Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

When she was awakened by Sheri gently shaking her shoulder, the sun was already setting outside the window. She’d slept the entire afternoon away.

A quick shower revived her. She put on a new pair of utilitarian underwear she’d bought from Duane Reade along with her bra. It felt odd to wear underthings after being kept naked for so long by her Master.

She stroked her bare throat as she regarded herself in the small mirror of Sheri’s single bathroom. No more collars. She was done with all that.

“Food’s ready soon,” Sheri called out, recalling Rowan to her task.

“Coming.” She quickly pulled on the black knit shirt and long, flowing batik skirt she’d found at the thrift shop, pleased with her new outfit.

Over some leftover lasagna along with the bottle of red wine, Rowan told Sheri a whitewashed version of what had gone on with Master John. She wasn’t yet ready to admit just how far things had derailed, or how much she’d lost herself in the process.

While Sheri had playfully dabbled in BDSM, going a few times with Rowan to Paddles, and getting her boyfriend to engage in a little bondage, it wasn’t a core part of her as it was for Rowan. But she’d never been judgmental about Rowan’s choices, which Rowan had always appreciated.

Now Sheri said, “It’s those too-gorgeous-for-their-own-good guys you have to watch out for. I always thought there was something dangerous about the guy.”

Ironically, Sheri had initially encouraged Rowan to “go for it” when Rowan had first shared her thoughts about setting up BDSM house with Master John. But Rowan didn’t remind her of this now. Even if Sheri had been a voice of caution, Rowan doubted she would have listened. She had been too head-over-heels into the guy to heed any advice but what she’d wanted to hear.

“I’m glad you got out of there,” Sheri continued as she refilled both their wineglasses. “I’d been worried for a while now about what’s been going on with you, especially when I stopped hearing from you these past few weeks. His taking away your phone and shit? That’s fucked up.”

“Topic change,” Rowan said abruptly, not wanting to dwell a moment longer on the conversation. “I need to get a job, pronto. I’m going to go over to the campus tomorrow and see if there’s anything posted there. I was wondering though, do you think there might be something at your company for someone with a fine arts degree?”

Sheri had earned her degree in graphic design, graduating the year before Rowan. She now worked for a small advertising company in Midtown Manhattan. “Hmm,” she said, furrowing her brow in thought. “I’m not sure. I can definitely ask, though.”

Then she brightened. “I do know there’s a bartending gig opening up just down the block from me at a place called Sadie’s. I kind of have an ‘in’ there, because I designed their new menus for them at a super discount when I was just getting started. I could put in a good word for you.”

Rowan had been a bartender, among her other many jobs over the years to make ends meet while in school. The idea of returning to bartending as a stopgap while she figured things out was appealing. “That’s a great idea. Thanks.”

After dinner, they walked together to Sadie’s. The owner, a guy named Al, was there. After grilling her about her experience with bartending, he looked her up and down. She lifted her chin and looked Al in the eye as he gave her the once-over. Bartending could be a rough gig for a woman, and she knew he was satisfying himself that she had what it took to hold her own.

Finally, he said, “I can give you twenty hours a week to start. Ten bucks an hour, cash, plus tips. Take it or leave it.”

Seeing as the minimum wage in New York City was fifteen dollars, it wasn’t exactly a stellar offer, but hopefully the tips would make up for it. Not exactly in a position to bargain, Rowan agreed to the terms.

Al waved away her offer to provide references. “You can start this coming Tuesday.”

The timing, at least, was good. It gave her three days to hopefully retrieve her stuff from John’s place, as well as get over to the Zimmer Gallery to see what was up with the upcoming show.

To think—only the night before she’d been locked in a cage, feeling as if there was no way out. Now, not even twenty-four hours later, she was a free woman with a place to stay and a job! Everything seemed to be falling into place.

As they left the bar, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her bag, half-hoping it was Eric, half-dreading it was John.

Chapter 15

It was from John.

No. She would not ruin this moment of happiness.