirting with Mr Universe. One minute left. “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder, already running for the building, doing my jacket up once more. No, not doing it up again. The button was nowhere to be seen. Perfect. Flashed a stranger, lost a button. What else could go wrong?

  I held the jacket closed as I dashed into the entrance hall, passing under the enormous S.E logo. I made it with seconds to spare.

  There was a queue at reception, obviously. Maybe they needed to replace the woman behind it with an answerphone and a coffee machine. The seconds ticked away. “Hi,” I said when I finally got to the front. “I’m here to interview Jamie Spencer.”

  “Emma Morris?” she asked, her eyes going past me to watch something going by.

  I turned in time to see the dripping green umbrella vanishing into a lift, doors closing a second later.

  “No, Rosa Harper,” I said as her eyes turned back to me. “I’m her…erm…executive assistant.”

  “Right, well if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here. Help yourself to a coffee while you’re waiting.”

  I looked at the Burghini Express by the row of armchairs. I didn’t get a coffee from it and then I sat down, dripping on the floor, holding my jacket closed with one hand and hoping I hadn’t messed things up for Emma. What if I was too late? What if he refused to do the interview? I’d be homeless. She’d never speak to me again. My ass felt cold and wet after its brief encounter with the wet pavement outside. Did I have time to visit the ladies and try and make myself respectable? Sort my make up at least?

  “Miss Harper?” the receptionist said as I headed that way.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr Spencer will see you now.”

  TWO - JAMIE

  It was back. I’d kept the need in check for so long, I thought I had it under control at last but this morning it came back with a vengeance and all because of her.

  For as long as I can remember, the need has been there. The desire to dominate, buried in the primal part of my brain, controlling my every action.

  Every single time I think it’s gone, I’ve got it under control, then it comes back and I have to satisfy it. I can think of nothing but feeding that hunger.

  Six months since the last one. Since she ran sobbing from me, leaving me to wonder if she was right. Was I the cold heartless bastard she said I was?

  Domination in business is one thing but it’s like a snack when I want a banquet. I wanted to feed on this one.

  It was on the drive to work this morning. Traffic had ground to a complete halt. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I said, pushing open my door. That was all it took. Open door, climb out. She fell at my feet. She looked like she belonged there.

  Then she was off, running along the wet pavement, ass shaking at me, calling me to follow, to catch up and tear that skirt off her.

  My day started the same as it did every weekday. Up at six, glance at the stock price and then through to the gym. An hour on the equipment, sprinting until I couldn’t breathe, lifting weights until my arms shook and then onto the bike, mixing cardio and strength, punishing myself like every morning.

  I needed to keep my body in trim, it was one more thing I was master of, one more way of controlling the need, keeping my emotions in check.

  At seven I showered and by the time I was done, my clothes were laid out ready for me. Another Italian suit that fitted perfectly. Not a thread out of place. The way things should be.

  It felt like a second skin. A suit was the only thing I felt comfortable in when I wasn’t naked. I know some people are happy in shorts, tee-shirts, all that bullshit. Not me. Suit or naked. No in between.

  I chose red tie today. It felt like a red tie kind of day. Then down to breakfast which was laid out as neatly as my clothes had been. Coffee, croissant, newspaper. Enough time to read the business pages while the car was brought round to collect me. The headline was about me. They made me sound almost human. Opening the wing of a hospital, acting as if they didn't know it was tax deductible.

  My keys were by the front door. Not that I needed them. My people would have the door unlocked ready for my return.

  My people were good. They were invisible in the house. The clothes appeared and disappeared, the food was prepared, the pots removed, all without a sign that anyone else was there but me. I had no desire to converse when I was at any of my homes. I had to do enough of that in the office.

  I heard the car pulling out of the garage and onto the gravel. Glancing at my watch, I had five minutes. I remember that moment. It was the moment when my neatly ordered routine set out on an entirely new path. All beginning with a single vibration from my pocket.

  My phone was the source. Inside my jacket, it moved just enough to warn me an email was waiting. Most notifications were on silent until nine. There was only one number that could get through. Was it really them after all this time?

  I drained my coffee and stood up, pulling out my phone and glancing at it. The interview. At last. I’d waited so long, I thought it might never happen.

  They wanted to see me today at noon.

  I flicked through my schedule. I was supposed to be seeing that woman from Tribune at noon, set up as an opportunity to promote my new bespoke consultancy offering, following on from Mastering Me. They would have to change the time if they still wanted to talk to me. I walked out to the car while ringing Sally.

  “Yes, Mr Spencer?”

  “Change the twelve to nine thirty,” I said before hanging up, climbing into the back of the car a second later.

  The driver of the car kept the privacy screen up on the way in to work. He knew I might talk on the journey home but on the way to the office, I kept my own counsel, same as at home.

  We set off along the drive, the shadows of the cherry trees flashing past the windows until we reached the road, the gates swinging open to send me out into the world for another working day.

  Sally rang me back to tell me it was done and then asked about the Gleeson deal. “I’ll tell him myself,” I said, hanging up on her and ringing them.

  “Mr Spencer,” a nervous voice answered. “We were hoping you’d call.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  I could hear the hissed congratulations in the background. They really thought they’d got one over on me.

  “One thing,” I said, interrupting the noise. “How do you feel knowing you’re paying three times more than all the other bidders combined?”

&nb
sp; I hung up on him. Trying to buy one of my buildings and thinking I was too busy to look into the valuations his rivals had made. If they’d done their research, they’d have known I kept a close eye on everything, every detail.

  It didn’t matter that I revealed the truth over the phone. They couldn’t back out now. If their shareholders found out they’d turned down the deal, the whole board would be replaced by the end of the year. It was going to be a good day. A building sold for more than three times its value, one that I had no use for since moving into the centre of York. The freed up capital would allow me to spread across Yorkshire, conquer the north just as I’d conquered the south. My empire spread further than Alexander the Great had ever managed, all without a drop of blood spilt.

  The weather had deteriorated by the time I reached York, rain drumming on the roof as I caught up with the overnights from New York and Delhi, the first Reuters headlines starting to appear about Gleeson’s overspending already.

  We slowed to a crawl the closer we got until we came to a complete stop with the office just in view. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I said, pushing open the door and putting up my umbrella, stepping out in time for her to slam into me and bounce straight off.

  I looked down and she brought on the hunger in an instant. It suddenly started gnawing at me as if it had never been away, constant companion, silently waiting for a chance like this. It took over in an instant. I had to have her. I had to make her scream.

  She was on her ass on the pavement, legs apart, perfect view of her cute little panties under those thin tights. Her jacket had popped open too and the rain was soaking through her blouse, the dark shape of her bra becoming visible as she tried to catch her breath. Fuck, she looked good, even dazed like that, gasping for air.

  I helped her up, my hand gripping hers, not wanting to let it go. I wanted to rip that blouse off her, the need was already gnawing at my self control. Not here. You can’t do it here in front of all these people. Even your money can’t silence all of them.

  Her hand was cold, soft, and just as the need sent me moving towards her, she ran off, darting along the pavement and around the corner, out of sight.

  Get a hold of yourself, I thought as I set off for the office. She’s gone. Wait until the club say yes. Once you’re a club member, you can feed that hunger in there, keep it in check, stop it destroying you.

  The last one had been the worst.

  To take control of a woman was a skill I had honed over the years but the better I got at it, the more they wanted to stay with me. No matter how firmly I said it was just about domination and submission, they still thought they could change me, make me into something I’m not, make me stay with them.

  I’m not a relationship person. I’m just not. I have no interest in ruining my organised life. That’s why I live alone. I don’t want anyone else in my world, not long term.

  But the need is there too. It builds and builds until I can’t control it and then I have to find someone to dominate. I take over their soul until the need is satisfied. Then I get rid of them and move on, my concentration back where it should be, empire building.

  But the better I get at control, the more they want to stay. They think I love them. They think they love me. The last one wept, sobbed, begged me to let her stay with me, wanted to marry me. Imagine that? Me, married? If I was a laughing person, that’d be quite the joke.

  I told her what I’d told her at the start. If she stayed, I would destroy her. It was kinder to make her go.

  If anyone stayed any length of time with a fuck up like me, I knew what would happen. One day I would go too far, inflict too much pain. Cold heartless bastard she’d called me when she went. I guess I am.

  Six months since the need had last been satisfied and now it was back with a vengeance. I had to have that woman who’d just run from me. No one else would do. Nothing else would distract me. Wherever she’d gone, I would find her. Make her submit.

  Was it cruel? To introduce her to a world of submission, teach her to obey my command without pause, then tell her I was done and throw her out? Perhaps it was cruel but that was why the club would be the right place for me.

  I knew if I could get a membership to Club Darkness, I could feed the hunger in there with subs who knew what they were getting into, who knew someone like me didn’t want or need a relationship. I needed to be in the club.

  But the one thing my money couldn’t buy was membership of the most exclusive BDSM club in the country. I had to wait for an interview like anyone else. And today, they had finally booked me in. I just had to get the morning out of the way first.

  I walked in through the front door, people stepping aside to let me pass. “Good morning, Mr Spencer.”

  “Good morning, Mr Spencer.”

  “Morning, Mr Spencer.”

  The echoes followed me to the lift. As I passed reception, I glanced over and there she was. Facing the other way but I knew it was her. Those legs, those hips, that slump of her shoulders, imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for, the sign I knew so well, the sign of someone who ached to be told what to do.

  I wondered where she was going, who she was here to see. Could I send for her? I glanced at my watch as the lift ascended to the executive floor. No time. That journalist was due any minute. Maybe afterwards. I could perhaps squeeze her in before going to the club. I wouldn’t have time for what I normally did to assuage the need but I could still fuck her. When you can’t have a banquet, a snack is better than nothing.

  I stepped out onto the thick blue carpet of the top floor. The sounds of the street were non-existent up here, just how I liked it. I walked along the corridor, passing the locked door. What would she be like if I took her in there? Would she quake? Cry? Beg to leave?

  I smiled at the thought, wondering if any of the other executives knew what was behind that locked door. Did they think it was just storage? Had they any idea I’d taken over half an entire floor for my need? That it had been the first thing I’d installed before the rest of the office was set up? That in the time we’d been based here, I’d had three women screaming behind there, begging me to stop? Then eventually, begging me to keep going.

  I’m a fucked up person. I must be. What does it say about me that I get turned on when they beg? That I enjoy inflicting pain on other people, on innocent people? Fucking them if I feel like it but always tossing them aside. It's not like I don't make them happy while they're with me.

  Are they innocent? They come willingly. I show them the contracts in advance. I give them the chance to walk away. I warn them that it won’t be easy. I warn them that they will not be the same afterwards.

  They all think I’m making it up. They come to me full of bravado, adamant they won’t get attached, that they just want to see what submission is like, that they want something they can’t get elsewhere, to give up control, to be free for a while. They say they’ll just walk away when the contract is finished. They’ll be the master of me.

  But it always end the same. They beg me to let them stay, they tell me they can change me, make me a happy family man, a lover, not a loner.

  But that’s not me. It’s not who I am. So I send them away and they curse my name.

  The only thing that’s stopped it getting out has been the non-disclosure clause. Without it, my name would be plastered over the news for all the wrong reasons. Billionaire abuses women for his own sick desires.

  But with that clause, they keep their mouths shut, none of them can afford to take me on in court. One tried to go to the papers with the story. I had the editor on the phone to me for a quote before he ran with it.

  One call from my office to his boss at his Bermuda holiday home and the story was killed, the editor “retiring for family reasons,” a month later. The owner had seen the contract. He knew it was airtight. He also had secrets of his own that he didn’t want me leaking. But then, he was already a member of Club Darkness.

  The last one to walk out t
hat door, back in October? She was the hardest yet. Part of me felt sorry for her. She had sworn to me she didn’t want a partner, just wanted to be dominated for a while, vent steam from her high powered executive job. But she sobbed like the rest when she walked away, writing to me afterwards to beg me to have her back. I didn’t reply.

  Once they were gone, I cut all contact. It was the only way. I couldn’t give them false hope that I might take them back, that would have been the cruellest cut of all.

  They would be all right, eventually. They’d find a man who was right for them, who didn’t have the hunger I had, the need to dominate, the need to hurt, the inability to feel anything like warmth.

  The girl downstairs wouldn’t be a challenge. That slump of the shoulders had told me that. She would do exactly what she was told and it would satisfy the need but then I would become bored, as I always did.

  You’re fucked up, I thought as I walked into my private office.

  “I know,” I said out loud.

  Knowing it was true didn’t make the need go away. I had only just sat down when the phone rang. It was Sally. “Emma Morris’ assistant is here to interview you.”

  “Send her up.”

  Get through this then get ready for the club. That’s what matters. Getting membership. Just promote the new consultancy for ten minutes first. That was what this was for.

  A knock on the door a minute later while I was looking out the window at the city below. “Enter.”

  Outside the weather was improving, the traffic starting to move. From here, I could see the Minster across the river, silent sentinel over the city. What would the makers have made of me if I was alive back then? Sinner? Damned? Maybe Satan himself?

  I turned around, ready to promote. In the time it took to see who was standing in the doorway, all thoughts of promotion were gone.

  It was her.

  THREE - ROSA