He pulled out his phone and once again called Cassie’s private number. The call abruptly ended; Sam suspected his number was blocked. His phone nearly out of power, Sam called for another taxi, informing the dispatcher his destination would be the airport.
He’d tried his office earlier, asking them to arrange a better flight. A secretary checked for him, learning the next available flight was a week later, and his expense account only permitted coach travel. She also informed him his boss had been trying to contact him, wanting to know what he’d done to so royally piss off Cassie Blackstock. The firm was in some danger of losing her account. Sam was definitely off her account and he was warned not to contact her again, upon fear of dismissal from the firm. He was also informed he had not arranged for medical insurance before leaving, so while the firm would cover his Costa Rican medical bill, he would be expected to reimburse it over the next year.
After ending the call, Sam reached into his pocket for another Vicodin.
_____
Cassie and her friend Lea were lounging naked on the deck of a large elegant penthouse atop the resort’s four-story luxury 5-star hotel. They were lying side-by-side on a two-person reclining chaise lounge, each with a freshly made cocktail delivered minutes ago by their personal waiter–the same waiter and cart driver, who’d been so enthralled with Cassie, while she and Sam were still in the cabin. The waiter, Cassie, and Lea had just enjoyed an hour-long, highly spirited ménage à trios in the master suite, and Cassie was still glowing with the pleasure of it
Inside the ten-foot sliding glass doors behind them was an opulent five-thousand square foot, eighteen-room penthouse that could only be described as magnificent. No expense had been spared decorating the four bedrooms, five bathrooms, great room, dining room, and even out here on the deck. The suite was a masterpiece in every regard. The only room disproportionately small was the kitchen–the architects had been advised very little cooking would be done up here. There would be dinner parties with up to forty guests, but the food would come in an elevator from the resort kitchens below. At most, a few small meals might be prepared up here–the occasional light breakfast or lunch.
Cassie was utterly delighted with her latest acquisition–she was now the proud owner of the Pasión al Sol, all its amenities, travel agency, grounds, and a good deal of property bordering the security walls surrounding the property. A month ago, with permission from the elderly couple who owned Pasión al Sol, Lea had contacted Cassie, informing her the resort might be coming up for sale. After building the business from scratch into their vision of the perfect Shangri-La for well-heeled clients to vacation, the elderly man and his wife decided they were ready to retire. Bypassing local and international realtors, Cassie, the owners, and their lawyers hammered out a deal leaving both parties extremely pleased and the former owners, very wealthy.
Having visited hundreds of tropical resorts, Cassie knew this one was the best in the world. She could fly here on her Bombardier as often as she wished, to the most luxurious suite she had ever stayed in, with access to all the amenities, and many of the most beautiful, sexy people in the world. When she was not here, this suite would rent for eight thousand dollars a night. This was manageable for three or four wealthy couples to share and there was a waiting list for it. But from now on, the new owner’s name–Cassie Blackstock–would be at the top of that list, with priority over all others.
Her first decision as CEO of Pasión al Sol was to promote Lea to General Manager. Lea had been pretty much running the place for the past few years and was the perfect choice for the job. With her new title and six-figure salary, Lea was deliriously happy and ‘running on the spot’ to get started. She had a million ideas to make the Pasión al Sol an even more popular and profitable international destination.
And from time to time, she got to sleep with the owner. Life was good.
_____
It had been a rough patch for Sam since his motorcycle accident–he was recuperating at home after his knee surgery. Being an ordinary lawyer within his firm, there was no such thing as ‘sick time’. There had been zero billable hours while he’d convalesced for the past two weeks.
In addition to being on the hook for his Seattle medical bills, the firm had already sent him an invoice for the fees they’d paid to the Costa Rican hospital. It was going to be a very tight month.
As promised, Sam had been black-listed from any dealings with Cassie’s firm. If he was caught even looking at one of her files, he would soon be seeking new employment. He was also the laughing stock of the office. His story had been making the rounds for several days. The first, how he’d crashed a brand new Harley Davidson motorcycle, thirty seconds after driving it off the lot. And second, how the big, brave black belt in Karate had failed to protect Cassie Blackstock when she’d been set upon by robbers. Both stories had been embellished as they spread through the Seattle law community.
His phone pinged and he picked it up. It was a text from a courier, telling him an envelope had just been delivered to his mailbox. He rose carefully to his feet and using the aluminum crutches that were his constant companion these days, headed down the hall to the elevator.
Back in his apartment, he examined the large manila envelope, with no forwarding address nor any other information suggesting who’d sent it. He slit the seal and holding it upside down, tapped the bottom edge. A number of photos fell out and he gathered them up, staring in horror.
They had been taken in the dinner club he and Cassie had attended the second night–the BDSM club. They showed him in his black leather outfit in several different situations. In one he was on his hands and knees on the floor, licking the sole of a woman’s patent leather boot. The woman’s face didn’t show, but of course, it was Cassie. In another, he was on his back on the floor, his arms and legs raised as though he was imitating a dog rolling over, his bare ass and butt-hole on perfect display. Yet another showed his groin with the leather pouch unzipped and a kind of C-Clamp device attached to his penis. Every disgusting thing he’d been required to do that evening, was displayed graphically in one of these photos.
Sam got the message. If he ever said so much as a single negative thing to anyone about Cassie Blackstock and it got back to her, everyone in his life–personal and professional–would see a copy of these photos.
He was fucked and he knew it.
___________________
Cassie was back at work.
While working out in her private spa early this morning, she had again carefully examined her body in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and was much happier with her reflection. Gone were the furrows in her skin between her ribs and the swollen shadows under her eyes. Her sexual appetite had been more than satiated over the past week–there were no primal cravings interfering with her focus or drive. She was teaming with energy and couldn’t wait for her first meeting this morning.
The owner of a scotch-whisky distillery on Vancouver Island hadn’t allowed enough financing for his product to sufficiently age before going to market. It was excellent scotch and there was no doubt the business would succeed wildly. But he was out of cash and essentially broke. She was going to mop the floor with him and make a small fortune when the product was distributed in two years.
A flight plan for her Bombardier was booked for the weekend–in four days she’d be back in her Pasión al Sol penthouse. Her General Manager Lea, had already arranged what promised to be exhilarating entertainment. Lea knew Cassie well and what she liked best.
She would spare no expense.
It was going to be amazing.
—– The End —–