I jump up. "Yes."

  "Mr. Jones is ready for you now," she announces, turning towards the man in the gray suit. "This is Miss Storm."

  The man looks at me, extending his hand to shake mine. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Storm."

  His voice is surprisingly deep. He sounds a lot older than he looks.

  I shake his hand, dumbfounded by his incredible eyes. They are green, just like mine, but they’re weirdly dark. I have never seen eyes with that intensity before. They are captivating, mesmerizing, dappled with black spots. His handshake is firm and confident.

  "Pleasure... to meet you."

  I wonder if he's wearing contact lenses.

  "Please, follow me."

  "Sure."

  I follow him, nervously fiddling with my clothes, straightening my skirt after every second step and tugging at my blouse. It’s hard to keep up with his brisk, confident steps. I am breaking a sweat just trying to keep up with him without falling over my own two feet. Damn these heels.

  He is a bit ahead of me when he stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. I expect him to knock, but he just opens it, gesturing for me to enter the room. "Please."

  I pass by him with a nervous smile. God, his good looks are intimidating.

  I find myself in a surprisingly big office. Giant windows to my right reveal a marvelous view across the city skyline and the streets twenty-nine floors beneath us. I always wonder how people can work in offices with a view like this. I would find myself staring out the window the entire day.

  Just as I am now.

  I hear him say, "Please," again, and realize that he is pointing to the big, black desk across the room. There is one giant chair behind it and two slightly smaller ones in front of it. "Have a seat."

  I approach the desk, casting a quick glance around the rest of the room. The wall opposite the window is entirely taken up by bookshelves, reaching all the way up to the high ceiling.

  I notice the pictures when I sit down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. They are on the wall right behind the desk. Three rather big photographs right in front of me - and they all show the same woman. Naked, tied-up with black rope.

  Shibari.

  They are stunning, very tasteful and well-lit. One can tell that the woman pictured in them is naked, but the pictures are dark, only dimly lit to emphasize certain features. She is even suspended in one of them, her back arched, head tilted backwards, with her long hair flowing down to the floor, her mouth slightly opened.

  The pictures are beautiful. I can't see anything weird about them - except for the fact that they are displayed here, in a professional business office. Placed in such a prominent position. Mr. Jones might be a pervert after all.

  I realize that I am staring and force myself to look away from the captivating pictures. To my surprise, the assistant is still here, standing next to me.

  He is watching me intently.

  Our eyes meet for a second when I look up at him. I blush. How awkward. Why is he still here? Does Mr. Jones not allow anyone to wait in his office alone? And where is Mr. Jones, anyway? I expected him to be waiting for me in here.

  “All settled?” the man standing next to me asks.

  “Um, yeah, sure,” I reply.

  “Okay,” he says, and makes his way around the desk. "Shall we begin then?"

  He drops down into the big plush leather chair behind the desk. Leaning back with his legs crossed, he looks at me, smiling expectantly.

  Fuck.

  He is Mr. Jones?

  End of Preview

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