Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Eight

DAMON

W hen I started working for Kingsman Enterprises, I hadn’t really contemplated what I’d be getting myself into. Having only briefly gone over the services Kingsman offered in my unorthodox interview, I blindly walked into a world I assumed only existed in movies and on television. It was strange because I never applied for a job with Kingsman. They came to me. She came to me— Clarissa O’Neal .

It was a few months after we’d arrived in Hillcrest Hills—after my breakup with Scarlett and the hookup I had with Wynter. I was a fucking mess and drank myself into oblivion for a month straight. Every weekend I’d go out to Killian's, a bar Kai’s Uncle and President of The Pleasant Hills Cobras’ Motorcycle Club owned, back in Pleasant Hills. There I could drink my sorrows away without being bothered by someone I knew from school. I felt at home there.

But one night my best friend Jax and I ventured out to Galen Grove, a ritzy neighborhood known as The Las Vegas of California. We dropped in at one of the many casinos despite having no money to gamble, so instead I spent my time in their bar while Jax spent it looking around for a cougar he’d make his own personal Sugar Mama.

I wasn’t down for that.

Clarissa approached me as I sat alone at the casino bar. It was strange, sure, but although I was only eighteen, I looked like a grown man—the stubble on my chin was a little longer than a five o’clock shadow. There was something in the way she looked at me that made me feel seen. Wanted. And in that precise moment I was looking for that exact thing.

She was hot for an older woman in her late thirties. Long, bleached blond hair that looked to be mostly extensions fell along her shoulders in wide Jessica Rabbit curls, while a dark red dress wrapped every one of her man-made curves. Her tits were on full display, fake as shit, and pushed up to her chin, giving an indecent amount of cleavage. Though eyes were dark and clouded with lust as they raked over me, taking in my appearance in ripped black jeans and a leather jacket.

The hunger in her gaze turned me on—I was a man after all and she was one hell of a woman—but deep down her type made me sick. Entitled trophy wives who married for nothing more than the zeros in their husband's bank accounts only to come to places like these in search of what they really craved. Of course, her husband was screwing his secretary or in a similar situation, regardless I never understood that type of arrangement. To allow yourself to be taken advantage of and humiliated in that way made no fucking sense to me.

After a few drinks and some lewd glances, Clarissa told me about a business she had—a club of sorts. Very exclusive and a little different from anything I’d ever heard of.

Women—preferably older, wealthy and bored housewives—procured services from her employees they couldn’t find anywhere else. It all sounded a little sketchy to me and although I could read between the lines, I was intrigued.

Sure, I’d grown up around strip clubs and even was on a first name basis with some prostitutes in Pleasant Hills, not because I ever required their services, but because of my brief employment with The Cobras MC. However, the picture Clarissa was painting was interesting to say the least. The men who worked for her—young, attractive men she referred to as escorts—her elusive clients would hire for things such as charity galas or other societal events they needed dates to.

Though sometimes her clients also held private events and hired a few of her men at a time for these parties .

She offered me a chance to attend one of these private events and test the waters to see if it was a good fit for me. I almost blew her off thinking she was a fucking psycho if she thought I’d agree to be a Gigolo, but the moment she grabbed a cocktail napkin and wrote the amount of cash I could go home with nightly after her cut, I’d be a fucking idiot to refuse.

Five thousand dollars a night for simply attending a dinner at the country club, but up to fifteen grand for these private parties.

Of course, the private arrangements paid more because they required more from us.

Sex had always been my hard limit. I wouldn’t get paid to fuck someone, no matter how hot they were or how much they offered. Clarissa never understood my reasoning for it, but after what my mother did for a living, it was a subject I never wanted to touch.

Shortly after working for Clarissa, I rented an apartment for the guys and I. I never told them where the money was coming from but they also didn’t ask. They assumed I’d gotten back into cage fighting, something I’d done before we left our foster home in Pleasant Hills, but that wasn’t the case.

I became Kingsman's top prospect. Draco, the alter ego I took on, was in high demand. After just a few weeks of exclusively working these private parties, I was making more in one night than I’d make in a year in a run-of-the-mill job. It required some additional effort on my part, but that was something I could live with. Role playing, bringing to life a variety of kinks these bored housewives craved, and fulfilling their darkest fantasies was what I was good at.

Now, three years after I first started working for Kingsman, I am now a partner. After receiving my part of Nico’s inheritance, I went to Clarissa with a proposal. To buy a share of her company and run my sector of it, focusing primarily on these private, more exclusive events.

I was done working full time and determined to get a bigger piece of the pie. Not because I needed it, but because I deserved it after keeping Kingsman in business, primarily with my earnings and the client list I had, which continued coming back for more. I still had my private clients who refused to work with anyone else, Clarissa being one of them, but as I step through the doors of the Kingsman offices in Galen Grove, I can’t help but think of the new client I just took on.

Wynter Servite.

When Wynter told me she needed to hire me, I almost lost my shit. She’d heard, from Clarissa herself no less, what I did for work . To say I was shocked is an understatement, but when she said she wanted to pay me to pretend to be her fucking boyfriend, well, I can’t quite figure out what it is I felt.

Sitting down at my desk in the Kingsman's head offices, I lean back in my chair, replaying my encounter with Wyn from earlier today. I lost control, broke the one rule I’d set for myself with her, and I’ve been a fucking mess ever since.

My body goes stiff when I hear the door to my office creak open just as Clarissa steps inside, unannounced and without the courtesy of knocking. I clutch my hands together to stop the violent tirade that is sure to burst out if I don't look past her indiscretion. She’s a walking red flag that irks me in every way, and she’s damn proud of the fact that I’m tied to her in every way.

“You’re late,” she huffs, dropping into the chair in front of me. She’s dressed in her usual uniform , a skin-tight, low-cut dress, this one in bright red, and six-inch stiletto heels to match. To any other man coming into work every day and seeing her dressed this way would be a fucking dream come true, yet I can barely stomach looking at her now.

Clarissa reeks of desperation and it’s the one thing I can’t stand about her.

Clarissa and I have a history. One I’m not fucking proud of but can’t say I regret, not when it’s gotten me to where I am today. Since the day she hired me to work for Kingsman, we’ve had our own agreement, of sorts. A standing weekly appointment where I give her an hour of my time, unpaid, to do whatever she pleases with me.

Typically, she prefers to be tied up, bound and gagged while we play out the dominant and submissive relationship she craves and wishes she had with her husband. We role play until I bring her to the edge and pleasure her over and over until she can barely breathe.

It used to be something I craved as well, to watch as she begged me to let her come, but in recent months it’s become more of an obligation than anything. Our relationship has always been one-sided, a convenient arrangement I kept just so I wouldn’t have to worry about ever allowing myself to become vulnerable with any other woman. I expected nothing from her, and she knew better than to confuse the lust for anything more.

It’s convenient she keeps a private apartment upstairs that she rents specifically for our liaisons and sometimes rents it out to her friends who wish to keep a low profile. She stocks the place with every sex toy imaginable and a variety of other necessities for whatever fantasies our clients wish to bring to life.

But I’ve never fucked her. I refuse to let her have that part of me.

“I’m taking some time off,” I tell her, ignoring her comment about my punctuality, and carefully watching her reaction. Her tongue moves back and forth inside her mouth as she contemplates my statement. There’s bitter dissatisfaction etched into the creases of her eyes.

“What for?” she asks, barely hiding her true feelings.

“Personal reasons,” I state matter of fact. I don’t owe her any explanations. “I’ll still be coming into the office and fulfilling my duties as Vice President, but I won’t be working my usual schedule. In fact, I won’t be working at all.”

Her eyes go wide and she sits forward, her palms resting on the edge of my desk. Her fake acrylic nails tap against the wooden surface, screeching as she pulls back to lean in the chair.

“Do your clients know that? You know they refuse to work with anyone but the elusive Draco.” The way she murmurs my name makes me cringe. My weekly appointments with Clarissa have become more of a nuisance than anything, and it’s about time I ended our arrangement. It’s long fucking overdue.

“They’ll have to accommodate working with someone else if they want to continue receiving services from Kingsman. It’s not up for discussion.” I reach for the files of some of our top escorts, men I trust to take over my elusive clientele, and hand them to her. “I’ve compiled a list of some of our best I’ll recommend and assign to them.”

She scoffs, not bothering to take the documents from me. “You know, when I agreed to making you a partner, I didn't know you’d try to pull out of our contract so quickly.”

“I’m upholding the contract, but I’ve been working for you for three years, Clarissa. I’m done with it. I asked you to make me a partner because I’m not interested in continuing to take part in the services we provide. I want to remain behind the scenes and that means removing myself from the day-to-day activities.”

Her disapproving scowl tells me exactly what she thinks. I don’t think she believed I’d ever step down from our arrangement. I’ll admit I became reliant on our agreement. “What about me? Are you reassigning me to one of your, what did you call them, recommendations?”

Keeping my expression unreadable, I nod. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interest that our arrangement ends as well.”

She scoffs, annoyed, and I know my rejection has pissed her off.