Page 1 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

Peripheral

For almost ten years, Le Chateau had kept to itself up in the mountains, content to be a haven for the kind of above-board parties that its members found safer to enjoy here. And for ten years, Monica Warren had carved herself a healthy living that she was proud of.

Ten years later… She sat in a meeting with her tax advisers, speechless.

“You’re sure about this?”

The papers were in front of her.

Some were not so official but emailed in confidence to Lysa Fischer, the head of Monica’s tax team.

She had contacts within the IRS, and part of paying for some of the best in New England was having access to this.

“Yes.

This agent has never led me astray, Mrs. Warren.”

Monica pushed the paper aside and looked at her phone.

At her small conference table, where she had a hundred monthly meetings with these people over the past decade, she always offered hot drinks and snacks.

After all, they often traveled at least two hours from the city to speak with her in person.

Many had toured her Chateau’s grounds to see for themselves that it was not a “brothel.”

Something they had gone to bat for her over with the IRS.

“Fuck.”

Her team averted their gazes as she succumbed to the worries that had been mounting in her head.

I’m being investigated.

It can’t be happening.

Lysa’s IRS confidant had passed along to her that the premier client, Monica Warren of Le Chateau, was being quietly investigated for supposed missing funds and for running a brothel. Again.

Which was absurd.

Monica played so hard by the book that she undoubtedly paid more to the US government than she was legally obliged to, but she saw it as padding her protection.

This was the same woman who was careful to not look like she was paying bribes to the local government.

The county was more than happy to have her taxes and look the other way, but the state? They would take her political donations every election cycle, but no longer did that offer some layer of protection if she kept her nose down.

“This is not a brothel,”

she asserted to the team who already knew that.

“This is a home of live-in escorts who are paid to spend their time with happy clients. Should sex occur, it’s done completely consensually and is not part of a package. Do they think I’m stupid?”

Lysa offered a sympathetic look but was inclined to say.

“Sex work of any kind is a difficult game right now. More than usual. You’ve said yourself that your core employees here are sex workers.”

“Yes, in confidence, to you!”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Warren, but your clients call you ‘madam’ and your employees ‘the girls.’ Colloquially speaking, we all know what that means.”

“They are contracted employees who are given room and board in exchange for a cut of what they make with every client, never mind their patrons.

As you know, we charge a pretty penny.

More than enough to have made me a millionaire several times over.

And I pay my personal taxes just as regularly as I pay my corporate taxes!”

“There was the issue of one of your 1099 employees not paying theirs…”

“Which was not my issue. It only looked like it because this was their permanent address.”

That had been a nightmare and had led to her long-time employee Yvette being let go from the Chateau.

If you’re bringing IRS agents in here to investigate you, it could lead to bad things for the rest of us.

Last Monica heard Yvette was high-end escorting in New York City.

One of the places where Monica had scouted her and still scouted some of her live-in talent.

Most of the women who came to work for her wanted steadier pay with known clients and a bigger price tag to charge.

They set their boundaries while Monica played matchmaker.

Was there often sex on the weekend nights? Of course. But on paper, it wasn’t paid for.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Warren,”

Lysa apologized.

“We’re on it, but don’t be surprised if we’re in contact with you again soon.”

Her heart thundered in her chest as she escorted her tax team out of the Chateau and returned to the second floor.

She was supposed to be preparing to head home to the city, but she found her head cleared quicker if she indulged in a view of the hedge maze behind the large house.

“Didn’t go well, I take it.”

She didn’t have to turn around to recognize Judith, her number two who had retired from taking on new clients but still ran the place in Monica’s absence.

She had arrived from the city to take over for Monica.

We never stop working, do we? Not without plenty of notice.

Monica considered herself a family woman, but her sprawling empire was continuing to grow, and her weeknights were often consumed with more work.

Judith took the edge off, of course, but Monica wondered when she would want more.

When they’d both want to slow down for a while.

I’m not as young as I used to be.

Neither was Judith, whose crow’s feet and a hint of gray hair only made her more in demand with clients who couldn’t have her anymore.

She loves it.

The woman had two boyfriends and lived with one in the city when she was there, but everyone involved knew she plied her trade with anyone breathing and willing.

“We’re being investigated by the IRS,”

Monica said to the woman standing next to her.

“Don’t tell anyone else.”

Judith curtly nodded.

“Just the Chateau? Or is the Salon also under investigation?”

She referred to the lounge they co-ran in the city.

“Just the Chateau. They believe we are not paying enough while also running a brothel.”

“Of course they are. Well, they’re welcome to sniff around and…”

A loud moan echoed down the hallway. Such sounds were like white noise, even on a Monday afternoon, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

“Sierra, I presume?”

“Her regular Monday appointment, yes.”

“The only one who works on Mondays.”

“Regular work is regular work. I make sure she gets Wednesdays free.”

Sierra had been in the Chateau for going on seven years, one of the longest-running residents who showed no sign of wanting to move on. Her specialty was in humiliation kink, making her one of the most in-demand ladies even on a Monday, which was the only day off some clients had to spare for a place up in the mountains. The regular weekly client was known for being loud enough to drive half of the other residents outside while he was there.

“I need to be heading back soon,”

Monica said when she had a moment.

“I trust that you have everything in control here?”

Judith shrugged.

“Nothing much happens here while you’re gone.”

“I won’t be here this weekend. If you don’t have plans on working a shift at Le Salon, I’d appreciate you camping out here to tend to any parties that spring up.”

“Of course. Last I checked, we’re booked solid this weekend. Should be as usual.”

Monica allowed herself to breathe for a minute. Everything is fine. Everything will work out. Everything…

“Look! Look!”

Nothing made her adrenaline spike more than hearing her daughter’s voice in a place it shouldn’t be. Yet here came Abigail, the spry seven-year-old girl who rushed out of Monica’s apartment with a tablet in her hand. Behind her sprinted her nanny, Matilda, who only had one job in the Chateau: keep Abigail in the apartment unless allowed out otherwise!

Judith blocked the hallway leading to the residents’ rooms while Monica hurried her daughter as far from the work as possible. Her adrenaline outpaced her mother’s instinct to listen to her daughter excitedly ramble about her school finally uploading the professional recording of the Christmas first-grade play. Their interpretation of The Night Before Christmas had been a hit with parents, but how could Monica think about that when her daughter was now old enough to help herself to wherever she wanted?

“What?”

Abigail went straight to pouting as Monica hauled her back into their apartment and Matilda slowly followed, eyes downcast. Yes, she knows she fucked up. Matilda was usually right on top of Abigail. Had she been in the bathroom? Distracted by her phone? Like Monica, Matilda wasn’t as young as she used to be. The only reason she was still around was because Monica paid her handsomely enough with full benefits. When her daughter was born, she swore to find the perfect nanny and keep her for Abigail’s sake. Consistency was key to a child’s development, wasn’t it.

“I wanted to show you!”

Monica kept her cool as she closed the door to their private room. Matilda went back to packing her and Abigail’s bags for their imminent return to Warren Manor in the city.

“I know you did, sweetheart.”

Monica hoisted her growing daughter up on the bed they shared. She’ll be bigger than me before she’s a teenager. Monica was petite, but everyone on Abigail’s father’s side was at least six feet tall. Currently, the youngest Warren was on track to join them.

As Abigail’s legs kicked forward and backward against the bed, she handed her mother the tablet.

“You never let me out of here.”

“It’s not appropriate out there right now.”

“It never is!”

Abigail pulled her legs up and sat crisscrossed on the bed. Her heavy beige sweater crumpled in her lap while her well-worn leggings showed how she was growing out of them already.

“This place is so boring. It’s just me and Matilda in here while you work.”

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.”

Monica bookmarked the video and turned off the screen. She tossed the tablet into her bag and helped Matilda finish packing.

“We’re about to head home. Your daddy will be home tonight, too.”

“Yes!”

“It’s an extenuating circumstance, Abby. The older you get, the less I need to bring you with me up here.”

It had been easier when Abigail was little and less inclined to wander out of the room.

Matilda had always been there to watch her while Monica worked.

More and more, Abigail didn’t come up to the Chateau, for obvious reasons, but that weekend had been a mess.

Not only did she have a major party to oversee on Saturday night, but her husband Henry was out of town for a business meeting.

His sister Eva often watched Abigail when they were both gone for a night, but she was also busy that weekend.

I didn’t have a choice.

She could have gotten away with Matilda watching Abigail all weekend, but that wasn’t the promise Monica made to herself when her daughter was born.

Until she’s old enough to be by herself for a night, there will always be at least one family member around.

But it was getting harder, wasn’t it? Monica didn’t run an auto shop, a restaurant, or a quiet B&B retreat in the mountains.

I’m a real-life smut peddler. She couldn’t have Abigail here anymore. Abigail didn’t even like being here.

She’d have to figure something out. Later.

Once they were ready, Matilda summoned one of the maids and helped her take down the luggage.

Monica’s car was freshly washed and prepped for the return trip to the city.

With Abigail’s hand in hers, she said goodbye to Judith and anyone else who was along her path.

It had started raining by the time they stepped outside.

Up in the mountains in January? It was likely to snow or get icy at any moment.

Monica wanted to be in civilization by evening, which was only a couple of hours away.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Her driver opened the back seat door and Monica motioned for Abigail to get in ahead of her.

Her daughter hung her head out of the car, blocking Monica from following her in.

“Are we going to watch the video? I’ve been waiting!”

“Yes, of course!”

Such a scowl made Monica think of something her mother-in-law might say.

“Are you going to let her freeze her face that way? How unbecoming!”

Exactly the person Monica wanted to think about.

“Come on! The sooner we’re home, the sooner you’ll see Daddy.”

Puffing out her cheeks and blubbering like the petulant child she emulated, Abigail slinked into the car and allowed her mother to come in behind her.

The driver closed the door behind them and headed toward the driver’s seat.

The drive down the mountain was Monica’s chance to clear her mind and make things right with her daughter.

She motioned for Abigail to curl up beside her while they watched the recording in Monica’s lap.

As the Abigail of one month ago pranced around the stage, playing the narrator’s mischievous daughter, Monica stroked the current Abigail’s silky hair that had been left loose that day.

When the video was over, Abigail was well on her way to taking a nap.

Monica switched to a chapter book from a series that her daughter enjoyed.

As she spoke of magical school lockers, alien teachers, and vampire janitors, Abigail’s head fell heavy against her mother’s shoulder and a small drop of drool landed on her sweater.

The car gently curved down the mountain.

The rain neither turned to snow nor ice.

Monica soon found herself tucking the tablet between her legs and likewise closing her eyes.

With both her and Abigail drifting off to sleep, she managed to forget everything.

Always a saving grace in such stressful times.