CPOV

What a fucking clusterfuck, is anyone capable of doing their fucking jobs? I can feel the anger growing the more I look over the documents and financials in front of me; the information conveyed may very well cost me a deal I desperately want and have spent months working on. I pay every person who works for me damn good money, is it that damn fucking unreasonable of me to expect them to do the jobs they were hired for. I hire the best and brightest, my salary and benefit packages are the best in the business, do they really fucking think I do that out of the kindness of my heart? I don't have a heart, they should know that by now. I've never made a secret of the fact that if you can't live up to the standards I set you can find yourself another fucking job; just as the fucker who compiled this shit is about to find out.

An hour later, going through the financials, projections, and proposals for the shipyard I have been working my ass off trying to acquire I've had enough. I pick up my phone and order Ros, my second in command, to get her ass to my office before finally calling HR and ordering the immediate termination of the incompetent time wasting mother fucker who submitted this shit I've spent the last two hours reviewing in the vain hope that something in it could be salvaged. If the son of a bitch has ruined this deal for us I will ruin him, he will be lucky to find a job flipping burgers at McDonalds. Ranting and raving fails to rid me of the frustration and anger coursing through me and I find myself throwing my phone at the wall for the third time in so many days. Thank fuck for Andrea, my PA, as she's long since learned to keeps a number of replacement phones in her desk drawer.

After my day from hell, Taylor, my CPO and head of security, knocks on my door to let me know its 6pm and asks if I am ready to go. I look at him in confusion for a moment before I remember its Friday and I have a 'guest' who is due to arrive at my Escala home within the hour. Normally I'd keep on working given the amount of shit I'm dealing with, as my submissive has no other job than to please me, regardless of whether it is in my playroom or just waiting around until I am ready and available for her to service my needs. Tonight is different though and I know I will have plenty of time over the weekend to work on this shit storm from my office at home. I am even more irritated that there will be no playroom time for me for a while as my current sub is about to find out her contract has been terminated.

Just thinking about Leila has my blood boiling and I close my eyes and count to ten, the last thing I need is to keel over with a heart attack at the ripe old age of 28. She's been the perfect submissive, no hard limits and has never safe worded, not even once; it's the reason she's lasted longer than any of the others before her. She's been so good at fulfilling my needs I've, stupidly as it turns out, chosen to ignore the look that has been growing in her eyes- a look I recognize having seen it in many of the 14 who came before her. I don't get it, they all knew what they were getting into when they signed the contract; I don't do more, it's a business arrangement and nothing more. They submit to my demands and I take care of their needs, its as simple as that. This is what the arrangements have always been and all what they will ever be. I don't have a heart, I don't do the boyfriend/girlfriend thing, and I sure as fuck don't do love. Love is for fools, Elena taught me that a long time ago. I've always been clear and up-front about my expectations and limitations so I am at a loss to understand why these women, who are no more than employees to me, develop feelings for me. I am a cold bastard and have never once encouraged their delusions that they stood the slightest chance of being the one to do the impossible and change me. The counting is doing nothing to decrease my rage and consider the idea of using Leila one more time, strictly for my pleasure, one more time but dismiss the idea and instead tell Taylor I want Claude waiting and ready in my private gym no later than 8:00 PM. Hopefully a full on session with my ex-olympian kick boxing trainer will help dissipate some of the frustration this day has brought.

I honestly didn't think this day could get worse or that I could experience pure rage of this capacity but walking into my penthouse I was proven wrong. I was dumbfounded by the sight before me and I turn and give Taylor a look and he responds with the slightest nod of his head, he's worked for me long enough that no words are needed. He will need to remain on duty, alert and ready, until one Ms. Williams finds herself removed from both my apartment and my life. I am well aware that he does not support my lifestyle, but I pay the fucker enough to keep his mouth shut; at least he gets the satisfaction of kicking these women out. Given the sight waiting for me, he will have that honor sooner rather than later; having pulled this bull shit there is no way I can afford one last punishment fuck.

"Baby, you are home just on time. Gail will have dinner ready in just a few minutes and I have already set up the dining room table." I follow her in for the sole reason of finding out exactly what the hell she is playing at. After the day I've had I didn't think I could be more furious, that is until I find the table (one I doubt I've ever even used) set for a romantic meal, flowers, candles, the whole nine yards. Hearts and fucking flowers- something I just don't do. My annoyance, not to mention my barely controlled rage, is so all consuming I only barely notice that my, obviously, delusional sub is ordering Gail, my house manager and cook, around like her own personal servant. I snap out of it when an obviously distressed Gail enters the room with our starter, soup and fresh rolls. My eyes are immediately drawn to her face, the one sporting a hell of a developing bruise on her right cheek and I know I need to get her out of here. I stand making up the excuse that I've just received a very important call that I must attend and am greeted with the angry glare of the women sitting beside me, the one who has obviously lost her fucking mind. I nod my head, subtly, at Gail who takes the hint and follows me down the hall to the security room. Wasting no time she explains that Leila entered the penthouse several hours early, accosted her in the kitchen while she was doing inventory of the pantry, took away her phone, ordered her to cook and serve us dinner, and insisted she now refer to her as Mrs. Gray. I lock her in the safe room after apologizing profusely and promise her that Leila will be gone ASAP. Next I call Flynn, my therapist, and explain the situation. We both agree she needs medical help not jail time and he promises to be here within 20 minutes. I have a feeling this may be the longest 20 minutes of my life.

Channeling my inner Dom, I stroll into the great room where Leila is sitting on my couch, breaking the rule that she is to remain in her room until told otherwise, drinking a glass of my favorite and most expensive wine. Seeing me she jumps up and greats me, asking about my day, all the while dressed like my mother. I look at her dumbfounded as she opens her mouth and the words that fly out are so shocking I am actually rendered speechless.