Early morning light filtered into my bedroom as I threw the covers off. I hadn’t slept well. Drenched in sweat from a dream about the night before, I curled into a tight ball and slid one hand inside my panties. Whitney had awakened in me a desire for punishment. She had been true to her word though, and we never had sex. Instead, she left me dripping and wanting more. Wanting Richard. I had dreamed of a dark and faceless man. He may have been wearing a hood when he told me, “Do as I say.”The man placed a jeweled collar around my throat and attached a leash to it. Holding my leash, he led me into my office where my coworkers watched with open mouths. We walked past them, and I felt proud of who I was. I thought of the dark man in my dream, my disobedience, and his collar. The memory of the dream and of Whitney aroused me, and I remained in bed to satisfy the urge with my vibrator. Later, I dressed for work and used concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. While I added t

My alarm radio had been singing for quite some time, though I was barely aware of it. “Oh my God!” I sat up and looked—eight-fifteen. I hate being late to work! This was exactly why I never drank on a weeknight. The room swam in circles as I reached for my cell and called Perry. “I’m going to be late today. I woke up with a huge . . . headache. It’s probably a cold.” She’d never suspect I had a hangover.“I’ll call with any messages, Ms. Robert.”“Thanks, Perry.” The sunlight shining on my comforter hurt my head. I covered my eyes and went back to sleep. Around ten in the morning I crawled out of bed, my stomach queasy and grumbling. I plodded to the kitchen and forced down a granola bar while making coffee. Advil too. Without turning the television on—the noise wouldn’t have helped—I sipped the hot brew to nurse my headache. While preparing for work, I tried to recall the conversation with Richard. What seemed clear to me was our evolving, growing relationship. I let that soak in

The list of executives from Fortune 500 companies who attended the Children’s Hospital fundraiser was long. But maybe Whitney would remember Irene. Yes, it had been over a year ago, but Whitney had met Irene Davidson there. That was clear from the photo of the two talking at the bar. Maybe Whitney was one of the last people to speak to Irene. I retrieved Whitney’s card from my purse and crawled into bed with my laptop to do some research. Whitney Crewe bore no connection to the name on the business card—Madam Ella Crewe. Publicly, she was identified as Jack Barnes’ partner. The PPS founder was more well-known than she. Whitney lived with him in a very nice five-bedroom home in the middle of upper-class suburban Illinois. Jack owned a small yacht that he kept in Fort Lauderdale, and Whitney owned a condo in Aspen, Colorado. She appeared to be the wife of a rich businessman. Her secret life showed a completely different side of her, however. In her website photo, her long blackish hai

For the next forty-eight hours I existed in a fog. Though I had acted out of anger, I regretted transferring my client to Domie. An underlying feeling of guilt niggled me. I missed Richard. I missed his calls and his low, calm voice. I could only wonder how our relationship would have developed over time. I sank even lower as time passed, and Richard left no messages. Perry knew I was going out of town for six days. She thought I was visiting family in Normal, however. And so without telling a soul, I left for Sydney. My sturdy backpack contained everything I’d need for hiking and tombstoning. This short vacation was overdue. In the Southern Hemisphere it was winter. There would be fewer tourists. I purchased a wetsuit for the colder water and decided that this time I wouldn’t camp outdoors. I booked a hotel room in Wollongong—a coastal city known for daunting cliffs and forested hiking trails. The flight to Sydney took an entire day, and while in flight I scheduled my short visit

Something was different. With a bounce in my step, I entered the elevator going down. From the lobby window, I looked for Travis, but didn’t see him. “Ms. Robert?”I turned to see a young man with an artfully trimmed black goatee standing behind me. “My name is Assad Ridhwaan. Mr. Mackenzie sent me.”“Where’s Travis? “He had a family emergency and couldn’t come to work today.” Assad led me to the Mercedes. I snapped my seatbelt into place and said, “I would have called a cab. Thanks for stepping in.”“Mr. Mackenzie wouldn’t stand for that. Besides, it’s my pleasure,” he said with a grin. Assad navigated Chicago traffic, turning toward downtown.At work, a bouquet of summer flowers arrived. Perry placed them on my desk. “There’s no card. Who do you think sent them? Was it. . . ?”The arrangement brightened my office. Perry and I both hoped it was Richard. “I don’t know,” I said. After I’d returned from Australia, I sensed that Richard wanted more from our relationship. And I felt th