Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance (6 page)

‘What I really want from life,’ I began, aware that I was about to say something I’d never dared let myself speak before, ‘is peace.’

Mr. Cooper nodded, kind of bored-looking, as if I’d just told him I wanted ‘oxygen’ or ‘carbohydrates’.

‘No,’ I said, growing a little braver. ‘I’m not talking about
world peace
. I mean, of course that would be nice, but I’m not just giving the stock phrase Miss America might give at some lame beauty pageant.’

Mr. Cooper raised his eyebrows, amused.

‘I’m talking about
inner peace
. I’d like the noise inside me to calm down, to settle; to be able to close my eyes and hear nothing but peace… I want to be able to sit in a silent room, and simply let the sensations wash over me.’

Suddenly, Redmond Cooper was sitting up straight, watching me with intensity. It egged me on to go further.

‘I want every ounce of anxiety, nerves, the
I-can’t-do-this
inner monologue to drop away from me,’ I continued, ‘and to just be able to
surrender…
’

Mr. Cooper coughed, and then reached over to the teapot and poured us both a green tea. ‘Rose,’ he said, handing me a china cup. It looked so dainty, almost translucent. It looked like real bone china too, which I knew was actually made of bone ash. It was also extremely strong, in spite of its appearance, and very difficult to chip.

‘Thank you for being honest with me,’ Mr. Cooper said. ‘I asked you to do it, and you complied. It takes guts to do that. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to do it.’ He took his own cup, raised it to his lips, and blew gently over the hot liquid.

I looked into my cup. It was like looking at liquid amber. I lifted it to my lips, smelling the exotic dark, savoury steam rising off it, and then took a sip. It was a strange taste. Floral, herbal… a little smoky, maybe.

‘It’s Que She,’ said Mr. Cooper. ‘Also known as Sparrow’s Tongue.’

I couldn’t hide my grimace.

‘It’s produced in the Sichuan province, on Emei Mountain, one of the Four Sacred Buddhist Mountains of China.’

I nodded, as if I knew where that was.

‘It’s traditionally regarded as a
bodhimaṇḍa
, or place of enlightenment. It is said that, as early as the sixteenth century, martial arts were practised in the monasteries of Mount Emei.’ I think Mr. Cooper sensed he was losing me, as he returned to the subject of the tea. ‘Gets its name due to the shape of the leaves. It’s one of the more delicate green teas. You can just make out the faint aroma of chestnut.’ He breathed in deeply over his cup. ‘Some say the Lonjing variety is the world’s best green tea, but I much prefer the fragile, unassuming beauty of this one.’

I took another sip, trying to acquire a taste for it, but struggling. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ I said, ‘but why did you bring me here today?’

The words hung in the air between us for a moment, clumsy and awkward, and I felt terribly embarrassed, even rude, for being so direct.

Redmond Cooper placed down his cup. ‘I want to help you, Rose,’ he said. ‘Seeing Jen bully you in public like that reminded me of something similar that happened to me, early in my career. I almost lost everything. I don’t want it to happen to you.’ He opened out his palms as he spoke, making me weirdly trust what he was saying, even though it sounded so unlikely. ‘I’ve done a little research into you. I’ve read some of your advertising copy. You’re not so bad, you know. With a little training, I think you could make a very good journalist.’

‘A
journalist
? I’ve only been working in advertising three weeks!’ I couldn’t help but blurt this out.

‘You don’t want to be working in ads all your life, do you?’

Nervously, I shook my head.

‘Then come and work here. Work for Global. I’ll get you shadowing someone. Make sure you receive the necessary training. Within six months, if you work hard, you could be working on pieces of your own.’ His eyes were glued to mine. I don’t know if it was his penetrating gaze, or the heady scent of green tea, but my head was spinning.
A journalist at Global? People work their way up the ladder for years to get a break like this. Most of them never manage it!

‘Think it over,’ Mr. Cooper said. ‘I know it seems sudden, out of the blue perhaps. But I mean it. I’m going to take a very close interest in your career, if you’ll let me.’

‘I don’t need to think it over,’ I said dizzily, ‘I mean, of course, I’ll do it. I’d be mad not to jump at an opportunity like that. If you’re serious. If you really think that I can–’

‘Rose,’ he said. ‘I’m going to let you into a little secret. ‘Ninety-nine per cent of journalism is about attitude. And I like yours. You deserve a break. Let me give you one.’

My china cup was rattling in its saucer. My hands were shaking. I put it down on the coffee table, and Redmond Cooper reached out his hand.

‘Welcome aboard, Rose,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Mr. Cooper,’ I replied, teeth chattering.

‘Please,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Call me
sir
.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Wish

As I walked out of the building, onto the busy sidewalk, among the hustle and bustle of New York City, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was in a dream.
Me! Rose Smith! A journalist at Global Media!
I almost felt like skipping.

I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the next part, going back to work and telling Christina the news. She’d had her suspicions about me before I went today, and heavens knew what she’d think once she discovered I’d been ‘poached’ by a rival paper. But before going back to the office, I decided to treat myself with a little walk to the plaza. It wasn’t far from here, and I hadn’t been there for a couple of years. Amid the screeching sirens, reversing lorries, crying babies, and strumming buskers, there was a large square. At one end of the square stood the Natural History Museum; at the other, there was the cathedral. In the center, in addition to a number of pigeons, there was a huge fountain, with ten tiers of ornate leaf designs. I loved the sound of the water rushing down each tier. Even above the ever-changing chatter of the city, you could hear it. The one constant.

As I approached it now, I decided to do something I’d never done before. I decided to throw in a dime.

I’d always considered it vandalistic to clog up such a beautiful architectural structure with coins; not to mention a waste of money. But people had been throwing in their loose change for many, many years, rubbing the coins for luck. Sometimes they did it with a loved one, or children did it with their parents. Occasionally, you’d catch an elderly woman, standing alone with tears in her eyes, giving the coin a kiss and then throwing it in. Each one of them making their own personal wish. Today I was going to become a part of this old tradition.

I walked right up to the fountain, and looked into the pool of water at the base. There were so many coins in there. Enough to buy a pretty decent day out, if you were to scoop it all up. I wondered how often the homeless people of New York had done that very thing. Or if they feared picking up all those scattered wishes. Perhaps taking other people’s wishes seemed too much like bad luck, even if it did buy you dinner.

I fumbled around in my handbag for my purse, and then took out the shiniest dime I could find. It was dated 2013. I looked at the picture on the back of the coin. The torch, olive branch, and oak branch. Symbolizing liberty, peace and strength. Liberty. Peace. Strength. It suddenly made me think of the phrase ‘peace through strength’. An ancient phrase used by the Roman Emperor Hadrian, among others, I seem to remember. I took a History minor in case you’re wondering. I’m not some kind of genius.

I thought about what I’d told Redmond Cooper. That I was looking for peace. And I thought about what my dad kept telling me. ‘Be strong to get along.’ Would there ever be a way to achieve both? Is the combination of both peace and strength what leads to
liberty
?

I brought the coin up to my lips, gave it a soft, quick kiss, making sure no-one was watching me in my bizarre private act, and then I threw in the dime.

I knew, as it plopped into the water, that somehow, the magic had already begun.

*

I’ll spare you the details of my goodbyes at The Chronicle. Let’s just say that Christina was shocked, pissed, suspicious, all the stuff I’d been dreading. She told me if it all went wrong then I could forget my old job at The Chronicle. Anyone who only stayed three weeks, and didn’t even serve out their probationary period, ‘didnae deserve a place on the team’. But she ended the meeting with a surprise wink, adding, ‘I dinnae blame you, hen. I’d have done the same thing myself, given the opportunity.’

With that, I closed the door of her dusty office for the last time, and went back to my old desk to pack up. I told Patrick about Jen, that Redmond Cooper had had her fired. Patrick took it better than I’d been expecting. He laughed about the fact that two days after winning an award he was the only one left on the team, so full rights of the trophy went to him now. But he did seem disappointed to see me going.

‘We’ll keep in touch,’ I said. ‘I’ll still be in the same city.’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Patrick said, with a smile. ‘In fact, why don’t we meet for drinks after your first week at work? Friday night? You can tell me all about it?’

I shrugged and nodded. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘You can pick me up outside Global. We’ll explore the bars in Midtown.’

‘Very fancy,’ said Patrick, and he gave me a hug. I once read that hugs should last approximately three seconds. Any less and it looks like your humoring the other person, any more and you’re either
after something
, or unaware of social conventions. This hug lasted for about ten seconds. And as far as I’d gathered in the three weeks I’d known him, Patrick was an aficionado of social convention.

I took in the extra seconds of the hug to smell his aftershave. Calvin Klein, I thought. It was quite pleasant.

Eventually, Patrick pulled away from me, and I picked up my box of stationery and left the office.

That night at home, telling my parents the news wasn’t so easy.

‘You did
what
?!’ shouted my dad. ‘I used my connections to get you that job, and you stuck it out three weeks! Any idea how that’ll look on your resume? You’ve got to stick with a job like that for
at least
a year!’

‘Have you thought about how Global Media’s going to look on my resume?’ I asked moodily. ‘That’s better than
ten
years at The Chronicle!’

My dad was hurt. He’d tried hard to get me that job. I needed to back down. ‘Look, Dad, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It was a difficult decision.’ (That part was a lie, of course.) ‘But this is a big deal for me. I really feel like the course of my whole life is about to change.’

Dad appreciated my apology. ‘Just be careful, okay kiddo?’ he said, taking my mom’s hand. ‘We both care about you a lot.’

‘We know what these big corporations can be like,’ chipped in Mom. ‘How they can take advantage of you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I told them both. ‘I won’t let anyone take advantage of me.’

I gave them both a hug, and then walked up to my room, sensing that maybe, finally, their little girl was about to become a woman.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Glamorous World Of International News

‘I’m Tegan,’ she said, coming to meet me at reception. ‘Welcome to Global.’

Tegan shook my hand, and we began walking to the elevator. ‘You’ll be shadowing me for the next few weeks,’ she explained. ‘Redmond only told me about it this morning. So I apologize for not having, like, an action plan for you or anything.’

It seemed jarring that Tegan had called Mr. Cooper
Redmond
. Should I call him that too, now that I worked here? He’d asked me to call him ‘sir’…

Tegan took me into the elevator, and I snuck a look at her as we traveled up to the second floor. She was another catwalk-esque employee. Global Media had them in abundance. Tegan was different though. She had short, cropped red hair. Not a pixie cut – her hair was almost shaved. She wore a sleeveless, royal blue shirt, and thick black tattoos licked and curled around her arms. She looked incredibly striking. Like the kind of person you probably wanted to stay on your side. You didn’t want to be enemies with a woman with a shaved head and tattoos, that’s for sure.

We were only going up one floor, so the elevator doors opened after mere seconds, and we walked out. Being on the second storeys, this was the second largest of the building’s floor’s, and it was really something. At The Chronicle, there’d been three small rooms, one for each department. Here – I had no idea how many different departments there were, but I’m guessing way more than three…

‘You get used to it,’ said Tegan, realizing that I was pretty overwhelmed. ‘Eighteen thousand employees,’ she said. ‘Not quite as big as Twenty-first Century Fox, but you know… not far off.’