Chapter Four
My next two days were so busy with work that I hardly had the time to breathe, let alone think clearly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Alec Falconer had dipped his fingers into my life from above, manipulating my accounts, my bosses and the activity of Ross Turcot like a puppeteer above a stage. Not only did I spend ten hours at the office on Friday, I worked until almost midnight at home and went back for another six hours on Saturday. I was expected at the beach house at seven, and was forced to rush through traffic and pray I’d make it on time. I arrived fifteen minutes late, breathlessly panting, rattled from a wreck on the I-405, and completely unprepared for what might be facing me in the next installment of my submissive life.
I anxiously knocked on the door,
