Free Beck & Call by Emma Holly Page A

the island’s tip. Battery Park and the harbor, the East River, even the Brooklyn Bridge was laid out for him. He only had to stroll a different length of windows in his office to admire a new vista. His personal corporate space was bigger than many homes. The custom tiles on its floor—brick sized and laid out in herringbones—bore the same matte silver finish he used on his concept cars. The furniture was modern and spread apart, the rugs antique and understated in soft blue tones. His scattered knickknacks adhered to a navigation theme: mostly old compasses and gyroscopes. His prize possession was the door from an 1890’s electric cab with SAMUEL’S ELECTRIC CARRIAGE COMPANY on its side.
    Looking at it reminded him he was bringing electric powered vehicles back to the forefront where they belonged. Someday fossil fuel reliance would go the way of the dinosaurs.
    Leaning back in his state of the art ergonomic chair, with a brand new sunrise piercing the clear glass walls, Damien could convince himself his spirit was as serene as his surroundings.
    “Good morning, Mr. Call,” said a smoothly professional—and unwelcome—female voice. “Would you like me to get coffee?”
    It was his secretary, Ms. DeWinter. Though it was literally the crack of dawn, she stood a few steps inside his door, notepad at the ready, every wave of her naturally russet hair perfectly arranged. She’d been with him six months now. During the last two, this had been happening more often. No matter what time Damien arrived, Ms. DeWinter would appear within the quarter hour. Though the assistant didn’t know it, he’d determined she’d come to an arrangement with José in Security, whereby the guard informed her if Damien’s private elevator descended from his penthouse residence to this floor.
    Ms. DeWinter seemed to hope Damien would think she was psychically attuned to him.
    He didn’t want to fire her. She was highly competent, hardworking, and—he’d thought—happily married. His colleagues enjoyed that she was easy on the eyes. If, however, he couldn’t break her of this habit, he’d have to cut her loose.
    “Ms. DeWinter,” he began resignedly. “I didn’t call for you to come in.”
    “No, sir. I was simply trying to anticipate your needs.”
    Was she flirting? Her cream silk blouse seemed more unbuttoned than usual.
    “I don’t pay you to anticipate my needs outside of normal working hours.”
    “Of course, sir, but—”
    “No ‘buts,’ Ms. DeWinter. I’m sure your husband would rather you spend your mornings together.”
    “He understands, sir. He knows you’re an important man.”
    Damien sighed internally. This would require bluntness. “Ms. DeWinter. I don’t want you here unless I’ve called you. You should also know that, as of today, José is no longer a WorldWide employee. I don’t appreciate my comings and going being shared, no matter how benign the intention.”
    Ms. DeWinter’s flush was unmistakable. “Forgive me, sir. I—”
    “Go home,” he said, cutting off her apology. “Don’t return before 8:30.”
    She practically bowed as she backed away. To his relief, she shut the door behind her.
    This was the problem with running a huge company. Even when you signed the checks, some employees inevitably strayed from their assigned course.
    He squeezed his temples between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, blowing out his breath in an attempt to restore his calm. He needed to let this go. He’d never control everything.
    Interestingly enough, control was the topic he’d come here to contemplate.
    He hadn’t slept much last night. He couldn’t get what he’d witnessed at Audition out of his mind. Mr. R’s new sub had climaxed from a kiss. Not sex. Not a spanking. But from a kiss. He’d watched Mr. R work his wiles before. The man was a master in every sense of the word. Too much of one, maybe. He’d intrigued Damien—men sometimes did—but Mr. R’s façade had never