“Before I tell you, though, I’d like to know what you’ve decided. There’s no right or wrong answer, pet. If I took the job, would you move to Florida with me or stay here? And if my decision is to turn down the position, I would still like to know what your choice would’ve been.”
A flash of frustration appeared on her face. As he’d suspected, she’d been hoping to hear his decision first before making her own. Not happening, pet.
During their first few weeks together, Cordell had discovered his and Mitch’s suspicions had been correct. Tiffany was not meant to be a slave. She’d wanted and needed the freedom to make her own choices when it came to most aspects of her life. However, in the wake of two years with that asshole Bruce Whitlow, she was having a hard time taking back that control. After Cordell’s initial meeting with Tiffany, when he’d decided he had to help her, he’d done a discreet background check on Whitlow, including talking to the head Dom at Indigo. Master Jay had nothing nice to say about Whitlow. In fact, he despised the bastard. However, Whitlow had never done anything in the club that could get him banned, and the club’s owner wouldn’t let Master Jay kick him out on personal feelings alone. That shit wouldn’t fly at Master Key if Cordell had any say.
He waited silently. Usually, he would demand a prompt response, but he knew Tiffany was still debating what she genuinely wanted to do. He didn’t want to force a decision, nor did he want to influence it. This was her choice and hers alone.
Seconds ticked by. Over in the bay window, Eastwood’s tail swished back and forth as he stared at something outside, but Cordell kept his gaze on his submissive. Finally, she took a deep breath and straightened her spine. No matter what she said, he was proud of her. While there were still things he had to work on with her, Tiffany’s confidence had been growing stronger lately. She was still uneasy when asked to make her own decisions, but when she finally did, she stated them with conviction.
“I would like to move to Florida with you, Sir, if that’s your plan. I’m not sure what positions will be available at the resort for me, but I’m sure I’ll find something to do. It’ll also be nice to be closer to Tori.”
A gleam in her eyes grew brighter as she spoke, and he knew she was hoping he would take the job. He saw no reason to hold back the news any longer. “After reading Mitch and Ty’s proposal, I’m very impressed with plans for the resort, and I’m looking forward to helping make it the premier lifestyle destination and club they want it to be. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me, pet.”
A huge smile lit up her face. “I am too, Sir.”
“Mom, I’ve already made my decision. It’s a great opportunity for me.” Tiffany switched her cell phone to her other ear as she flopped down onto her bed. When her mother had called, Tiffany had been boxing up some of her clothes she wouldn’t need until after the move.
“But what about me? You’ll be so far away. Why can’t Cordell get a job in Vegas? I’m sure with his experience—”
“Mitch offered him a great job down there, and he took it. I’ll have my choice of positions when the resort opens up.” As far as her mother knew, Master Key Resort was just a regular, vacation destination in southern Florida, and Tiffany wasn’t about to tell her otherwise. It was highly unlikely her mother would ever want to go there to visit because she was terrified of flying and hated long road trips. “You and I barely see each other now, anyway. We talk on the phone more than anything, and we’ll still do that. And we can Skype or FaceTime. I can fly back to see you every once in a while, too. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
A heavy exhale came through the phone. “I am happy for you, baby. It’s just . . . well, I’ve filed for divorce. Randy’s been cheating on me with some blonde skank.”
Tiffany wished she could say she was shocked by the news, but she wasn’t. It was the story of Regina Armstrong’s life. Within three months, she’d be moving in with a new guy. Two months after that, she’d be either engaged or married. If it were the latter, it would probably happen at one of the many wedding chapels throughout Vegas. Her last nuptials had been performed by an Elvis impersonator. And wedding number three had been a drive-thru ceremony. That marriage had lasted all of eleven weeks. Tiffany couldn’t remember a time when her mother had gone more than a month without being in a relationship. Her own father had been out of the picture since Tiffany had been three years old. She had no idea where he was or if he was even still alive. One day, he’d just packed his bags and walked out the door, never looking back or saying goodbye.
Ten minutes later, and after a bunch of sobs and tears on her mother’s end, Tiffany disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. Tomorrow, she was giving her two-weeks’ notice at her job. The more she thought about it, the more she wished she could just walk in with a cake that said, “I quit,” like on a commercial she’d seen. However, that would mean she’d lose the pay from her seven annual personal days. Those were use them or lose them, unlike her accrued vacation days which they had to pay her for. But, damn, it would be so satisfying to just quit! She hated her boss. He was a creep who’d hit on her several times over the years and then passed her over for any promotions. Not that she’d told Sir that. Her Dom would’ve shown up at the casino the next day and put the fear of God into the weasel.
She glanced at the clock. Shit! She’d lost track of time while on the phone and was now running late. Sir was going to be annoyed if she wasn’t on time, and that meant a punishment when they got to the club tonight. He’d told her to be ready at 7:00 p.m., and it was already ten of and she hadn’t even showered yet! Damn, damn, damn!
Ripping off her clothes but leaving on the leather collar she wore indicating she was under Sir’s care, she rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn’t bother to wait for it to heat up—she had to hurry. A quick pass of a razor under her arms and up her legs resulted in two nicks that drew blood on her shin. A few seconds later, she hissed at the sudden pain but then ignored it as she shampooed and conditioned her hair in record time. The loofah with her favorite body wash sudsed her up, and she barely rinsed it all off before shutting off the water and jumping out of the tub. Thank goodness she’d set aside her clothes for tonight before she’d started packing earlier. She wrapped one towel around her wet hair and then used another to quickly dry off her body.
Back in the bedroom, she began to don the schoolgirl outfit she’d decided on and fumbled with the buttons on the semi-sheer, white blouse, cursing under her breath. Thankfully, she hadn’t planned on a bra—one less thing to deal with. Next came the short, plaid skirt with thong underwear. She paused. Maybe she should forget the thong. She’d only been putting it on to be sassy and earn a funishment when Sir found out, but she didn’t want that following the punishment that was surely coming her way.
Yanking off the underwear, she tossed it aside and pulled on the white, knee-high socks and black Mary Janes that went with the outfit. She tripped on the discarded towel on her way back into the bathroom and saved herself from face-planting by grabbing the door jamb. Off came the towel around her head. Tiffany grabbed her detangling brush and hastily ran it through her hair, then separated the long strands into two ponytails, fastening them with hair ties. She didn’t have time to put on eye makeup—it would only run anyway when Sir beat her ass later—so she just swiped on some lip gloss.