Page 9 of Dominant

“Ah,” he nodded. “Excellent. We’re halfway there.”

I shrugged. “Forty-nine percent there.”

My investment firm, Abbott Holdings, had made a bid to buy Chateau Andilet, but had only managed to convince the Andilets to sell forty-nine percent. Not bad for starters, but I wanted to take over their company. We needed at least another two percent to have a controlling interest to make the changes we intended.

My company meant everything to me, and I didn’t like to take risks. As someone who had grown up afraid of losing everything, I had a low tolerance for them. I would never get involved with any partners’ daughter, or anyone from work, for that matter, but with the Andilets in particular, I couldn’t take any risks with our relationship. I needed them to sell me a larger percentage of their company. And for that, they would need to trust me implicitly.

… Although I did find Jordan very attractive. Beautiful, fun, and funny. For a minute there in the car, it had been pretty tempting to consider throwing my principles out the window. The way she’d looked at me, that perfect combination of nervous, shy, and bold, it was my kryptonite. I had no doubt she was exactly the kind of girl I liked to play with. I wanted to bruise her beautiful pale skin just like the bruises she had around her wrist.

“You need to pop into the club sometime soon,” said Mark, interrupting my thoughts. “It puts the members at ease. Sir Vicious has been talking about the space, sowing discontent. They need to see their leader.”

I understood what he was saying. I’d been spending less and less time at the club lately, my interest in it waning. For me, it was a business that sold a service. For my personal proclivities, I wanted something deeper and more intense than I could find at the club. But the club was important. It funded my entire lifestyle, Mark’s as well, and most of the Abbott Holdings investments.

Mark and I had founded the club together when we were in our twenties. Although it had been my idea, I never could have executed the idea on my own. For our clients, we provided a world away from everyday existence. Something precious, fragile, and rare, where the darkest fantasies could be lived out in complete privacy. Building it up had taken tenacity, enterprise and grit, and so did the day-to-day operations. It was a complex and high-risk venture.

Our members were some of the most powerful and important members of society, and because of that, I was never really at liberty to distance myself from the club. It was important that the members knew and trusted me and Mark, and that meant remaining active in club activities.

“I’ll go on the weekend,” I promised.

“Great,” said Mark, standing up to refill our drinks. “It’s Christmas. We can spend the holiday together in our usual fashion.”

I snorted. It was true that more often than not, Mark and I spent Christmas at the club. We didn’t have any other family to speak of, and it tended to get busy on Christmas Eve. After the members’ families had gone to sleep, they often came to the club for an escape.

I stayed up late with Mark and woke up the next day with a headache from the scotch, but I didn’t use the excuse to sleep past five a.m. or miss my morning workout - I never did, under any circumstances. Once one area of discipline slipped, total control could be lost.

By the time I got to the office I felt fine, if a little cranky, and I spent the morning reviewing Chateau Andilet’s financial statements.

I’d ensured Chateau Andilet was in good shape before making the purchase, of course, but their statements provided only the bare minimum of detail, much less than I liked, and I had to do my own research on each line to understand the full picture. I was spending more time than I wanted to trying to fill in the blanks.

Eventually I called in my assistant, Marianne, in frustration.

“Find out who the Andilets’ accountant is,” I snapped at her, irritably. Marianne, used to my moods, walked over to my desk and coolly flipped through the pages stacked in front of me.

“I saw it in here,” she explained. “It’s just written on a Post-It note.”

She flipped a page over and slid it towards me. “Any questions call our accountant!” said Jennifer’s handwriting. A phone number was scrawled underneath. No name.

“Do you want me to call him?” asked Marianne.

“No, I’ll do it,” I grumbled. I waited until she closed the door before dialling the number.

A woman answered. “Hello?”

“I’m looking for the accountant for the Chateau Andilet winery.”

“Well, you’ve got her.” The voice was deep for a woman’s - throaty… and familiar.

“Okay, hi. My name is Alexander Abbott, and I recently purchased part of the company. I’m looking through--”

“-- I know who you are,” she cut me off. “It’s Jordan. Starck? You drove me home last night.”

I was silent for a moment, struck dumb with surprise. I didn’t think I would ever speak to her again.

“You’re… an accountant?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m the accountant, the one you’re looking for. Is there a problem with my parents’ accounts?”

“No…” I struggled to compose myself. Jordan? What were the chances? “No, I don’t think so. They’re just very high-level, and I need someone to walk me through the detail.” Against my better judgment, I asked impulsively, “Can we meet to go over them?”

---