Tricked

Please review the details of this agreement below, and get back to me at your earliest convenience with any questions or concerns.Sincerely,

Randall Smith“Holy shit,” Callie breathed, staring at the incomprehensibly large sum on the screen.

“Excuse me?” the young man seated beside her queried with a quizzical look. He was a good-looking guy, maybe thirty or so, with longish blond hair and friendly, intelligent hazel eyes. He wasn’t model gorgeous, but just a regular guy with a kind face and nice, broad shoulders.

“Oh,” she said, blushing a little as she smiled. “Sorry. Just got a surprising email.”

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling appealingly at the corners. “Good news, I hope.”

“Yes,” she agreed, still shell-shocked at the amount of the settlement. “Very good news.”

“Sweet,” he replied. “It’s good news for me, too, then.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Callie replied, confused.

His smile widened. He nodded toward her laptop. “To be perfectly honest, I was looking for an excuse to strike up a conversation with such a beautiful girl without being one of those annoying plane neighbors who strikes up a conversation when all you want to do is get some work done.”

In spite of herself, Callie laughed, charmed. “It’s okay. It’s not work.” She closed the lid of the laptop, surprised at her immediate attraction to this young man she knew absolutely nothing about. In the six months since Costa Rica, she hadn’t so much as looked at a guy. She’d been far too focused on reclaiming herself, and working past the trauma. She had told herself she was in no hurry to leap back into dating, and she remained firm in that resolve.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to a guy, did it?

“You heading home or heading away from home?” he asked now.

“Away,” she replied. “But also to.”

“Okay, now I’m the one who’s confused. I’m Mason, by the way. Mason Levi.” He extended his hand across the empty middle seat.

“Callie Anderson,” Callie replied, holding her breath in dread of his recognition of the name from all the headlines as she put her hand briefly in his.

But his expression didn’t change. “A pleasure to meet you, Callie. Now, can you explain that sentence?”

She grinned. “I was spending some time back home, but now I’m heading to a new job and new life in Chicago.” It occurred to her as she said this that, with five million dollars heading her way, she probably didn’t really need to work. But at the same time, she was excited to start her chosen career. Whatever money was left after the attorneys took their healthy cut, she would use to pay off her and her brother’s student debt, and maybe take her family on an all-expenses paid vacation to Europe the coming summer. She would invest and save the rest for a future she couldn’t yet quite imagine.

“Sweet,” Mason enthused. “Same here. What’s your new job, if you don’t mind my asking?

Callie told him, and then asked, “What about you?”

He paused a moment, as if making a decision. “Promise you won’t judge. It’s not exactly a traditional career path.”

“No judgement,” Callie replied. “Promise.”

“Okay. I’m taking a position as head trainer at a private BDSM facility. I’m going to be running a program to train and educate Doms and subs in the scene with a focus on responsible, informed consent.” He ran a big hand over his face and up into his hair, looking chagrined. “Oh god. TMI, right? I’m so into the scene that I forget most folks have no clue what I’m even talking about.”

“No, no,” Callie hurriedly assured him, intrigued. She’d talked extensively with her therapist about her continued interest in the concept of D/s, despite the experience she’d endured at Damon’s cruel hands. Happily, Dr. Fisk, while not personally into BDSM, had been extremely perceptive and surprisingly knowledgeable. She had sent Callie several links online about BDSM as a healthy, natural sexual impulse that made a lot of folks very happy. Callie understood that, as Wolf and Greta had assured her, what Damon had done had less than zero to do with a loving, consensual BDSM relationship.

Who knew, maybe, sooner than she thought, she’d be ready to give it another chance.

Just then, a flight attendant stopped beside them in the aisle. “Can I get you two something to drink? How about you, sir?” She nodded toward Mason, who was by the window.

“Champagne for me,” Mason said, smiling at Callie. “Can I get one for you as well?”

“Why not?” Callie agreed, finding his easygoing, positive spirit infectious.

Once the flight attendant had moved away, Mason lifted his plastic champagne flute in Callie’s direction. “To new lives and new careers,” he said.

Callie tapped her flute to his. “And new friends,” she replied with a smile.