Page 2 of Hard Discipline

It’s deathly quiet inside. In front of me is a very short hallway, so I walk down it, my heart thumping, the heels of my pumps sinking into the thick, cream carpet. The whole place reeks of luxury on a level I can’t even begin to imagine; clearly Master Six isn’t short of cash.

I step out of the hallway and into a huge living area dominated by big plate glass windows. They’re massive and since the curtains aren’t drawn, all of Central Park rolls out before us like a thick dark carpet dotted with lights. The room itself has a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the same thick cream carpet as the hall and a huge modular couch in pale velvet facing the windows. A gigantic TV hangs on one wall, with yet more seating in front of it, and on the opposite side of the room is a long sideboard with lots of shelves and drawers.

A man is standing in front of it with his back to me. He’s pouring drinks. He’s very tall and from the way the plain black cotton of his business shirt stretches across wide, muscularshoulders, he’s clearly built. He’s wearing black pants and I can’t help but notice that his waist is narrow and his thighs powerful. His hair is short and black, and as he deals with the drinks, his movements are unhurried.

Interest flickers inside me. I didn’t give much thought to what kind of guy Master Six would be, or whether he’d be hot. I was too busy overthinking my impulsive agreement to meet him. But now I’m here and so is he, and he looks like he should be in a boxing ring or maybe charging across a battlefield with an axe, and hell, I’m only human. I only hope he’s as hot from the front as he is from the back.

He doesn’t turn and he doesn’t speak, though he must know I’m here, and my anxiety intensifies. I should announce myself, but I’m sure my voice will shake and that’s not a great first impression. Besides, there’s a strange familiarity to him that’s tugging at me and I don’t know why.

I frown, studying his powerful figure as he calmly drops ice cubes into one of the tumblers. No, I’m not sure what about him is familiar, and that’s a good thing since no one knows what I’m doing right now and I don’t want anyone to know, either. Especially not Lucas, because obviously this is cheating. Even though I’m doing itforhim. For us, really. After all, it’s not like I’m going to do this again. This is very definitely a one-time thing.

I finally muster up the courage to announce myself, since it seems this guy isn’t going to say anything anytime soon, but as soon as I open my mouth, he says, “You’re late.” He drops more ice cubes into the second glass. They make a metallic clinking sound. “Take your clothes off then go and kneel by the windows.”

His voice is deep, dark as night, with a roughness to it that strokes over my skin like a cat’s tongue. It’s familiar, so,sofamiliar, and the coldest of shocks go through me as I realize why.

It’s Gideon Fairfax’s voice. Which must mean that this man is Gideon Fairfax.

Lucas’s dad.

Fuck.

I freeze. I’m dead. Deceased. Just completely inanimate. A husk. My brain is screaming,It’s fucking Lucas’s fucking dad!over and over.

It can’t be him, it can’t be. But what if it is? What do I do? Stay here? Run from the room screaming from the room like a fucking lunatic? A little of both?

I need to get out, move, disappear before he turns around, but he’s turning and I know already that it’s too late. My body tenses, ready to go, but it’s as if everything has dropped into slo-mo as Gideon Fairfax finishes his turn, and yes, it’s him.

And yes, I’m fucked.

Totally fucked.

2

Gideon

Jesus Christ and all the fucking saints. What the fuck is my son’s pale waif of a girlfriend doing here? Inmyfucking hotel room? I’m expecting company, yes, but it’s supposed to be a woman who goes by the name of Artemis, a new and experienced member of The Club. Her bio caught my eye because although she didn’t have a profile picture, she was new and since I’ve gotten a little bored of the subs currently on offer, I messaged her to see if she was up for a playdate. She had tonight free and so I’m waiting for her, not Odette fucking Bishop, for Christ’s sake.

Odette is standing there staring at me, her silvery gray eyes wide with shock. She’s in a tight black minidress and cheap, black patent stripper heels, and she’s clutching a glittery silver purse like a mountain climber clutches an ice axe to keep himself from falling. Her white-blonde hair has been caught in a smooth, high ponytail, which is always nice since it gives me something to hold onto?—

Wait. The fuck? Why the hell am I thinking that?

“M-Mr. F-F-Fairfax?” she stutters, her husky voice hoarse with surprise. “W-What are you doing here?”

I’ve got nothing against Odette. She’s small and delicate, and pretty, but she looks as if a stiff breeze would blow her away and quite frankly, I thought Lucas’s tastes ran to Amazons, not Tinkerbell. Apparently they met at Yale, so she must have a head on her shoulders, but the first time I met her she was so shy she could barely string two words together. Lucas is a cocky little asshole, pulling all the cheerleaders — at least he did in high school — so privately I was surprised at his choice of this colorless looking child. But my relationship with my son is strained at the best of times, so I kept those thoughts to myself.

Anyway, I’ve barely said two words to the girl, so fuck knows what she’s doing here. I cannot fathom it.

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” I say tersely. “This ismyhotel room. The real question is what areyoudoing in it?”

She swallows, her slender fingers moving nervously on her purse as if it’s a slippery rock she’s trying to find purchase on. “I…I…um. I’m s-supposed to meet someone.”

I lean back against the sideboard and fold my arms. “In this suite? In this hotel?Myfucking hotel?”

Her eyes get even wider, even rounder. “This is your hotel?”

Christ, has Lucas not told her what I do for a living? “Yes. I own Fairfax Hotels, which built this building. Luc didn’t tell you?”

She opens and closes her mouth as if searching for words and for some reason I find myself staring. She’s wearing red lipstick, which I haven’t seen on her before, and it sharply outlines a pair of full, pouty lips. “I…I m-mean, maybe. I can’t….I mean, I don’t…” She makes a feeble gesture with one hand. “So…um…no.”

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