The Queen

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want a job.”

“This is a job.”

“I want money so I can support myself.”

“These are all very boring answers. Tell me the truth. What do you really want?”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore. That’s what I want.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “How do you feel?”

“Powerless,” she said. “I’m afraid to say no to your ‘job offer.’ What would I do if you kicked me out? Where would I go?”

“Back to him?”

“No. I can’t. That’s the last place I could go.”

Kingsley nodded, seeming to understand her predicament.

“I can’t turn down your offer, can I?” she asked.

“Do you want to? Truly?”

The question seemed sincere, not teasing as it might have been. He meant it—did she want to turn down his offer?

“What’s the alternative if I say no?” she asked.

Kingsley opened a desk drawer and in the desk drawer was his locked cashbox.

“There’s one hundred thousand dollars in there. It’s yours if you want it. Take it and walk out the door.” He held up the key to the cashbox. “You can live on that much money for five years if you’re careful. Go south where the winters are warm and rents are cheap. Get a job. Go back to school. Be a lawyer or a therapist or a schoolteacher. Marry a rich old man for all I care. Start your life over away from here, away from me.”

“I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity. After Sam left, you worked as my assistant for years without any pay other than room and board. I give it to you free and clear with no strings attached. You’ve earned it. All I ask is that you never contact me again. I spent an entire year worrying over you, feeling like you were my responsibility and I’d failed you. I won’t do that again. I can’t. Take the money and go, and I will absolve myself of all responsibility. My conscience will be clear. At least where you’re concerned. Or...”

“Or I can work for you. Here. As a domme.”

“Oui. And working for me here as a domme you will have a job, you will have money and you will have power.”

“Power? Working for you? If I work for you, you’d have all the power.”

“You won’t be my employee. You’ll be my queen. You will be my queen and in a year you will have all the money and power you could possibly desire. One hundred thousand dollars and you go tonight and you never come back. Or you stay and work for me and one hundred thousand will seem like spare change to you in a year. Think about it. I’ll give you five minutes.”

Kingsley turned and walked out of the office just like that, leaving her all alone.

Once alone Elle sagged against the wall, the choice before her dizzying. A hundred grand and she could start a brand-new life far away from here. Her passport was in her bedroom. If Kingsley hadn’t thrown everything out, she could get it and leave the country. Money was power. Money was freedom.

But...it was a game, wasn’t it? she thought as she sat in Kingsley’s antique leather swivel chair behind the grand old Art Deco-era desk. Take the money and run? Or stay and work and make two, three, four times that amount?

And yet...it wasn’t really the money she cared about. Money was a means to an end and that end was power. She never wanted to feel the way she felt half an hour ago when she’d knocked on the front door of Kingsley’s town house knowing that if he shut the door in her face, she had nowhere else to go.

On Kingsley’s desk sat a chessboard with red pieces and white pieces. When she and Søren played, he took red and she took white. When she and Kingsley played, she took red and Kingsley took white. Chess...a strange old game. She wasn’t very good at it and neither was Kingsley. Søren alone had the gift for it. She’d asked him once why he made her play chess with him when she wasn’t good at it. He’d answered, “Chess teaches that actions have consequences and the wise man—or woman—will always look to the endgame...”

Elle picked up the red bishop. The bishop moved diagonally along a straight line. The poor pawn could move only a square at a time. Although if it were played well, it could become a queen. She put the bishop back on the board and picked up the red queen and the white king. The king was a strong piece, of course. The most important chess piece and the most vulnerable to attack. But the queen...the queen was the most powerful chess piece. More powerful than the king. And the queen could move any way she wanted...

Kingsley opened the door to his office.

“What’s your decision?” he asked standing on the threshold.

Elle placed the king and queen side by side on the chessboard and looked up at Kingsley.

“Let’s play.”

4 (#ulink_0a797de4-0928-53dc-a72f-565364eff560)

Three Ways to Be a Queen

“GOOD ANSWER,” KINGSLEY said, snapping his fingers at her to indicate she was to follow him. Elle stood up and followed him out of his office.

“Did you really think I’d take the money and run?” she asked as they walked down the hall side by side.

“In your shoes, I might have,” he admitted.

“I was tempted.”

“What made your decision? Him?”

“You,” she said. “I’m not done beating the shit out of you yet.”

Kingsley laughed and it was a sight to behold. His face was handsome, striking, even in repose, but when Kingsley Edge laughed it could drop a girl to her knees for more reasons than simple obeisance.

“Plus, being a queen sounds more fun than being the wife of some rich old man.”

“When I’m done with you, you will be the domme of many rich old men. Instead of you cooking and cleaning for them for free, you will beat them and use them and they’ll pay you for the privilege.”

“Sign me up for queenship, then.”

“It’s not that easy,” Kingsley said as they headed down the steps and to his private sitting room. “There are, in fact, only three ways to become a queen. Signing up isn’t one of them.”

“What are the three ways?” she asked. “Marry a king, I guess.”

“Will you marry me?” Kingsley asked.

“No offense, King, but I’d go back to the convent first.”

“And I’d join the priesthood before marrying you, as well. You and I are not husband-and-wife material. For each other or anyone else.”