Chapter 3 Chapter 3

The thought was still running through my mind when a man's voice interrupted me from behind.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, his polished shoes coming to a stop a few feet away.

I turned, expecting another member of the reception staff, and instead found a man in his forties wearing a dark suit and an expression that suggested he'd been interrupted in the middle of something important. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jacket looked expensive, and judging by the way he carried himself, I suspected he took his responsibilities very seriously. Which was probably a good thing, considering the type of business Torin had purchased, but it didn't make the prospect of explaining my presence to another stranger any more appealing.

“I was told someone would come speak with me,” I explained, slipping my hands into my back pockets.

His gaze moved over me before settling on my face, and he extended his hand. “I'm Mark, the floor manager,” he introduced himself. “You're asking for Mr. Montero?”

I shook his hand and nodded. “That's right.”

“May I ask what this concerns?” he inquired, releasing my hand.

I considered several possible answers, none of which seemed particularly appropriate to share with a stranger. My husband had developed a sudden interest in owning a BDSM club, and I wanted to know whether he'd suffered a head injury. Unfortunately, I doubted Mark would appreciate my concerns about Torin's mental faculties, especially since the man was responsible for signing his paycheck.

“It's personal,” I answered, settling on the safest explanation.

Mark's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, and he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before responding.

“Mr. Montero is occupied at the moment,” he explained. “If you'd like to leave your name and number, I can have someone contact you.”

I blinked, wondering whether I'd heard him correctly, because while I hadn't expected anyone to roll out a red carpet when I arrived, I also hadn't anticipated being asked to leave my contact information so somebody could arrange an appointment with my own husband.

“I already gave my name to security,” I replied, keeping my tone pleasant.

“I'm sure you did,” he answered, offering a practiced smile. “But Mr. Montero doesn't generally accept unscheduled personal visitors.”

Something about the way he said personal visitors rubbed me the wrong way, not because he was doing his job, but because he was looking at me as though he'd already decided what kind of woman showed up at a BDSM club asking for its owner. Considering the nature of the establishment, I found that a little insulting, especially when everything I'd seen since walking through the doors suggested that privacy and respect were supposed to be important around here.

I glanced toward the receptionist, who had suddenly become fascinated with her computer screen, before turning my attention back to Mark.

“Is there a particular reason you can't just let him know I'm here?” I asked, shifting my weight onto one hip.

Mark clasped his hands in front of him, looking as though he'd answered this question a hundred times before. “Mr. Montero has a full schedule this evening,” he replied. “I'm sure you can appreciate that his time is limited.”

I considered that for a moment, trying to reconcile the important businessman Mark was describing with the same man who'd once spent forty-five minutes arguing with me over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Torin had threatened to divorce me when I informed him that his opinion was irrelevant because I was ordering it anyway, and now he had a schedule so demanding that his own wife couldn't get five minutes of his time without making an appointment.

I wondered whether Mark knew his distinguished employer occasionally ate cold spaghetti straight from the refrigerator while standing in his underwear, although something told me Torin had been making an effort to maintain a certain image around here.

“Well, I certainly wouldn't want to interfere with his important responsibilities,” I replied, folding my arms loosely beneath my breasts. “But I promise I'm not planning to take up his entire evening.”

Mark offered another polite smile, although I was beginning to suspect he'd perfected the expression specifically for dealing with difficult people.

“Unfortunately, I can't make exceptions without authorization,” he explained, glancing briefly toward the receptionist.

I followed his gaze and caught the woman quickly returning her attention to her computer, and judging by the way she pressed her lips together, I suspected she was enjoying the conversation considerably more than either of us. Hell, I probably would've been entertained too if I weren't the one standing here trying to convince a man in an expensive suit to pass along a simple message.

I looked toward the hallway beyond reception, wondering how far away Torin actually was and what he could possibly be doing that required this level of protection. For all I knew, he could've been sitting in an office twenty feet from where I stood, completely unaware that his wife was being politely encouraged to leave. And wasn't that an interesting thought?

I'd spent years being irritated because Torin insisted on knowing where I was, what I was doing, and whether I needed anything, yet now that I'd shown up at his business voluntarily, the people working for him were treating me like a stranger. I wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or be offended, although considering I'd spent the drive over here debating whether I should turn around and go home, I was leaning toward being irritated.

“Does he have an assistant?” I asked, returning my attention to Mark.

“He has administrative staff who manage his appointments,” Mark answered, adjusting his jacket.

“Wonderful,” I replied, nodding. “Then perhaps one of them could pencil me in for five minutes. I'm fairly certain I can explain why I'm here without requiring a formal meeting.”

Mark hesitated, his expression suggesting he wasn't quite sure whether I was joking. “I'm afraid it doesn't work that way,” he explained.

“I'm beginning to notice,” I muttered, glancing toward the reception desk.