“Well, you won’t take no for an answer, apparently, so here we are.”
I turn away and go into the building, my heart thundering, my head throbbing, and my pulse racing while I pray to all the gods, old and new, that he’s already back behind the wheel of his car and driving as far away from me as possible. There isn’t a single emotion left in me for this man, except rage.
9
MAX
John Quincy III is a frickin’ lamb when Deanna’s around. No longer the hard-headed, tobacco-chewing, ass-whipping oil tycoon, Mr. Quincy is the one getting his ass whipped while staying at Haus of Sin. And last night, he got quite the whipping, considering he can barely sit in his comfortable chaise in our winter lounge.
“Are you alright, John?” I ask him, half smiling as I sink into my own seat, closer to the roaring fire.
We’re having whiskey and a casual conversation while the other guests enjoy more private sessions with their hosts. Vincent nurses a glass of his own while gazing out the window, completely oblivious to Deanna’s presence as she walks into the room.
“I’m good,” John chuckles lightly. “My behind, not so much.”
But he lights up like the sun upon seeing Deanna. Childlike joy fills his gaze, and his expression softens. Personally, I could never stand the Fox, but I will give the woman creditwhere credit is due. She’s got a way with these men, a way to get them on their knees, like no one else.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Deanna says, hips swaying as she walks closer to us.
That green velvet robe is mostly for show, as it’s soft and thin enough to offer a clear view of her shape. Her nipples are perked as she smiles at Vincent. He continues to ignore her, his gaze lost over the snow, as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. It’s an interesting dynamic, considering how crazy he used to be about her.
The one time Vincent didn’t share a woman was the one time he got his heart broken. His mistake. His lesson. Ironically enough, his mistake is still our employee.
Deanna stops by John’s chair and plants a kiss on the top of his balding head. “And how is my good boy?”
“A little sore but real good, ma’am, thank you,” he replies, one hand resting on her tiny bottom. He squeezes it, and she slaps his hand away.
“Manners!” Deanna scoffs.
“Forgive me, ma’am.”
Oh, John Quincy III settled right into his role, alright submissive, obedient, and naughty enough to guarantee a spanking later. Just the way he likes it, the old goat. Of course, we invited him to Haus of Sin not just for the pleasure, but also for the business potential. The man owns lands in places that piqued our entrepreneurial interest.
And these whiskey chats are supposed to smooth things over.
“Where’s Alex?” Deanna asks, frowning as she looks around.
Usually, she’d find him in the armchair next to mine and closest to the fireplace, but Alex had some Haus business to get out of the way before joining us.
“He should be here soon,” I reply. “Anything we can help you with?”
“No, just wanted to spend a minute with my darling bosses.”
Vincent gives me a brief but telling glance. I can feel his displeasure as the air thickens in the room. As far as the Fox is concerned, he’d rather we didn’t hire her again for next year, and truth be told, her performance has been… rather lacking this season. Deanna’s been too busy hitting on us, rather than fully catering to her clients.
“Mr. Quincy would benefit more from your attention,” I cordially suggest.
“My pet can wait until later,” she replies and takes a seat in my lap, of all places.
I stiffen and hold my breath, surprised and insulted. Given that John is here, and the last thing he needs to see is any sort of discord between us and our staff, I go along with the moment and let Deanna sit, hoping my glare is enough to make her understand that she can’t linger for too long.
“Mr. Quincy is your client,” I remind her, then steal a glance at him.
John doesn’t like this situation very much either, but there’s a submissive-dominant rapport between them—a rapport that he insists on respecting, regardless of how unpleasant the situation may feel. Again, in that sense, I have to give Deanna props. I just don’t like the way she leans into me.
“Mr. Quincy doesn’t mind me hanging out with you, does he?” she asks.
John shakes his head slowly. “No, ma’am. But I am hoping we’ll have the rest of this morning to frolic in the playroom.”
