Nathaniel West is the world’s biggest f**king idiot.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Idiot.

Abigail opened the door and quietly stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

Big. Fucking. Idiot.

You have no business having her here.

This will go down as your worst mistake ever.

She walked to the middle of my office, and from my peripheral vision, I saw her stand with her hands to her sides, feet spread to the width of her shoulders.

Damn.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Damn.

I kept typing while I peeked at her. She took a deep breath. Her eyes were closed.

Pull it together, West, I typed. She’s here for you. To be your submissive. The least you can do is not be a complete pansy ass.

You’ve done this many times. She wants to be your sub. You are a dom. She’s nothing new. Nothing special.

It’s very, very simple, so stop trying to make it complicated.

Give her what she wants. What she needs.

Take what she’ll give.

And some of what she doesn’t even know she has to offer.

Typing helped clear my head. Very much like playing the piano. I wrote out a few more lines, took a deep breath, and looked up.

“Abigail King,” I said.

She jumped. It was to be expected really. Her head was still down, but a faint tremor ran throughout her body. I wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her I would never harm her.

Instead, I picked up her application and the packet of papers I would give her if the meeting went well and tapped them together.

Her head was still down.

Very nice.

I pushed back from my desk and walked across the floor. Her tremor intensified, but just barely. I stood behind her and reached out a hand. It was time to touch her and realize she was no more than a flesh-and-blood woman. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I brushed her long, dark hair to one side and leaned in close. “You have no references.” Because it was the truth and because I wanted to see the pulse quicken at that delicate spot at the base of her throat.

Yes.

Just. Like. That.

I leaned closer, so my lips were almost to her throat. “I would have you know that I’m not interested in training a submissive. My submissives have always been fully trained.”

Would she want to know why I was making an exception in her case? Would my words have tipped her off that something was different about her?

Probably not. But they should have. This was not the way I normally operated. I was changing all the rules for her.

And she didn’t even know it.

I took her hair and pulled. “Are you sure this is what you want, Abigail? You need to be sure.”

A small part of me wanted her say no, to look up and leave. Never to return. But the biggest part of me wanted her to stay. Wanted her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t leave.

I chuckled and walked back to my desk. We were both so stubborn. Maybe this would work after all.

Damn, I wanted it to work.

“Look at me, Abigail.”

Our eyes met for the first time. Hers were a deep brown and framed by thick lashes. I saw her every thought reflected in those eyes. The nervousness, the hunger, the frank assessment as her gaze traveled over me.

I drummed my fingers on the desk. Her eyes darkened and she looked slightly embarrassed.

Ah, she was thinking dirty, dirty thoughts. And that made me smile—but enough of that for now.

“I’m not interested in why you decided to submit your application. If I select you and you are agreeable to my terms, your past won’t matter.” Because the past was no more. What mattered was now. I tapped the two reports together. “I know what I need to.”

She still didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

“You have no training,” I said. “But you’re very good.”

I turned to the window. Darkness cloaked the street down below, but the light from my office made the window a mirror. I could see everything Abigail did. She met my eyes for a second and then looked down.

We couldn’t have that.

“I rather like you, Abigail King. Although I don’t recall telling you to look away.”

Yes, I thought, when her eyes met mine once more. We were going to move forward.

I had her in my hands and I would not let her go.

“I think a weekend test is in order.” I turned from the window and loosened my tie. “If you agree, you will come to my estate this Friday night at six exactly. I’ll have a car pick you up. We’ll have dinner and take it from there.”

I put the tie down and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. She didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable—excited maybe, but not uncomfortable.

“I have certain expectations of my submissives.” My submissive. Abigail King was well on her way to being mine. “You are to get at least eight hours of sleep every Sunday through Thursday night. You will eat a balanced diet—I will have a meal plan e-mailed to you. You will also run one mile, three times a week. Twice a week you will engage in strength and endurance training at my gym. A membership will be created for you starting tomorrow. Do you have any concerns about any of this?”

She was silent.

Lovely.

“You may speak freely.”

She licked her lips, her pink tongue running around the edges of her mouth. The sight made my c**k twitch. Easy, now, I thought. Time for that later. Please, God, let there be time for that later.

“I’m not the most . . . athletic, Mr. West. I’m not much of a runner.”

“You must learn not to let your weakness rule you, Abigail.” Since she had brought it up, I would help her.

I walked back to my desk and wrote down the name and number of the yoga instructor at the gym.

“Three times a week you will also attend yoga classes. They have these at the gym. Anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. I will see you Friday night.” I held out the papers. “These will have everything you need know.”

She approached my desk and took the papers. Then she waited.

Perfection.

“You are excused.”

Chapter Three

While I had never been a Boy Scout, I agreed wholeheartedly with their “Be prepared” motto. Preparation was half the reason my business was so successful. It was partly why I’d never had a submissive use her safe word. If people were just more prepared, the world as a whole would run smoother.

For that reason, I spent part of Wednesday afternoon at my favorite jewelers. If Abigail’s weekend test went well, I wanted to be prepared with a collar. After seeing how well she did during her office test, I felt certain that it would.

I glanced over the offerings in the necklace display. My previous submissives had worn plain silver chokers, but I wanted something more for Abigail.

“Mr. West,” the manager said, approaching me. “What can I help you with today?”

I wasn’t impressed with anything I saw. “I’m looking for a choker. Platinum. With diamonds, perhaps?”

The manager’s eyes lit with excitement. “I have just the thing. Arrived this morning, and I haven’t had a chance to put it out yet.”

He scurried off, returning moments later with a leather-covered box. Inside was an exquisite choker made of two ropelike platinum bands, intertwined, with diamonds embedded throughout.

I could easily picture it on Abigail.

My collar.

My submissive.

“Perfect,” I said to the manager.

I decided to cook dinner for Abigail on Friday night. I wanted her to relax before we started anything. Give her a chance to ask any questions or bring up concerns. I wanted her to be comfortable over the weekend—as comfortable as possible, anyway.

I prepared one of my favorite dishes and went over my plans for the weekend. I would not have penetrative sex with Abigail yet. That could wait while I tried other things. And I would test my own control—to have her so near, so near and yet not touch her.

I also made a new rule—I would not kiss her. It seemed only fair to make a new rule, since I was breaking so many others.

Part of me knew it was silly to think not kissing Abigail would somehow ensure I kept the proper emotional distance. But the truth was, she wanted to be my submissive. She did not want me as a lover. As long as I went into the weekend remembering our relationship would be sexual, and nothing more than that, I would be fine.

The car service pulled into my driveway at five forty-five.

I opened the door to find her on her knees, petting Apollo. I had expected Apollo to keep away from her, since he usually shied away from strangers. How unusual for him to be drawn to her. Though they did say dogs had a sixth sense about people.

The fact that Apollo seemed to like her convinced me that the weekend was a good idea.

“Apollo,” I said. “Come.”

She hadn’t heard me open the door. That much was certain in the way her head jerked up. She smiled as Apollo licked her face.

“I see you’ve made Apollo’s acquaintance,” I said.

“Yes.” She stood up and brushed her pants. The setting sun made her hair and eyes look darker, more mysterious. “He’s a very sweet dog.”

“He’s not. Normally, he doesn’t take kindly to strange people. You’re very fortunate he didn’t bite you.”

Apollo wouldn’t have bitten her, of course. I wouldn’t have left him outside alone if I thought he would bite. I wasn’t sure why I said that. Maybe part of me wanted her to leave.

I led her into the house. “We’ll have dinner tonight at the kitchen table. You can consider the kitchen table your free space. You’ll take the majority of your meals there, and when I join you, you may take it as an invitation to speak freely. Most of the time, you will serve me in the dining room, but I thought we should start the evening on a less formal basis. Is all this clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

I spun around, caught off guard by her slip. “No. You have not yet earned the right to call me that. Until you do, you will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. West.’”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

I continued on, still surprised by her mistake. Hopefully, the rest of the weekend would go better.

I took her to the kitchen and waited for her to sit down. Her hands trembled when she pulled out her chair. She was nervous; that was all. I could understand that.

But she was here. Here in my kitchen. Here to be my submissive.

The absurdity of it kept me quiet.

We ate in silence for several minutes. She devoured the chicken. I shifted in my seat at the sight of her at my table, enjoying the food I’d made for her.

“Did you cook this?” she asked.

She speaks. Finally.

“I am a man of many talents, Abigail.” And I can’t wait to share them all with you.

She didn’t speak again.

“I am pleased you do not find it necessary to fill the silence with endless chatter,” I said when we were almost finished. “There are a few things I need to explain. Keep in mind, you can speak freely at this table.”

I stopped and waited.

“Yes, sir.”

Good girl.

“You know from my checklist I’m a fairly conservative dom. I do not believe in public humiliation, will not participate in extreme pain play, and I do not share. Ever.” As if I’d ever share Abigail with anyone if she were mine. “Although as a dom, I suppose I could change that at any time.”

“I understand, sir.”

Do you? I almost asked.

“The other thing you should know,” I said, “is that I don’t kiss on the lips.”

She looked puzzled by this. “Like Pretty Woman? It’s too personal?”

Yes, exactly. It’s too personal. And I needed to keep the personal out of this as much as possible.