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Waking to a clear sky and scenery to die for, anxious to take a shower, I attempted to get up, when in walked a burly redheaded woman with her hair in a tight bun. “Ms. Bishop, I’m your nurse. Mr. Blackstone instructed me to bathe you, and not allow you to walk on that ankle,” she stated like a drill sergeant.
“Yes, but where is Mr. Blackstone?” I questioned, my eyes searching around for my Mr. Black.
“Mr. Blackstone placed a letter on the night table with instructions for you to follow. He had meetings and then he’s flying on to San Francisco.”
“Did Mr. Blackstone say anything about returning to Montana?”
“He doesn’t share that type of information with me, Ms. Bishop,” she said, looming over me.
“Of course, he doesn’t, you are the nurse, not his secretary,” I said full of sarcasm, taking my anger out on someone, anyone. I felt used, but that could not be. “We are all adults,” Mr. Black had stated.
Glancing at the antique clock on the nightstand, my eyes settled on expensive stationery. The clock bonged out 9 a.m. Where had the time gone? Last thing I remembered, I was getting the fuck of my life, and lying in Max’s arms. Now I was being ordered around by Broom-Hilda.
“Ms. Bishop... Ms. Bishop, pay attention,” she said with a rise in her strong voice.
“Yes, yes, I heard you. You can help me into the shower.”
“Then, we can go to the fitness room afterwards.”
“Whatever you say,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. She assisted me as I limped into the shower, trying not to put my full weight on my ankle. I followed her directions in a daze, and agreed to a massage that almost killed me, but I was fit for the next day. Well, maybe my body, but my mind was a wreck.
After my shower, Hilda placed a luxurious white robe on the door, and I slipped it on. After placing me on the bed, a maid brought in two eggs sunny-side up, English muffin, imported strawberry jam, a pot of English Breakfast Tea and milk. Mr. Black knew what I liked for breakfast. I wondered what else he knew. But what did I know of him. For one, he was impossibly handsome, he liked oral sex, and he said that he loved me. I didn’t need to know any more.
I sat for a moment, staring at the fancy envelope with his brand on the front. It was written in the most refined cursive script. My hands shook as I opened the folded page. It was so impersonal, I expected Dear Darling, something romantic, but it read:
Dear Ms. Bishop,
I have had a most interesting and fortuitous night. It is with great pleasure that I make this admission. Never have I been so taken with a woman as with you. Never have I felt as intense as I have with any woman. Our act of lovemaking is embedded in my soul, and I can’t forget you, nor do I want to allow you to have another man experience the pleasures I have come to enjoy.
Therefore, I am making an offer of employment at my head office in San Francisco, California. I assure you that you will not regret your decision. Furthermore, look over the contract that I have enclosed, then sign it and present it to my butler. He will see that the document reaches me immediately. Thank you for your time.
Mr. Maximilian Blackstone, Esq.
After reading the letter, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I sat up in the bed, murmuring, “I have never been so insulted in my life. What kind of man says to a woman he had a fortuitous night? Yes, it was fortuitous for you, Mr. Black. Who would have thought that I would have been so easy to be seduced, fucked within the inch of my life? Not me, and probably not him.” I was a captive audience, I rationalized, but who was I kidding; I wanted him so badly that I would have climbed a mountain if he told me to. Instead, I let him climb me and plant his flag.
There he was, tall, dark, and silent, but he spoke aloud with his body. That was his thing; he could make love to a woman like no other—not that I had anyone to compare it to—and then put her on the payroll, to ensure that he would have endless pussy.
He’s not going to get off that easy, I vowed. I knew that I had an effect on him and he was trying to hide it from me. You would think he was too old to play games, but here he was treating me like a commodity. I took the letter and the contract in my hands, made a ball of it, then angrily threw it on the floor.
Anxious to get back to work and forget that hot fuck of my life, I needed to sleep away the day. I reached for the muscle relaxants that Dr. Watson, or whatever his name was, had prescribed, and I slept. I got up around midnight and limped out of bed and through the door. Seeing a light, I headed in that direction. Passing a bedroom, I stopped long enough to turn the knob longing to see my tall, dark, handsome drink of water come to greet me.
A faint light on a desk near a large California king bed provided a substantial view of the room. There were no pictures of naked women or anyone, no mother, brother, or sister. I guessed he used this room for sleeping, and the other for his orgies. My curiosity got the best of me, and I wobbled to the bed, slowly holding on to the edge until I reached the closet door, and opened it.
Someone said you could tell everything about a person by their closet or was it their kitchen. I walked into it, and it was larger than a small house. There hung rows and rows of black suits and shoes, and more white shirts than I could count. There wasn’t much color, and then I spied an array of silk ties providing just a hint of color. He had a large display of cufflinks, gold watches, and a display case of Montblanc pens.
His closet revealed nothing, only that he liked black, he was partial to order, and he had enough money to collect things. I didn’t want to spend my time overanalyzing him, because I came to the realization that I was out of my class, so I turned to get the hell out of there, when a figure showed in the doorway.
“Can I assist you, Ms. Bishop?”
“I was looking for something to eat and my phone when I passed this room,” I said, nervous and surprised.
“If you allow me to help you back to your room, the maid will bring you a midnight snack. “My name is Rodger Van Horn. I’m Mr. Blackstone’s butler.”
Looking up at Rodger, I placed my hand on his shoulder. I limped back to the room, looking in his face to determine how he viewed me. He was surprisingly handsome for a man of sixty. He appeared to have all of his whitish-blond hair. His face was etched with years of sun, and his manners were perfect.
“Your belongings are packed for you; if you decide to leave they will be given to you.”
After I lay in the bed for a minute, he promptly brought a tray, laden with cold chicken sandwiches, and a choice of three beverages—water, beer, and a cola. “If you require some dessert, push that button and someone will attend to your needs.”
He reached the door and turned. “The house phone is in that drawer,” he said, pointing to the nightstand. “Just hit that button and it will appear.”
I swallowed the sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of Heineken beer. I had no intentions of staying any longer than I had to. I found the phone and called Joshua.”
“Hello.”
“Joshua.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s me. Alex.”
“Alex, where the hell are you? I thought something had happened to you, because I didn’t hear from you and you didn’t show for work.”
“You have to find the address of Blackstone’s home, it’s somewhere near the Lodge. It’s a large cabin setting atop a mountain. Someone at work must have the address. Come get me when you finish your shift tomorrow.”
“Why are you whispering? Did that freak kidnap you? Did he do something to you?”
“Come on, Joshua, it’s not as dramatic as you think. I’ll tell you everything, just come get me.”