The Binding Contract

Two-1

Two

BEING A LADY OF LEISURE meant I had a lot of free time but since Sinclair always insisted on Sexton driving me everywhere, I didn’t feel as free as I ought to have felt. The contract said I could have s*x with other men but it felt like I couldn’t, not really. In a way he’d be observing because he always knew where I was, every hour of the day. Even if I wanted s*x with some random stranger, I would want it to happen with nobody’s knowledge so in a way, I was s*x starved and crazy because he had me over a barrel there, too. I could have s*x with another man – but not without him knowing. The thought of him knowing about it gave me the creeps.

I spent most of my spare time reading or watching films and I had stacks of notebooks in my bedroom, filled with ideas for stories. I had so many ideas but none of them stuck. I could’ve written thirty novels by now, being trapped in his house, but not one idea had stuck for long enough that I could produce even a short story. My mind was too scattered all the time, with no real direction. I couldn’t describe the feeling except I imagined being in limbo felt pretty similar. Sort of yearning for escape but at the same time, knowing you can’t leave. My whole life was in limbo. If I wrote a novel, would it even get published? Would he let me release it?

I hated Sinclair.

I couldn’t walk freely around London like I wanted to. Sure, Sexton would take me to galleries and museums but I’d always be badgered by him on my phone, making sure I got back to the car at the designated, agreed time. I’d left the small Irish village I grew up in not only to escape an unloving family, but also to immerse myself in culture and hopefully, find love.

All I’d found was a cage.

Cohésion was the b**m haunt we often frequented in Paris but other than there, our time together was mostly spent at the place he’d put me up in. In Paris he took me to restaurants and sat, quiet and thoughtful, across the table from me. In London, he didn’t take me anywhere. We were never seen together in London. I had to explore the city all alone. It didn’t feel like I imagined it would. You know, like in the movies where people run down streets together, over cobbles and round corners. Stealing kisses in doorways. Instead everything just felt dour and grey.

It was true he didn’t require much more of me other than to basically not have a life – but six years of this had gradually gnawed away at me. I was a strong girl. I’d coped before in traumatic circumstances, but surely Sinclair couldn’t expect me to live like this forever?

My duties included procuring b**m clothing and apparatus. I judged what we did together as largely my job, because none of it really worked for me. Leather and latex weren’t really my thing, they were his. I knew I wasn’t kinky, but he was. If anyone at the late-night kink stores made chitchat with me, I always said I was shopping for my boss because I wanted people to know I didn’t share Dante’s tastes. I always purchased online if it was an item I didn’t need to get in the right size.

Most evenings, Dante came over to the Knightsbridge house he’d put me up in, but it was never for more than an hour or two. I was his dirty secret and he kept me at arm’s length and for only short periods because he couldn’t be seen to be staying the night, which would upset his real-life girlfriend.

THE day after my trip to the salon, the resounding news online was, ‘Cornish Signs Billion-Dollar Deal’. How things could change overnight!

I had a few days free before having to be in Paris so I spent what free time I had thinking about how I could get an introduction. Having seen pictures of him looking easy bait, I began scouring the internet for details.

I realised the scope of hotels he frequented was enormous and unless I got some insider information, I could be trailing around for months trying to catch him in passing. I needed real information otherwise I could get arrested for stalking. For all I knew, he could use one hotel as a dummy, and another as his real place – booking under a pseudonym, even. If the guy was anything like Sinclair, he’d take his privacy very seriously. Those with money always did.

I had to find out which hotel Roman favoured before I even set out my plan of action. Sinclair would be onto me if I started making friends with Mr Pundit or someone else like him – just to gain insider information. Sexton no doubt spied on me and whenever I walked out of the house, he was always there with the car, so I was never allowed to walk anywhere without their say-so.

Could I even do this? I screamed inside my head. I was seriously mentally deranged, wasn’t I? My head spinning with the possibility of me going from one hotel to another, with little chance of ever coming across the elusive footballer, I knew all this was a long shot and a stupid idea in theory. How would I swing it with Sexton? Claim I was trying out different hotel facilities, or meeting fake friends for lunch inside them?

How could a footballer save me? For Christ’s sakes, I wasn’t a stupid girl and even I couldn’t save me.

But… and this was a big BUT, I had too much free time to think.

So… using my free time, I began studying pap shots of Roman and noticed something similar about all of them. There was always some wonderful topiary in the background as he was papped leaving his hotel before or after a game.

The grounds of said hotel reminded me of the Four Seasons on Park Lane. He could have been there for afternoon tea for all I knew, or lunch. Maybe it was his favourite place to take his mother? However, there were more shots of him leaving that hotel than any other – and the variety of women following three steps behind him made me realise he definitely used hotels as knock-in shops.

It had only been hours since the idea had begun kindling in my mind and already, I was possessed with figuring out how to get an introduction with my possible way out.

When the phone rang, I answered it quickly. “Yes?”

“Did you make some purchases?” His voice breathy over the phone, I knew just hearing about latex would probably make him hard.

“I picked up a new set of chaps for you because you ruined your others crawling around the floor beside me, not picking your knees up, you naughty boy. I also spotted a nice new collar which has green studs to match your eyes. I couldn’t resist.”

He purred down the phone, totally blind to my utter disgust. “Wonderful.”

“I have some new things for me but they’re a surprise, darling.”

“You continually exceed my expectations, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

“I’ll meet you at the Paris apartment, as usual?”

“Of course,” I assured him, “as always.”

“Until then… I think I’ll give you a couple of nights off. You’ve seemed tired lately. Get some rest so that you can really enjoy the weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Au revoir.”

“Ciao.”

He hung up and it was like a sign for me to scope out Roman while I had two, whole nights free!

***

THERE was just a small snag – the tracker in my arm. I could see it under my skin and knew that to get it out, I’d have to cut it out myself. Even if I successfully ensnared Roman Cornish and got inside the circle of his many millions and all the protection that offered, Sinclair could still track me and Roman would have to leave the bed at some point, wouldn’t he? To train and play the games he was paid millions for.

These football clubs would do anything to ensure the safety of their players and families though, surely? All I needed to do was make it out of the house without Sinclair knowing where I was going.

I was due to take the Eurostar on Saturday morning which meant I had to try and find the football player before then… and Friday night was a big possibility for bumping into him if Cornish was in the city the night before a home game.

So on Thursday evening I sat at the kitchen table with a scalpel, some bandages and a large bottle of vodka which I’d already largely depleted. I looked at the skin and decided I could do it. All I had to do was cut into myself and take my tracker out… yeah, that was all…

I was about to do it when there was a bang on the front door.

Sinclair never knocked because he had a key…

So, who was this?

Leaving the paraphernalia lying around, I jumped down the stairs to the front door and peered through the hole to see Sexton.

Opening up, I gasped, “This is a surprise! What’s up?”

“He needs you.”

“What?” I sounded shocked, because this sort of disruption wasn’t protocol. They always rang before collecting me… and neither of them ever turned up without prior warning. What was going on?

“I don’t have time to explain. He told me he needs you.”

“What do I… what do I need to bring?” I frowned, because I didn’t want to disappoint Sinclair.

“He said to wear a dress and shoes. Cocktail casual, he called it.”

Sexton looked pissed off and awkward. In all the six years I’d been employed by Sinclair, my boss had never struck me or anything of the sort, but I could tell Sexton didn’t approve of our dynamic. Maybe he thought it was perverted.

“I’ll be a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” he said.

Upstairs I picked out a simple black cocktail dress which skimmed my breasts and flattered rather than enhanced. I dug my toes into some low heels and wore some of the jewels he’d given me over the years, including an emerald necklace and matching bracelet. I rarely wore earrings because of my hair getting caught in them; besides you couldn’t see earrings beyond the masses of my ebony locks. I kept my make-up minimal aside from a generous amount of red lipstick, and I applied a few squirts of my Jimmy Choo perfume.

Before setting the house alarm, I also remembered to stuff the scalpel and other equipment into a drawer, just in case Dante came back with me later on.

Sexton held the car door open when I emerged from the house fifteen minutes later. “Very nice, Cleo.”

“Thanks.”

Living on Eaton Square, it wasn’t ten minutes before we reached our destination.

To my shock, we arrived at the Four Seasons.

“What is this, Sexton?” I growled, chewing my lip.

“He has a friend he wants you to meet. I don’t know… but you can step out here,” Sexton said, pulling into the loading and unloading area.

I made a mental note never to trust Sexton; it felt like I was being stitched up.

I climbed out feeling wary, moreover worried. Trying not to chew a nail, my legs felt like jelly as I walked from the car to the hotel entrance.

“Evening madam. Anything I can help you with?” A hotel worker greeted me, obviously reading my look of fear and trepidation.

“I’m here to see Mr Sinclair. Have you seen him?”

A nerve twitched in the man’s eye and he fake-smiled. “You won’t miss them. Follow the signs to the Amaranto bar.”

I clicked along polished granite floors in my humble heels and wished I’d worn the spikes to make him sweat. He loved the spiked heels, the spikier the better.

I walked into the Amaranto bar, dominated by red walls and floor-to-ceiling glass cases housing bottles upon bottles of expensive wine. The atmosphere in the room was sedate except for raucous laughter peeling from Dante and one other man.

As I walked towards their table, Dante stood and kissed my cheeks. I could barely contain my rage when I glanced at his eyes and saw amusement. The other man had his back to me but I already knew who it was.

“Darling, this is Roman Cornish, man of the moment and a friend of mine.”

I must have looked shocked but like a pro, I held out my hand and plastered on a grin. “Wow, I’m a big fan.”