a dozen strategies, and that was after months of trying to get what she needed via other avenues.
In the end, she kept coming back to Alexander Wagner, CEO of Wagner Global. If there’d been another way she would have taken it. But this—her kneeling, ready to submit, was the best play.
It hadn’t taken her long to zero in on the one aberration from standard billionaire behavior in Alexander’s life—monthly trips to random cities all over the world. She’d assumed the purpose of the sojourns was to assess the possibility of expanding Wagner into those areas.
Curiosity, her greatest trait or worst failing depending on one’s point of view, had taken hold, and she’d set about trying to discover exactly who he was meeting with.
What she’d found was that Alexander’s visits sometimes took place when the people he’d been meeting with were out of the country. If the CEO of a leading goods manufacturer in a particular city or country wasn’t in town the weekend Alexander was there, it seemed highly unlikely that he’d met with a vice president or other lower ranking official. Billionaire CEOs met with other billionaire CEOs.
The question became, what was he doing when he went away for a long weekend?
Curiosity firmly in control, Alena had explored myriad possibilities. It was the list of other wealthy people who were in the same cities on the same dates that proved to be the key that unlocked the puzzle.
Once she found it, the pattern was obvious—several dozen wealthy, influential people ended up in the same cities at the same times. Rarely all at once, but the names on the list she’d compiled all connected to one degree or the other. That might have been a symptom of their wealth, but often there was no discernible reason for them to be there. No sporting or political event, no recreational activity, such as skiing, that would explain why all these people were visiting a town in the Alps in January or February.
With several assumptions, bribes to hotel managers and town car services, and leaps in logic, she pieced together the existence of the Orchid Club.
A secret BDSM club for the uber wealthy.
The perfect way for her to get close to Alexander.
It had taken her a month to put together the Alena Moore identity and portfolio. Alena Moore wealth came from old money—well, what Americans considered old money—as well as current business interests.
Alena Moore was a woman of similar status and background as the people on the list she’d made. It had been tricky, but not impossible to identify and organize an introduction to the Orchid Club. She’d had to delve into her own past and a friend of a friend of a friend had finally connected her to Lillian.
Alena had been offered membership just before the Copenhagen event.
When Alexander had walked in, Alena had hidden her triumphant smile behind a glass of champagne. The satisfaction of being right was a wonderfully familiar sensation. Alena lived for the buzz of dominoes falling exactly as placed, of puzzle pieces clicking together. It was what made her so good at her job.
Alena enjoyed the game, but she loved to win.
The sounds of muted footfalls brought her focus back to the moment.
Alena reached up and pulled some dark hair forward over one shoulder, fluffing it a little. Given his preference for blondes she’d considered dying it, but had decided there were simply some things she wouldn’t do. Not many, but bleaching her hair was one of them.
Alexander paused in the doorway, momentarily silhouetted by the hallway light. A dark figure, menacingly enigmatic.
Then he took another step, into the atmospheric lighting of the lounge, and was just a man once more.
He was holding a small sheaf of papers. Probably her submissive paperwork, a checklist of what she liked and didn’t like. Or more accurately, what she would and wouldn’t allow him to do to her and with her. The ways in which she was willing to be used and abused. And pleasured.
“Remove your cloak,” he said softly.
Alena unfastened the top clasp, watching him watch her.
Alexander took a seat on an ottoman, his elbows on his knees, papers dangling loosely from one hand.
She undid the last button, revealing the lace half-corset and black lace panties with ribbon ties.
“Lovely,” the quiet man said softly.
Alena smiled. “Thank you.”
Being submissive, in the sense of BDSM, was a role she’d once embraced, but one that no longer fit her. She might have given up submitting years ago, but she remembered how this