“What if I need to consult with a colleague about Mr. Baxter’s issue… What is his issue, by the way?”
“You will not speak with any consultants. You have a sterling reputation. Mr. Baxter is confident you can help him resolve his problem with no outside aid. As to his condition, neither I nor my colleagues know what he wishes to discuss with you. You will have to ask Mr. Baxter that question.”
“And if I or my staff break the NDA, what are the consequences?”
“One hundred thousand dollars per breach of the agreement, Miss Davenport.”
I couldn’t help but gulp at the amount. Discovery and enforcement might be difficult, but it was still a steep amount. I had faith in my staff, though. We’d had several celebrities see me and use my services, even Chastity’s, and not one word had ever leaked to the press. I believed sincerely that we would never pay a penny in damages for a breach. It was more a matter of principle.
“Give me the NDA.” I reached out for the paperwork. Bird Man handed it to me. I leafed through each page looking for key spots and the specific verbiage Mr. Warren had mentioned. It seemed to match up with what he had said. I handed it to Mr. Warren.
“There is no clause for the payment amount agreed upon.”
The brunette stepped forward and handed Mr. Warren a document. He looked it over. Crossed something out and wrote on it and then handed it to me.
I looked it over. It promised to pay me twenty thousand dollars per visit for a minimum of ten visits. I ran a successful practice, but it was hard to turn down two hundred thousand dollars. That was what I would normally make in about six months. I set the papers on the table.
“Where do I sign?” I asked.
Mr. Warren handed me the expensive pen, a Montblanc, and pointed to the places I needed to sign. I signed and then initialed in two other places the brunette instructed me to.
“You have just the two assistants on payroll, Miss Davenport?” Warren asked.
“Yes, Penny and Chastity,” I replied. “They will sign as well.” I looked at Penny to ensure that she was okay with this. She reached for a pen.
“And where is my client? It appears it is time for his appointment.”
“He just texted me, Miss Davenport. He’s in your office,” the brunette said.
I blinked and straightened my shoulders. “Very well. Let’s go see what Mr. Baxter needs to work on.” I stopped at the door.
“Oh, and Mr. Warren, please get the check for the additional ten thousand to Penny immediately,” I said.
I strode back from the intake room to my office. When I closed the door behind me, I saw a tall gentleman, broad shoulders, black tailored suit staring out my one window which faced a pond and park beside my building and the Pacific Ocean on the horizon.
“Well, Mr. Baxter, you must have some pretty dark secrets and a very serious problem that you require me and my staff to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Before we get started, why don’t we talk about why you need these circumstances before you will work on whatever is bothering you.” I walked to the middle of my office and took a seat in my comfortable wing-back chair. It was my therapist’s chair, and I always felt more confident sitting in it. I felt in control.
I grabbed a notebook and my pen and prepared to get to work. “You can take a seat on the couch.”
Mr. Baxter turned and walked to the couch. I started writing on my notepad the typical stuff before a session. Patient name, date, time, etc. as he took a seat. When I looked up, he was facing me and his eyes narrowed as he took me in. I couldn’t help but gasp when I saw his face.
Mr. Derek Baxter was Mr. Dark Eyes.
Chapter5
Sex Therapy
My pussy clinchedand my heart raced as a flashback of my lap dance from the Cherry Pit dazed me. The therapy room was silent and illuminated by the sun shining through the window and a long lamp beside my chair. The club had been so much different.
My stomach and legs quivered as if they relived that night viscerally. I focused on the notepad in my lap, trying to catch my breath, as memories of his hands on my body, his breath on my neck, and his cock sliding inside me all wrestled with my need to be professional.Was that even possible?
I had danced for him and countless others at the Cherry Pie Gentleman’s club. He had commanded me to take off my top, though. No one else. Not that the others didn’t want that.
It was something I hadn’t planned on doing. It was amateur night, and I was indeed an amateur exotic dancer. Or at least twenty years past the time I did it overseas. I took my bra off anyway and danced for him. Even worse, I let him slide his twenty-dollar bills in my panties. That paltry amount, compared to the check his lawyer handed Penny today, thrilled me so much more.
I experienced his first touch then. It had been like the sun inviting a flower to bloom and did I bloom. I even agreed to a private lap dance in the back room, the Cherry Pit.
I had danced and rubbed my body against his, brazenly shook my breasts in his face, inviting his touch. When he had offered me a thousand dollars for the lap dance, I was both offended and turned on. I went well beyond a lap dance. Lap dances don’t involve intercourse.Do they?
