Read Online The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) by Deena Ward - Free Book Online

covered with beige textured
wallpaper that would be at home in a nice office. The carpeting was deep blue
and of the sturdy variety you see in public places. A pleasant citrus aroma
filled the air.
    I could have been walking down this hallway to visit an
accountant, or a doctor.
    We made a left turn and came upon a young woman seated at a
desk. She was a sweet-looking girl, with bouncy brown curls, and freckles
scattered across her nose. She wore a demure cotton dress and was painting her
nails a garish purple, though she stopped immediately when she saw us turn the
corner.
    She glanced up at us, then immediately back down to the
desk, where she quickly put the top back on the bottle of polish.
    She stood as if she were at military attention. “Sir,” was
the only word she said when we stopped in front of her. She kept her eyes on
the desk and didn’t look up at us again.
    “Are the Hoytes in a session?” Michael asked.
    “Yes, Sir. They’re in room seven.”
    “I’d like a viewing room, then, if one’s open.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    She reached into a desk drawer and came up with a card that
reminded me of the kind you get at hotels, an electronic door key. “Room 7E,
Sir.”
    Michael took the key and thanked her. The girl’s posture
relaxed. She stiffened again when he said, “By the way, Sarah, I didn’t ask
what room the Hoytes were in. I’m not a big stickler on these things, but there
are others who wouldn’t appreciate your presumption.”
    She looked aghast. “I’m sorry, Sir. I should have been more
careful. I know I shouldn’t presume.”
    Michael blew out a bored-sounding sigh. “I said it’s not
about me. Go back to your nails.”
    “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” And she dropped back into her
chair and grabbed the bottle of polish as if her life depended on it.
    We walked off. When we were far enough away that I figured
Sarah wouldn’t be able to hear, I whispered, “What was that about?”
    “It was nothing. The owners like using trainees to man the
desk and we’re supposed to do our parts in their training. It’s a bother.”
    “Training?”
    “It’s a formal thing that some Doms do. It’s not important
right now.”
    We took several more turns down lengthy hallways until we
came to a door marked with the number seven, and then past number seven to a
door with a sign that read, “Viewing Rooms,” and underneath that, “7A - 7E and
8A - 8E.”
    Michael opened the door and we entered into another hallway,
this one narrower and lined with doors, seven’s on one side, eight’s on the
other. We went to the one labeled 7E, where Michael used his card key and
ushered me inside.
    It was a small room, only large enough to hold an oversized
recliner, a cushioned bench, a small end table, and of all things, a chaise
longue. The furniture was covered in a sturdy, black vinyl. I thought it was a
good choice, that it would be easy to keep clean. This was not a strange
thought to have, considering one of the odors in the room.
    Mostly, the room smelled of an exotic Asian blend of
incense. But under that smell was the barely perceptible tang of disinfectant,
an obvious declaration of the room’s purpose. I should have been comforted and
reassured by this sign of cleanliness. Instead, I became a tangle of nerves and
anticipation, a condition that worsened the longer I examined the room.
    It was as brightly lit as a kitchen, the walls and floor
shining pristine white under the glare. The huge curtain was white, too,
stretching from sidewall to sidewall and ceiling to floor on the far side. I
assumed the curtain covered the window into Room 7.
    In all, it reminded me of a surgical viewing room, not
comforting in the slightest.
    Michael gave me a reassuring smile. He took my purse and
laid it on the little table, then turned a knob on the wall, a dimmer for the
lights as it turned out. As shadows took shape around the furniture, the softer
light soothed the harsh sterility of the room.
    “Better?”