He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. “We should go down. Rowan, you can wait in the recovery room near Mistress Dominique’s office until we’re ready for you.” He turned to Brandon, who had been waiting respectfully by the door. “If you have time, Brandon, you might wait with her.”
“Yes, Trainer,” Brandon said. “Of course.” He smiled kindly at Rowan, and Eric was glad he was there for her.
The three of them left the training room and made their way down the hall to the stairs that led to the second floor. Eric walked with the pair to the recovery room and then continued on to Dominique’s office.
Grayson and Dominique were seated side by side on the sofa, Garfield in one of the armchairs across from them. They all looked toward Eric as he stepped across the threshold.
“Here he is,” Dominique said, smiling toward Eric. “Eric, this is John Garfield. We’ve just been getting to know one another a bit better. Mr. Garfield, please meet our trainer, Eric Franklin.”
Garfield rose to his feet, looking crisp and cool in a beautifully tailored cream-colored sport coat over a black silk shirt and matching pants, black leather loafers on his feet. He did not look like a man who’d just flown halfway around the globe. He looked more like a model ready for his photoshoot. He was almost too handsome, with thick, dark hair in an expensive cut, heavy-lidded, deep brown eyes, a strong jaw and a mouth that was almost feminine, save for its cruel, arrogant curve.
Eric hated him on sight.
Aware his feelings were not only absurd but inappropriate, he forced a smile as he advanced toward the man, accepting his outstretched hand. He prepared himself for the bone-crunching grip of one man asserting his power over another. But Garfield’s shake was firm without being overly aggressive. He looked Eric in the eye as he said with apparent sincerity, “Nice to meet you, Eric. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with you sooner.”
As they both took their seats, Eric in the armchair catty-corner to Garfield’s, Grayson said, “We’ve been sharing a little of your concerns with John, but we haven’t really gotten into any of the details. Hopefully, we can get this all cleared up and work together to devise a mutually beneficial training program.”
“Where is Rowan now?” Garfield interjected. “I want to see my sub.”
“She’s waiting down the hall,” Eric replied. “I’d like to speak with you first, if that’s all right. Then we can bring her in.”
Garfield frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. But he only said, “All right. Tell me what’s going on.”
Eric described the initial session and Rowan’s subsequent breakdown in broad strokes, more to give Garfield a sense of Rowan’s fragility rather than getting into too much detail.
“So, she fucked up,” Garfield said, shrugging. “That’s what punishments are for. That’s why she’s here, for god’s sake,” he added, a touch of indignation entering his tone.
“That’s the thing,” Eric replied, struggling to keep his annoyance at bay. “She didn’t just fuck up, to use your words. She broke down. Her reaction was so out of proportion that it raised some alarm bells. You indicated on the questionnaire that she is dedicated to the Master/slave lifestyle and fully accepting of the concept of a total power exchange. But from what I’ve observed in our admittedly brief time together, she’s in over her head. I have to question if the training regime you want for her is appropriate. She wants to please you, yes. But I’m not sure she’s even slave material, to be brutally frank.”
“You’re not sure?” Garfield scowled. “Well, here’s a newsflash for you. I am. Rowan is absolutely slave material and any trainer worth his salt should be able to see that. She’s also a bit of a brat, if you want to know the truth, and can be quite manipulative with those big, sad eyes and quivering lips. Of course, in your ‘admittedly brief time together’”—he used his fingers to draw large quotes in the air around the words—“you probably haven’t had a chance to see that side of her. But it’s there, trust me.”
Garfield blew out an exasperated breath. “I was expecting this to be a kind of bootcamp for subs, not some touchy-feely coddle fest.” He turned to glare at Grayson.
“This is why you called me back early, interrupting my business? Because your staff can’t handle basic training?”
Eric’s hands had curled into fists on his knees.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Grayson began indignantly.
Dominique placed a hand on her husband’s arm, though she kept her gaze on Garfield. “Let’s all just take a step back for a moment, shall we?” Her tone was calm, her smile warm, but the strength she radiated was undeniable.
“Mr. Garfield,” she continued, still smiling, “While we do appreciate that you were able to juggle your schedule, we made an exception by accepting this arrangement without our usual prerequisites. I understand you’re distressed, but we didn’t request your early return lightly, I can assure you. As I’m sure you’re aware, not every sub is slave material. In fact, very few are, just as very few Dominants are equipped to accept that kind of complete power exchange and the responsibilities that go with it. We were hoping, by meeting with you and having a candid, in-depth conversation, we might better understand the dynamics of your relationship with Rowan.”