I stare at my jacket, laying it over the arm of the tufted leather chair in the corner of my office. I need to leave this fucking building and get home, but I don’t fucking want to. It’s not like I have anything waiting for me. Nothing to do but more work.

I’ve spent a fortune on my home. I built it from the ground up, painstakingly choosing every piece of hardware and meticulously designing each room myself. But I couldn’t give a damn if I go back there anymore.

It’s cold and lifeless. Empty.

My brow furrows, and a frustrated sigh leaves my lips. I could keep working. There’s always more work waiting.

I clench my jaw and type the password to unlock my computer, the gentle tapping of the keys soothing me. It’s a comforting sound. But only for a moment.

As the screen lights up and I glance at the window of emails left on the desktop, I seethe and remember why I’m in such a horrible fucking mood. My eyes focus on the lawyer’s name attached to the most recent email. This is why I’m so damn pissed and aggravated.

I’m fucking tired of leeches always suing me. Trying to take a piece of me they haven’t earned. Most of the lawsuits don’t bother me. It comes with the territory. But my family, and my ex-wife? It fucking shreds me, and I hate that I ever felt anything for them. At some point in time I had feelings for them, emotions I’ve long since grown cold to.

Now there’s only anger.

I steady myself, knowing they’ve tried this before and failed. They’ll keep trying, and it’s aggravating, but I refuse to give them anything. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I know better now.

My eyes widen as a new email pops up.

From Club X.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an email from Madam Lynn. And an even longer time since I’ve set foot into the club. The pad of my thumb rubs along the tips of both my middle finger and forefinger, itching to see what’s inside.

Images flash before my eyes, and I can practically hear the soft sounds of the whip smacking against flesh and a moan forced from the Submissive’s lips. Never to hurt, only for pleasure. Whips aren’t my tool of choice, nor what I've been known for in the past. But nonetheless, the memory kicks the corners of my lips up into a grin. I tap my fingers on the desk, debating on opening the message before moving the mouse over to the email and clicking on it out of curiosity.

Check your mail, sir.

I huff a laugh at the message and immediately hit the intercom button on my desktop phone for my secretary. It’s not yet five, so she better fucking be at her desk still.

“Yes, Mr. Stone?” she responds, and her voice comes through with a sweet and casual air.

“Could you bring me my mail, please?” Although it’s poised as a question, it isn't one. There’s only one correct response, and she knows that.

There’s no hesitation as Linda says, “Of course.” Her voice is slightly raspy. Linda’s old, to put it bluntly; she should retire.

If I was her I would, rather than putting up with my arrogant ass.

I’m happy she hasn’t though. Every year I pay her more money to stay. A hefty raise, a gift here and there. It keeps her happy. Finding a good secretary is more work than it’s worth. It was a pain in my ass when I started. Linda’s the first I’ve been able to keep for more than two months and now that she knows what she’s doing, with more than four years of working for me, I have no intention of finding a new secretary. So when I make a request, I say please.

I go through the emails remaining in my inbox, waiting impatiently for her soft knock on the door to my office. Usually I don’t bother with the paper mail. Just like most of these fucking emails, they're junk. She knows what to do with them. So I leave it to her to organize and sift through it daily. She hands over the personal mail at her discretion, usually waiting until the end of the week to bring it all by, but this particular one I want right now. I’m not interested in waiting.

The light knocking at the door echoes in the small room, and I look at the clock. It's only three minutes later. Not bad, Linda.

“Come in,” I call out and she does so quickly, closing the door behind her. She walks straight to my desk, not wasting any time. Her pink tweed skirt suit looks rather expensive. It's a Chanel, if I’m correct. I see she’s putting that last bonus to good use.

“This is from today,” she says, placing a compact stack in front of me, “and this-”

I stop her, waving my hand and pulling out the small, square, deep red envelope. “No need.”

She collects the remaining mail, tapping it lightly on the desk to line everything up together and asks, “Anything else, sir?”

The use of sir catches me off guard, and for a moment I wonder if she knows who the sender of this particular piece of mail is, but her face is passive. And it isn’t the first time she’s called me sir. Most of my employees do. Linda just happens to use it less often than most.

I shake my head and say, “That’s all.” The lines around her eyes are soft, and her lips hold the faintest form of a smile. Linda’s always smiling despite having to deal with me. She takes my hot temper in stride. That’s one of the reasons I’m eager for her to stay.

She nods her head before turning on her heels. I wait until she's gone to open the envelope.

I watch her leave and listen to the door click shut, leaving me in my spacious office alone and in solitude. Just the way I prefer it.

I finally open the envelope with the letter opener on my desk, avoiding the black wax seal embossed with a bold X entirely.

The thick cream parchment slips out easily from the elegant envelope, and the handwritten message is in Madam Lynn’s beautiful penmanship. If nothing else, I admire her flair.

I can practically hear her sultry voice whispering in my ear as I read the sophisticated script.

An asymmetric smile plays on my lips as I take in her message. I may be a Sir, but she is certainly a Madam. I sit back in my leather desk chair and tap the parchment against the desk as I debate on whether or not I should attend.

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been to Club X. Even longer since I’ve had a Submissive, and only one of those was purchased at one of the monthly auctions. She lasted the longest, but only because she was required to.

It would be a nice distraction from the mundane. I muse, staring absently at the back wall lined with black and white sketches from an up-and-coming artist.

Before I can decide, my desk phone rings, bringing me back to the present. I lean forward with annoyance and answer it.

“Stone,” I answer.

“Lucian,” my sister’s voice comes through the line. It’s bright and cheery, everything my younger sister embodies. Bubbly is what she likes to be called.

But her happiness doesn’t rub off on me. Not after reading the fucking emails from our parents’ lawyer. I doubt she knows, and it’s not her fault.

She reminds me of them, though. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I could separate the two, but I can’t. They manipulate her, and it’s only a matter of time before they’ll come up in conversation. Shit, our parents could be why she’s calling now.

“Anna, how are you?” I ask her casually. I trace my finger along the wax seal of the envelope as I listen.

“I’ve been good, but I’ve been missing you...” she trails off as her voice goes distant. I don’t respond. I don’t care to admit my feelings either way. Yes, there’s a bit of pain from losing contact with my sister, but she chooses to keep in touch with them. She made that decision. And I refuse to have any contact with them.

“It’s been too long,” she says in a sad voice and then her tone picks up. “We should do lunch sometime soon.”

I take in a long breath, not wanting to commit to anything. Lunches are quick unless it’s a business meeting. Then they aren’t really lunches. But beyond that, I don’t have much to tell her. I’m certainly not going to be telling her what she wants to hear.

“Maybe soon,” I finally reply.

She huffs over the phone, “You say that when you really mean no.” Her voice is playful and forces a rough chuckle up my chest. She may only be nineteen, but Anna’s a smart girl. I can’t deny her. No matter how much I wish I could, I have a soft spot for her.

I lean forward and pull up my calendar. “I can do Thursday.”

“Deal,” she quickly agrees, and I can practically feel her smile through the phone. It warms my chest that I can make her happy. Unlike the rest of them, she doesn’t take, take, take from me. She truly just wants to see me.

“I’ve missed you, too, Anna.”

“Well you won’t have to, since I’ll text you and see you on Thursday,” she says confidently.

“I will. I’ll talk to you then.” I’m quick to end the call before she can drag me into a longwinded conversation. She can do that on Thursday for all I care.

“Talk to you then. I love you,” she says brightly.

“Talk to you then,” I answer and hang up the phone.

As I do, my eyes catch sight of the card and I pick it up and rise from my desk, slinging my jacket over my arm and thinking about the last time I was there.

It’s been a long time since I’ve set foot in Club X.

And a visit is long overdue.