My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3)(2)

By: Megan Michaels



Derek Miller, as a competitor in their same industry, ended up being at many of the same conferences and joint media campaigns that Caroline attended. Today had been one of those days. And because Derek thought being rough with women would make him look like he was part of the “old boy’s network,” he never missed a chance to make misogynistic digs at her or other female competitors. The immaturity of his remarks didn’t make her look incompetent — they simply illuminated his lack of finesse and ungentlemanly demeanor. It always seemed to backfire on him, but he never learned the lesson and continued in this crude behavior.

She expected today’s comment from Derek would actually land her the Parker account, but rather than celebrate another victory over the bastard, she suspected she’d be wallowing in self-loathing and regret. She’d more than likely go home and drown her sorrows in carbohydrates. A big bowl of pasta and fresh Italian bread, followed by a large bowl of ice cream would make her feel better. Right now, she wouldn’t think about how much she’d hate herself the next morning.

Exiting the lobby of the high-rise, she stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. There was nothing like the mayhem of Manhattan to help you forget your problems — or add to them. Right in front of the door was her sleek, black SUV and Jason, ever-faithful Jason, her security guard. Tall, broad, and muscular, and wearing a well-tailored suit, he held the truck’s door open for her. She walked briskly, anxious to sit in the secluded, peaceful back seat — and more than likely cry.

“Thank you, Jason. I’ll be glad to get home and do nothing for the rest of the night. Feel free to see that lovely wife and children of yours. I’m done for the day.” She slid into her seat gracefully, drawing her long legs into the vehicle.

“Caroline, was it Derek again?” Jason looked at her through the rear view mirror, as he slid in behind the wheel. “I can take care of that for you.”

“I’m sure you could.” Caroline gave him a frown, a gentle rebuke. “But that wouldn’t be good for business now, would it?”

“Probably not. But he deserves it, and I’d love to get a hold of him. Teach him a lesson.” He held up one of his huge hands. “They’re just itchin’.”

Caroline laughed, shaking her head at the loyalty Jason felt toward her. He was protective and as much as he defended and looked out for her as her chauffer and bodyguard, he was almost obsessed about protecting his wife and children. Watching him now, she could see how that was possible.

It would be nice to have someone fiercely protective of her for a change, someone she called her own. Her father cared about her in a business sense, but what she did and where she went outside of work was of no concern to him. And for whatever reason, any of the previous men she’d dated never seemed protective either. They looked to her as the woman in charge — the strong woman whose lead they comfortably followed. However, she wanted a man to lead, someone she could follow — and answer to. She longed to shed the role of the executive in charge and instead be the one taken care of. She wanted someone who would protect her out of a sense of love and caring, rather than because she paid them to.

“You won’t be teaching Derek a lesson — at least not today, Jason.”

He clenched his jaw, sending a piercing glare her way in the mirror. “Let me know when, Caroline.”

“I assure you, you’ll be the first person I contact.” She giggled, seeing how serious he was.

“You better. You don’t want to piss me off by keeping me out of the loop. I need to know when things become serious.” He nodded at her, his penetrating gaze making her break eye contact.

She bet he was a force to be reckoned with when angry.

* * *



Finally home, Caroline immediately threw on her sweat pants and an old t-shirt from her alma mater, University of Tennessee. Now she would be ready for her carbs, junk food, and her favorite movies.

Once the pasta and Alfredo sauce was cooked up and ready, she sliced the Italian bread, lathering it with butter. If one piece was good, two would be even better.

She curled up on the couch with a blanket after popping in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. She thought back to Derek’s comment. It had been almost a year since she’d had a date. Maybe he was right? Maybe twenty pounds would do the trick? She had tried to lose weight herself before, and it never worked well. Her long hours and busy schedule didn’t always allow for healthy eating. Fast food and take-out always sounded better, and it was definitely more convenient.

She had dabbled with anorexia in college, but never could force herself to vomit. She’d spent most of her college years not eating well or not eating at all, then eating pizza and beer on the weekends. But she took laxatives and diet pills daily, purging her system, and trying to vomit. Having more pizza and beer. Rinse and repeat. She’d been struggling with her hips and ass since she started high school. Again, men — most men — seemed to enjoy her curvy ass and hips. But it was the occasional guy like Derek that made her want to start using laxatives and try vomiting again. Even though she’d never call herself an actual anorexic — and it had been probably ten years since she had last struggled with it — however, the temptation was real at times like these.

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