The Final Seduction (The Billionaire's Way) Book 3 (3 page)

“How can I help you, Mr. Peak?” the butler asks.

“Two things. Get my leash and collar.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Peak,” the butler responds.

“Secondly. Eject this director asshole from my premises.”

“With pleasure, Mr. Peak,” the butler exclaims with a slight hint of a smile.

My goodness. I look down at the director, whose entire neck of bruised from my boss’s merciless death grip. For a moment, I think about asking for an ambulance. However, I decide that this innocent question could further agitate my master. The butler returns with a black leather collar and a six foot long chain leash. What the fuck is that for?

The butler grabs the director by the legs and drags him out of the room. And presumably, out of the townhouse. Mr. Peak attaches the leash to the collar and then he looks at me. “You defied my direct order. It’s obvious that I will literally have to keep you on a short leash until you learn to obey
every
order I give you.”

Mr. Peak secures the collar around my neck. He yanks on the leash, causing me to fall on my hands and knees. “Are you going to be a good girl?!” Mr. Peak barks while he yanks on the leash.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you going to give me trouble from now on?!”

“No, sir.”

“Get up. You’re coming to the office with me,” Mr. Peak says as he leads me out of the townhouse.

I am taken outside as the leash is still attached to the collar around my neck. I look down on the sidewalk and see J.T. Marcos’s shaking body huddled in the fetal position. My boss leads me into his Maybach. We speed out of the Upper East Side and head over to my boss’s Columbus Circle office.

As we speed towards the office, Mr. Peak yanks on the chain. He doesn’t seem to appreciate me looking out of the window. I put my hand on his lap. He seems to enjoy that. My boss runs his hand up the steel chain and places his strong fingers around my neck.

We get to Mr. Peak’s office at Columbus Circle. He pulls me out of the car and forces me to march into the Time Warner Center with that chain around my neck. A few people seem to notice. This being New York, however, not that many people seemed shocked by the sight.

Mr. Peak yanks me into the elevator. We are alone. He takes part of the chain and whaps my ass with it. I lift up the back of my skirt and show him my ass. “Dammit. You know that fucking makes my dick hard,” Mr. Peak growls.

Yes I know. I pull down my thong and tease him some more. Mr. Peak kicks the emergency stop button on the elevator. The elevator jerks to a halt. My boss starts to rip off my clothes. He pushes me up against the wall and begins to kiss my neck. He runs his tongue down my back. It tickles.

Mr. Peak spanks my butt. Suddenly, I feel him sink his teeth right into my ass cheeks. Oh my! My boss is losing control. Mr. Peak spreads my legs apart. He gets under me and begins to pleasure my favorite place with his tongue. Fuck!

I fall to the ground until I am sitting on Mr. Peak’s face. He reaches up and starts to pinch my nipples. For the first time, I feel like I am in control. I swivel my hips and enjoy the ride. Just when I think I have the upper hand, my boss yanks me by the hair and pulls me onto my back.

“Stay right there. Don’t move!” Mr. Peak barks as he removes his clothes. My boss can’t get undressed fast enough. He pulls down his pants and his boxers. Then he gets right on top of me and starts to thrust and grind like a true black belt in the art of fucking.

Mr. Peak takes his right hand and begins to choke me. I stare at the ambient lighting at the top of the elevator cabin. My vision begins to blur as Mr. Peak tightens his grip around my little neck. I think I am about to black out.

My boss fucks me harder and faster. I grab my boss’s ass and sink my fingernails deep into his strong, muscular rump. I want to kiss him so bad but his choke hold keeps the back of my head firmly glued to the floor of the elevator.

We stare into each other’s eyes as we come to a climax. Mr. Peak grits his teeth and screams. I moan. We fall into each other’s arms as our bodies relax from the post-orgasm explosion. It’s perhaps the only moment of tenderness we will feel all day. I never want this intimacy to end.

Mr. Peak orders me to get up. Damn, it is so disappointing that we could not cuddle a little longer. For my boss, working is as important as fucking. He orders me to get dressed. Mr. Peak puts his suit back on and continues the elevator’s ascent.

When we get to the forty-second floor, the doors open to a bevy of activity. It’s about 9 p.m. and the office looks like it is ready to get started with the trading day. Mr. Peak jerks the chain and says bluntly, “Now you will behave yourself while I do my job.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We walk to Mr. Peak’s office. No employee even questions the fact that I am being led around on a chain. When we get to the office, my boss takes a seat on a leather chair and orders me to sit on the floor.

The twenty or so Hedge Fund employees dare not even acknowledge the odd display of dominance by their billionaire boss. Though I am sitting on a floor - collared and chained - my proximity to Mr. Peak makes me the second most important person in the room.

“The transfers from Odostan should be coming in after Midnight Eastern Standard Time, Mr. Peak,” the managing director announces.

“Good. Give me the list of offshore accounts that we will be using. I want to make sure we are geographically spread out with these funds. And remember, I want ten percent of the money stored in physical gold and silver bullion.”

As my boss continues to hold court, I sit in silence. Occasionally, I run my right hand up and down my boss’s right leg. For the rest of the evening, however, I remain obedient. I remain silent.

***

I wake up at noon inside the townhouse. Mr. Peak has already gone back to the office. I swear he only had about three hours of sleep. The man is a machine! I get up and take a nice, long bath. When I return to the bedroom, I find a dozen messages on my phone. All of the messages are from the media. Apparently, the incident with J.T. Marcos has gotten out. I think I am going from famous to infamous in record time.

In a panic, I call my boss. “Sir, I have to let you know that the incident with J.T. Marcos is already out in the media.”

“Go handle it,” my boss orders.

“How do I do that?”

“You are comfortable in front of the camera. Give them a nice bullshit story that makes you look good and makes that director look bad. You know how the game is played.”

“Should I leave out the part about you choking the director with your right hand.”

“I don’t care. My lawyer is going to pay that guy a few million bucks to go away. Remember, your job is to deflect attention away from me. So deflect, Sarah. Now, I have to get back to work!” Mr. Peak barks as he hangs up on me.

In a panic, I call up my publicist and ask her what I should do?

“I can get you on CNN. They happen to be in the Time Warner Center.”

“Yeah, that’s the same building where Mr. Peak’s office is located.”

“Then you should be familiar with it. Don’t worry. I have a great relationship with everyone there.

I’m going to meet you in a car and we’ll go over specifics.”

“How should I dress?”

“Well, don’t dress like you’re going out to a club. Be conservative.”

“Gotcha.”

I hang up the phone and run into the massive walk-in closet. I find a nice white blouse and a rather conservative long blue dress. I get dressed and look in the mirror. Boy, I look more like a secretary then a socialite. Perhaps that is a good thing.

As I look into the mirror, I begin to contemplate the massive responsibility on my shoulders. Mr. Peak needs me. I need to be strong. I have to stop acting immature and begin to take some initiative. My boss is relying on me to handle the situation. Therefore, I will handle the situation.

I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I fall into a meditative state. The minutes go by as I gather up the resolve to confront the media and take control of a potentially explosive situation. As I sit back up, Mr. Peak’s butler appears at the bedroom door.

The butler announces that the publicist is waiting for me. Oh my goodness, I am not even done with my hair and make-up. Oh screw it, I’m not going to some fashion shoot. This is supposed to be a serious news interview.

I take the elevator downstairs and find my publicists, Emily, on the phone. She is a tall, striking redhead in her late 40s. She is lean and angular. This looks like a tough cookie. I am glad I have her on my side.

Without even acknowledging me, Emily puts her arm around me and leads me out the door. As soon as we get out of the townhouse, the paparazzi ambush us.

“What did you do to J.T. Marcos?” yells one photographer.

“Are you going to send flowers to his hospital?” another paparazzi asshole shouts.

“Where are you going?” yet another gossip hound screams out.

I ignore all of them. One idiot is unfortunate enough to get between me and the Mercedes. I yank the camera lens, causing the rude paparazzi jerk to fall on his face. The other photographers take shots of me and their fallen comrade.

“Fucking animals,” Emily says as she looks at the paparazzi point their cameras at the back of the luxury sedan. We speed off to the CNN studios. “First thing you need to do is be charming and comfortable. You look younger than your age and J.T. Marcos has a bad reputation. So all you have to do is say that you felt your safety was in danger. CNN is going to be really soft with you since they are getting the exclusive interview.”

“What if they ask me about Mr. Peak?”

“Just say that you will not speak for him.”

The Mercedes arrives at the Time Warner Center. I feel so weird coming into the same building where Mr. Peak is working without seeing my boss. The car stops in front of the building and I get out. Emily leads me to the elevators and continues to coach me.

“Whatever you do. Do not walk off on the interview. If you do that, you will look like you are hiding something. And that will be the only footage that will be played on all of the blogs and news shows. Just give the interviewer some juicy clips that will be picked up by other media and everything will be fine.”

“Juicy clips?”

“Yeah. Remember when you told the media that your relationship with Mr. Peak was ‘none of their business?’ That was a star making quote. Try to come up with something along those lines.”

Oh Boy, the pressure is on. Sometimes being famous is not as easy as it seems.

We arrive at CNN’s New York studios. The lights, the sets and various production workers buzzing around makes me nervous. I am well aware of the fact that if I say something stupid, the entire world will see me crumble before their eyes.

I take a seat in a “green room” where the guest can relax before going on the air. I pull out my phone and begin to check my messages. Not 30 seconds go by before I am grabbed by an assistant producer. “We’re ready to go on the air, Sarah.”

Wait? What?! You guys are ready?! I’m not ready. I don’t want to raise a protest so I just allow myself to be escorted onto the set.

The assistant producer places me in a seat. Lights are pointed at my face. A make-up person touches me up. People buzz around me yelling, “Two minutes to air.” Fuck! I feel like I am about to get prepped for my own execution!

An attractive blonde woman walks up to me. She is instantly familiar to me. I’ve seen her on CNN hundreds of time. She walks up to me and says, “Hi Sarah, I’m Lenna Thomson. So it looks like you have had an eventful couple of weeks in New York,” the interviewer says.