Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Ashe Barker 2015. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
Required—Events Coordinator. Could it be you?
Eugenie grabbed at the page as it flicked past then she thumbed back through the magazine more slowly to find the job advertisement again. Had she been mistaken, misread it? No, here it was, a full color spread no less in the prestigious Hotel International magazine, the world’s number one publication serving the high-end hospitality industry. She spread the page out on the low glass table in front of her to read the notice properly.
Totally Five Star Paris, a flagship hotel in this renowned international chain, is seeking a dynamic new member to join our senior management team. You will have experience of organising high-profile events and functions, a proven track record in managing complex budgets and juggling competing priorities, and you will be accustomed to getting things done. For the right candidate we offer excellent salary and other benefits, a chance to live and work in the most iconic part of one of the world’s most beautiful cities, and the opportunity to be a part of the Totally Five Star continuing success story. More details and instructions for applicants can be downloaded from our website.
Closing date: 28th February 2014
The advertisement was illustrated with a range of wonderful images depicting the glamour and sophistication that were the hallmark of every Totally Five Star hotel anywhere on the globe, though Eugenie would have insisted that Totally Five Star Paris was the jewel in the crown of one of the most recognized international chains. The hotel’s brand of magic was famous the world over, the most luxurious surroundings, the most efficient, the most comfortable, no detail overlooked, no effort spared to ensure guests enjoyed the very best that money could buy.
Eugenie had never actually ventured inside the Paris hotel, but she knew it well enough. She had passed it frequently when she was a student in Paris and to make ends meet had worked as a waitress in a café bar off the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. The hotel was in the next street, an imposing, elegant presence gracing the entire avenue. A continuous parade of the rich and the famous was regularly seen trotting in and out of the sliding glass doors, as often as not across the sumptuous red carpet the staff would roll out to welcome their exalted guests. They would be aided by the traditional English-style butler, who greeted all who came and went with the same quiet courtesy.
Eugenie pored over the ad again, rereading the seductive words. Could she? Might it be possible?
She ran her gaze over the essential requirements again, mentally checking off her qualifications. Experience of organizing high-profile events and functions? Well, she’d done some of that. Complex budgets, competing priorities? She sighed. Yeah, tell me about it. Anyone who works in the public sector these days knows about that. Getting things done. Er, well, yes, probably. Depends on what things they meant exactly.
“Miss d’André? Mr. Metcalfe will see you now.”
Eugenie startled at the voice alongside her. She closed the magazine and laid it back on the coffee table with the rest of the literature artfully displayed there to keep visitors entertained while they waited to see the head of corporate affairs at Newcastle International Airport. The smartly dressed executive secretary picked up Eugenie’s coffee cup and gestured for her to precede her along the spacious corridor toward the executive office suites. Eugenie started to do just that then turned.
“I wonder, could I take that magazine I was just looking at, please? There is an ad… I mean an article in there I was reading. I do not mind paying you for it, of course.”
The other woman stopped too and smiled, perhaps at Eugenie’s very obvious French accent. Her English was perfect, but her continental origins unmistakable.
“Of course not. You’re welcome.”
Eugenie picked up the magazine and slipped it into her briefcase. She would have a proper look later. Now, she had work to do.
* * * *
The meeting with the CEO at the airport went well. The international corporate functions suite seemed to be more than adequate to hold the two hundred plus delegates expected at the launch of North East Now, the council’s latest foray into presenting Northumberland and the northeast of England as a suitable location for films, entertainment and cultural activities.
It was a new take on the tourism trail, this time aimed at a younger, more technically savvy market. The more traditional venues such as city center hotels or outlying conference centers wouldn’t cut it, whereas the ultra-modern environment of the airport would. Their rates were steep but just about within budget, if she cut back somewhere else.
Mr. Metcalfe was also keen to secure the business so he was ready to include catering and refreshments in the price—a considerable savings. Eugenie was pleased and knew her boss would be too. She stood and they shook on the deal. She promised to email him within twenty-four hours confirming the agreed price and their exact requirements as just discussed. Mr. Metcalfe declared it a pleasure to do business with her and pressed the buzzer on his desk to summon his PA back again.
A few minutes later, Eugenie was in a taxi on her way back into Newcastle city center. She should really have been going over the notes from the meeting with Mr. Metcalfe. Instead, she pulled out the magazine and reread the ad. Maybe she was feeling a little buoyed by her recent success, but she made up her mind.
Why not? She was experienced. She did have a track record. And she was successful. Well, today she was. She could try. And if she got it—a big if—but even so… If she got this wonderful job in Paris, she could finally say goodbye to the wreckage that was her life here in England. She could leave La Brat behind and start over.
She hadn’t always been a brat. Or more accurately, not so much of a brat as she had become in the last year or so. She used to be biddable, acquiescent, the perfect submissive. Well, some of the time she was. She must have been good, or at least had shown potential. Otherwise, Aaron Praed would never have looked twice at her. He could have had his pick of all the submissives at The Basement, the fetish club she’d discovered soon after moving to England. But he’d chosen her. He’d invited her to scene with him the first time she’d ventured there, shy and on her own, not sure what to expect.
Eugenie laid the magazine on the seat beside her as she let her mind drift back to that first scene with Aaron, nearly three years ago now. He’d been good, by far the best Dom she’d ever played with—before or since. It had been on the tip of her tongue to decline his offer of a spanking, but there had been something compelling about the tall, blond Dom with the vivid blue eyes. Instead, she’d accepted and followed him across the dungeon to a cubicle that housed a padded bench and a rack sporting an assortment of paddles and leather straps.
* * * *
Then
“Take your pick. Or if you prefer I’ll just use my hand.”
“That one. If you please.” Eugenie pointed to a pretty little lemon-colored paddle made of flexible silicon. She honestly had no idea if she was making a good choice or not, but her limited experience had at least taught her that the difference would be made by the skill and intent of the Dom, not the implement used. If this man wanted to hurt her, he could and he would. If it was too much, she could stop him by using her safe word.
Sure enough, his next question addressed that issue. “What’s your preferred safe word for this, Miss…?”
“Eugenie. My name is Eugenie d’André. And my safe word is Maupassant.”
At his raised eyebrow, she felt moved to clarify. “He is one of my favorite authors. He was French.”
“Ah, right. Excellent choice. Very classical. My name’s Mr. Praed—Aaron—though you will address me as Sir.”
“Naturellement, Sir.”
His tight smile was his only further response. He gestured for Eugenie to lean on the bench and lift the short skirt she was wearing. She did as instructed, quashing her natural modesty, which had no place here. Even so, she appreciated his choice of the cubicle as it did offer a degree of privacy.
“Would you like me to remove my thong also, Sir?”
“That’s up to you. It makes no difference to this.”
“Then I will leave it in place. Thank you, Sir.”
“Ten strokes okay?”
“Yes, Sir, ten will be fine.” Eugenie wriggled against the soft leather padding on the bench, making herself comfortable as her handsome playmate for the evening positioned himself behind her. Now that the initial embarrassment was behind her, she was glad that she’d taken the plunge, so to speak, and accepted his invitation to play.
“I’ll start when you tell me you’re ready.”
“I am ready, Sir— Ooh!”
The first stroke fell immediately, sending a sharp burst of pain across her left buttock.
“Too hard?”
“No, Sir. That is perfect.”
