A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology by Editors: Katherine Merchant Sonya Bond Michelle Puffer

Author:Editors: Katherine Merchant, Sonya Bond, Michelle Puffer
Language: eng
Format: epub

A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology

Chapter Two

Mac Corcoran checked the code on his pager twice, once with disbelief and the second time with resignation. He’d just finished troubleshooting a chain of hardware problems for a minor celebrity who had decided 2 a.m. was the perfect time for recording his new album. His ears were still ringing from the client’s music (literally his; the guy was some kind of character, piping his own tunes into every one of the eleven rooms in his downtown brownstone) and he stank of cigarette smoke. He wanted a shower and a long sleep.

The timing for both couldn’t be better; his wife left for work every morning at 6 a.m., leaving Mac with a quiet house and a warm bed, both empty of the woman he couldn’t face. These days, he slept on the couch when they happened to both be in at the same time.

The last-minute assignment that came across his pager blew his sleep plans right out of the water. Mac dialed the dispatch office. Renee, the new receptionist, answered the phone.

“I’m off-shift,” Mac barked, rougher than he’d intended. “Give the call to one of the guys coming on.”

The new girl, halfway through her automatic hello-thanks-for-calling greeting, stammered to a stop. She was quiet a long moment before venturing, “Mac?”

“Yeah. You just paged me with a new assignment. I’m off as of fifteen minutes ago. I’m going home. Give it to someone else.”

“The client requested you,” she said. “She’s one of your regular customers.”

Mac rubbed his jaw, which was scratchy with the beginnings of a beard. Shower, clean clothes, sleep, maybe breakfast—they were all he wanted. That wasn’t asking too much, was it? He and his wife weren’t speaking, and his assignments lately were shit jobs. He deserved a little luxury. He didn’t say any of that to Renee, though. Instead, he asked, “What are the specifics?”

“Um. She didn’t say.”

Code phrase for “the receptionist didn’t ask.” Mac bit back his irritation. “Who’s the client?”

“I, uh…”

“You did get her name, right?”

“Someone else took the call and set it up,” Renee said, rushing the words. “All I have is an address and a time.”

Mac’s jaw clenched. “When’s the job?”

“Forty-five minutes from now.”

He swore. “Location?”

Renee named a site downtown. With the morning commuter traffic in full swing, it would take him the entire forty-five to get there. “I’m going to be late,” he said. “If she calls back, tell her I’m on the way. And try to get a name, will you?”

“S-sure.”

Mac disconnected the call and pocketed his cell phone. He needed a cup of coffee, the bigger and blacker, the better. No, he thought, as he navigated commuter traffic and tried to shake off exhaustion. What he needed was his wife. The coffee was a poor substitute.

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