The outfit had taken a small chunk of that five thousand dollar check from yesterday, but splurging a little had felt nice, just like buying the backdrop. She still had plenty for traveling to India, and enough to go to Seattle, if seeing Tyson was still an option. He'd texted her twice that day, random things about the weather and some funny link he'd found. She didn't know if he wasn't aware of the video chat from the party, or if he was trying to gloss over it.

She'd talk to him later.

The driver held the door to the car. She peered in, but the back seat was empty.

"Mr. Andrada will be waiting for you at La Fontaine," he said.

Syria grinned up at him as she took the seat. "Do you always read people's minds?"

He smiled back, toothy and genuine beneath the crinkle of hazel eyes. "I'll never give away my trade secrets."

Syria tried to relax as they sped across town. She'd been to La Fontaine once before, not as a patron, but to photograph a bride in an elaborate lace nightgown in the exact spot where she would be getting married a month later. She wanted the image as a wedding gift for her groom, a lovely idea that Syria had suggested to other brides ever since.

La Fontaine was both a five-star restaurant and a venue for signature events. Syria did not photograph weddings, but the photographers who got on the elite list of preferred vendors generally were set, as those jobs could easily command twenty grand a piece.

Syria watched the gray winter streets roll by. She'd never planned to become that sort of photographer, although if she had the opportunity, it would make sense. Maybe whatever Erik would offer could fast track her on that path.

The Mercedes pulled up beneath the silver canopy of the restaurant entrance. Syria leaned forward. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

A valet opened her door, but still, the driver came around the car and gave her a flourished bow.

Syria laughed. "Do you always bow like that?"

"Only for pretty girls."

"Will you be taking me home?"

He set his hat back on his head. "That will be up to Mr. Andrada."

Syria held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Mr - I didn't get your name."

He grasped her fingers gently. "Bill. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon."

The valet led Syria to the door and opened it for her. A rush of warm air made the loose tendrils on her forehead dance. Her hair was twisted up and pinned with an oversized comb. With every step she feared it would tumble down. She was just one head b.u.mp away from a comic explosion of curls.

A perfectly groomed concierge stood behind a podium. "Ms. McMillan, I presume?" At her nod, he said, "Mr. Andrada is expecting you."

Syria had no idea how he kept up with everyone, but perhaps at a place like this, the regulars took up most of the tables, so the newcomers were easy to sort. He helped her out of her wrap and pa.s.sed it to a girl in a black dress.

Syria stared wide-eyed as he led her through the expansive dining room, white linens stretched across the round tables. Curved booths lined the walls. She'd only gotten a cursory glimpse of the dining area last time as she was led through French doors to the ballroom where weddings were held. This time, she tried to take in more of the soft blue walls trimmed with gold, the crystal chandeliers hanging at intervals from the elaborate pressed-tin ceiling.

They crossed all the way through the tables and to a back wall where gold curtains hung every few feet. The concierge pulled one aside, revealing a private alcove with a table, two chairs, and Erik, smiling over a gla.s.s of red wine. He stood to take her hand and help her to her seat.

"Syria. So lovely you could make it." Erik pulled the chair out for her. "Every time I see you, it is such a pleasure."

Syria settled on the seat. The table was elegantly set with gla.s.sware, wine, and a tray of cheeses. "It looks amazing."

"We're just getting started." Erik sat across from her. "How are you with pheasant?"

"Sounds delicious."

He nodded at the concierge. "Let Bertram know." The man stepped away and pulled the gold curtain closed.

"I've never been in a restaurant with private dining like this," Syria said.

"It's one of the few in town."

"You said you were visiting," Syria said, deciding not to mention when, since that had been at the exhibition, and she'd caused a scene that disrupted the solemnity of the event.

"I am. You might be aware that the Philippines is undergoing some strife."

"You wanted to escape the turmoil?"

"It seemed best for the moment."

Syria wondered how involved he might be, if he were part of the politics there, but she didn't know enough about it to ask the right questions. "So you will return eventually?"

"Perhaps."

"Did your - did Aliara come with you from there?"

"Yes. She has been with me for five years."

"Is she going to go back?"

"No, I have secured a visa for her here." A waiter appeared, left two small cups of soup, then silently vanished through the curtain.

"And the other one - Malin. Is she from the Philippines too?" Syria laid a napkin across her lap and studied the silverware, reminding herself outside, in for the order to use them. Still, she waited for Erik to pick up a fat round spoon before selecting hers.

"No, I met her shortly after I arrived. She was at the exhibition as well, although you may not have recognized her."

Syria thought through the women who had been bound. A j.a.panese girl. A saucy blonde. And her friend Mia. "I don't remember her."

"She was the one in black."

"Oh, yes. Her face was covered."

"That's right."

Syria bet she hadn't liked that, judging from her eagerness to get on the set with Aliara. But a submissive probably had no right to complain.

They sipped the delicate soup, creamy and full of flavors that seemed to separate and deepen as Syria savored it. She could live like this.

The moment she set her spoon on the saucer, the waiter arrived to spirit the dishes away. "They're certainly attentive," Syria said.

"Until I tell them not to be," Erik said.

Syria's heart hammered painfully. What had he meant by that? That they could do things and not be seen or caught?

He reached over to squeeze her wrist. "I did not mean to startle you. I just meant that our conversation would not be overheard." He sat back. "I think I mentioned I have a position open."

Syria drew her eyebrows together in confusion. "You didn't mention a spot for a photographer, only your slave."

"Yes, as my slave. It is the highest position in my organization, including my business a.s.sociates."

"I a.s.sume you are not married."

"I don't have interest in a wife at the moment. When I want children, I'll reconsider. But for the moment, I have the need of dedicated company, a woman I can count on to do exactly what I ask of her with elegance, competency, and pleasure."

"So, like a wife, but without her own opinion."

Erik smiled. "Aliara had many opinions. She shared them with me often, and sometimes, loudly."

Syria couldn't imagine the tiny girl shouting.

He leaned forward again, his strong hands folded on the table. "I prefer this arrangement because I often need an ally at business dinners, someone who can rise to any occasion that presents itself, to possibly corroborate a story, agree about a point, or provide a prearranged counterpoint to help in a discussion."

"So a kinder, gentler second opinion."

He smiled, his teeth dazzling, his dark eyes alight. "You are very bright, Syria."

"Tell that to my teachers in junior college."

Erik took her hand again, running a practiced thumb across her palm. The tingle from his touch zipped through her body, settling in all the right places. Syria stuffed it down. He was an expert at seduction, but she was determined to keep this all business. She withdrew her hand.

"But what about in private?" she asked. "Is Aliara still a wife then?"

"Yes, we are lovers. That is an important element of the arrangement."

"And you can make her have s.e.x with other people, like you did with Malin."

"I don't share her often, but it was in her contract that I could pair her with other men or women."

This was so crazy to Syria. "But you have a submissive too."

"Yes, Malin stays on as long as I want her. She has an open contract, and either of us can terminate at any time."

"But there are even more, right?"

He hesitated. "Yes. I have a lot of positions in my household."

"And you have s.e.x with them all?"

He laughed. "Not all."

Syria fiddled with the corner of the napkin. "I couldn't picture you getting it on with Bill the driver."

"Oh, Syria, you are even more delightful than I thought. Your humor would be a great a.s.set to some of the stodgier dealings that complicate my life."

Shock bolted through her as she understood what he meant now. "You are asking me to be your slave?"

"I wanted to explore the option."

"But you've only met me twice."

"And both times I was completely entranced by you." He reached for her hand again, persistent.

She turned loose of the napkin and let him hold her fingers in his cool grip. "What about Malin? She seems to expect to take Aliara's place."

"She isn't right. You saw her. She'd too bold, too strong-willed. Plus, our play has gotten too rough, and she is marked."

"The scars on her back?"

"And elsewhere. It isn't suitable for quite a number of situations."

"But you did that to her."

"Some of it was me. Some were by others. She's allowed to play with members of the household."

"So you dictate when and who they have s.e.x with?"

"I want everyone in my organization clean and healthy and safe."

Syria felt mildly repulsed by the idea of an endless orgy of people, even if it were within a marbled mansion. "I don't think this would be for me."

He squeezed her fingers. "I haven't even made my offer."

"You don't need to."

"Let me try."

He let go of her hand and tapped a single b.u.t.ton on the cell phone that rested silently next to his gla.s.s. A man in an elegant white silk shirt arrived and placed a leather case on the table, then slipped back out the curtain.

Erik pulled a sheaf of papers from the case. "I'm proposing a trial for 72 hours only. You can be in my company and play out some of the elements of the contract. Then we can decide exactly what our terms would be."

Syria stared at the pages. "Why would I do this?"

"I can change your life. Give you anything you want. And be precisely the sort of man you'd like me to be."

Syria swallowed hard, picturing Tyson. "I don't even know what that is."

"I bet you do."

"It wouldn't involve having s.e.x with the kitchen maids."

"You might be surprised at how much pleasure can be gained from a controlled environment, an expanded monogamous circle."