My Secret Master (A Dark Billionaire Romance)
Read My Secret Master (A Dark Billionaire Romance) Online
Authors: Nora Flite
My Secret Master
A Dark Billionaire Romance
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Nora Flite
Copyright © 2015 Nora Flite
All rights reserved. My Secret Master is a work of fiction. This title was originally published as Perfectly Too Far, and has been extensively edited and extended. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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- Chapter One -
Naomi
A preview of my future...
“Y
ou think you're not a slave, that you're not meant to kneel and please your Master.” He chuckled, a noise that stroked my inner thighs as good as his hand could have. “I'll have fun proving you wrong.”
Bending down, he caught my ankles. Easily, he spread them wide, fixing them inside two straps bolted to the floor.
Oh god, oh god!
My chest was threatening to split open from the tremor in my lungs. I thought I'd been too deep before, but now, I knew what deep really meant.
“I'm going to break you,” he whispered, circling behind me.
His voice coerced a wave of excitement. Determined to bury it, I stared at the far wall, but it was torture of another kind, because I could see the exit. I tugged at the ropes, knowing it was hopeless.
I'm trapped, what will he do to me?
Hands moved down my back, then further, cupping my ass cheeks, fondling them lightly. My shout was a mere mumble behind the gag. I started to writhe, shaking in my bonds.
He slapped my ass hard, the noise cutting the air. The pain traveled in a burst through my flesh, down to my toes.
“Clearly, you have trouble obeying. Let's fix that.”
Wondering how he meant to 'fix' me, I flooded with worry.
And also with something else.
My whole core was electric. It burned, making my breathing heavier. Wilder.
Control yourself,
I demanded.
Think of a way out of this!
But with what he had planned... nothing I did would make a difference.
He'd said he was going to break me.
And he meant it.
Current Day
I placed my hand gingerly on my mailbox, closing my eyes as if to pray. My forehead wrinkled with hard grooves, thoughts running with one simple phrase:
Acceptance letter, acceptance letter.
Bracing myself as if preparing to be punched, I tugged the panel open. As soon as I did, envelopes spilled out and across the damp ground. Groaning, I slumped my shoulders, hurrying to gather up the wet paper.
We'd been experiencing a streak of rain in the
supposedly
sunny realm of Los Angeles.
Shutting the mailbox, I slipped eagerly into the dryness of my studio apartment. The screen door hung limp on its hinges; I ignored it. The thing had been broken since I'd moved in.
Every time I call the landlord, they assure me they'll fix it soon.
Yup. Soon.
Huffing, I opened my arms and let the mail drift onto the coffee table. Dropping down in front of it, I dug through the mushy paper until I finally found what I'd been waiting for.
With trembling hands, I held the envelope before my eyes.
This is it, this has to be my acceptance into the California College of Fine Arts!
Swallowing the lump that wouldn't go away, I tore the envelope open. There, still soggy from the rain, I found my letter. Peeling it apart, I scanned the printed text rapidly. Finally, at the bottom, my answer awaited me.
Not admitted.
My heart was throttled by my sadness.
They denied me. Why?
Scowling, I crumpled up the rejection letter. In one great swing, it bounced off a wall, landing in the corner. With a defeated groan, I began pacing the length of the room. It wasn't a long walk, my place was painfully small.
Rejected. After everything.
What did hard work matter, if you just ended up on your last dime in a city you couldn't even afford?
Eventually I slumped onto the one other piece of furniture I owned. The mattress sat on the bare floor, covered in blankets and used quite often as a couch.
My fingers worked into my long strands of hair, absently tying it into knots.
I need a plan. Something, anything, HAS to go my way for once.
Luck had never been in my favor. I was the kid that always tripped on unseen cracks in the sidewalk, or dropped her lunch when everyone just happened to be watching.
Didn't life owe me a
little
karma?
The sharp ring of my phone cut through the air, startling me so that I yanked my hair. Flinching, I dug into the pocket of my jacket. My heart fluttered a moment as I imagined that
this
was my sign.
Had the cruel world finally called to give me a break?
The number on the screen was one I recognized. Sighing, I clicked the button. “Hey, Mom.”
“You sound so cheerful,” the sarcastic voice on the other end said.
I had to crack a smile. It was true, I knew I sounded defeated. Shifting on the bed, I stretched out on my stomach and stared blankly at my coffee table. “Sorry, it's just the rain. I hate it, you know?”
It wasn't entirely a lie.
“Well, if you say so. How's everything? Have you applied to any colleges yet? Gotten into one? Sold any art?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Hah, what a barrage of questions.”
My mom laughed, but I imagined her rolling her eyes. “Sweetie, it's all really the
same
question.”
“I know.” My attention shifted from the table, to the rest of my mail that had drifted to the floor near me. “And
you
probably know the answer already.” Blinking, I noticed a single square of green among the junk-mail.
Reaching out, my fingers tugged the letter closer, balancing my cellphone between ear and shoulder.
What's this?
I wondered.
I was distantly aware of my mother talking, but I'd stopped listening. There, in my hands, was the most unassuming envelope. Carefully I tore it, tugging the card free.
“Naomi,” my mom snapped. “Hello? Are you there? I asked you a question.”
Sitting up in a hurry, I crushed the phone in my trembling hand. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“I said, if things don't get better, you know you can always come home. If you don't get into a college soon, it'll really be your only choice. You're twenty-three, honey. I can't afford to keep you out there in LA if there's no reason for you to be there.”
With a smile that was slow, yet unending once it started, I lifted the letter before my eyes. The script was soft, curled. It proclaimed exactly what I needed just then.
We'd like to extend you an offer to display your work in our gallery.
“Actually, Mom,” I said softly, “Things may finally be looking up.”
****
S
taring at the wide glass front window, I tried to make myself stop smiling. My face was starting to hurt, but I was simply too excited.
Well, if I'm honest, the location isn't great... and I'm pretty sure the building next to this is full of junkies.
I didn't care. Nothing could smother my joy.
Tugging the small wagon behind me, I pushed into the building. It was a single large room with rafters arching above. It reminded me of a warehouse, and it smelled strongly of sawdust and paint thinner.
I inhaled slowly, enjoying the scent. It reminded me of work.
Staring around, noticing the dark red walls and the lights hanging down, I didn't spot the can of brushes until I tripped over it. “Augh!” I shouted, stumbling onto my ass, the wagon of canvases tipping over.
Apparently my luck hadn't gotten better, after all.
“Are you alright?”
The voice was female, high pitched like a bird. I flinched, my cheeks burning pink. The only real damage had been to my pride. Glancing up at the speaker, I saw a woman who reminded me of a willow tree in both height
and
hair.
My laughter was forced. “I'm fine, yeah.” Standing quickly, I dusted off my pants and flashed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that, I didn't notice the cans there.”
Brown eyes, friendly and warm, looked me up and down. “It's fine, that was quite an entrance!” She extended a long arm, spindly fingers stretching. “I'm Veronica, you must be...?”
“Naomi, Naomi Starling.” As I shook Veronica's hand, I noticed how cold it was.
“Oh, yes!” Laughing, she suddenly wrapped me in a hug. It was a gesture much too friendly for a first meeting.
Before I could even ask what was going on, the woman gripped my shoulders. Holding me at a distance, she studied me. “You're so
young
, I was sure you'd be ancient. Your paintings have such an old soul in them! What are you, a college kid?”
“Uh, well, 'attempted' college kid,” I said with chagrin. “Haven't gotten in where I want yet—wait, you've seen my work?”
“Of course! I saw it at the craft festival on Vine last month. You weren't there, so I just grabbed one of your cards.”
I flushed, recalling how I'd gotten lost and been late that day. LA traffic, combined with its one way streets, had done me in. One of the event agents had to set up
and
guard my booth for several hours.
It hit me, then, who Veronica had to be. “Wait. You're running this gallery?”
“Running is a strong word,” she said, winking. Bending down to right my wagon, she started loading the canvases back inside. I crouched to help as she kept talking. “I do my best, don't get me wrong, but it's, you know.” She waved her arm around her head. “This city makes running
anything
a hurdle.”
“Oh,” I mumbled.
I guess I shouldn't have assumed this was going to be some high-end experience. My stuff isn't well known, don't know why I thought this gallery would be my break.
Dropping the last canvas into the wagon, I straightened up.
Veronica emulated me, raising an eyebrow. Her peach lips crinkled up at one side. “I'm bad at this, that wasn't meant to make you feel depressed or anything. We run the gallery with different artists once a month, so there's plenty of time for you to make some sales. Don't worry about the money.”
How could I
not
worry about the money?
I tugged at the end of my braid, once more studying the space. “Who else will be setting up their art here?”
“What do you mean?” She grabbed her hips, cocking them to the side dramatically. “Didn't you realize by now?”
Anticipation crawling up my spine.
Laughing long, loud, but without any hint of rudeness, the taller woman grabbed me by the hands and gave a squeeze. “Honey, you've got this whole space to yourself. It's yours to fill!”
“All of it?” I heard my heart more than I felt it. Everything was going numb.
Veronica's teeth sparkled in the lights. She released me so she could spread her arms, turning in place. “All of it!”
This... this is...
Dazed as I was, I wondered if I might topple over. Unsure what else to do, I looked down at my small wagon, then at the large field of blank walls.
“I think I'll need more canvases,” I whispered.
Naomi
B
y the end of the third day, I had managed several things.
1. Covering a single wall of the space with art I had completed before being invited to the gallery.
2. Showing Veronica that I could knock over more than just paint brushes.
