A Major Disruption

Author's Note: This story, and all depictions of slavery, society, and relationships, are WORKS OF FICTION! Slavery, especially sexual slavery, is immoral and horrible. Do not use this story as a template or source of inspiration for any thing in real life! It may seem obvious, but stories online, no matter how enjoyable (or not) are not suggestions. Keep fantasy as fantasy. Thank you, and please enjoy! This is a bit of a slow burn, but it's also my first work on Literotica, so... yeah.

My sister decided to disrupt my life with a phone call. Well, she'd decided to disrupt my life several weeks and several million dollars before the phone call, but my first sign was the ringing.

"Hey, Cynth, what's--"

Cynthia, my younger sister, cut me off before I could even finish the greeting.

"Hey, Sam, I need you to pick up a package from the company's main office in the city. I'm in England right now, and my normal delivery team is already busy. It needs picked up by 2, just go talk to Jerry and he'll sort it out. Also, go talk to Jerry. He complains about not seeing you literally every time he can. He's even started including it as his sign-off in his emails. So spend some time catching up with him, since you'll be there already."

I waited, silent, just to see if she'd keep going. When she didn't, I answered in a blatantly false cheery tone. "Hey Cynth, long time, no see! How are you and the boy's? Good, good. Oh, me? Oh, I'm just fine, you know, can't complain. Oh, wait!"

Cynthia groaned, cutting my sarcasm off before I could really get going, "Dammit, Sammy, I have maybe another 5 minutes before my next meeting. I promise I'll call you tonight and let you bitch me out to your hearts content, but can you please get the package first?"

"Cynthia, dear sister, why would I not want to drive an hour and a half into the city, disrupting my carefully laid plans for the day, to retrieve some package that you, one, are rich enough to have a private courier pick up, two, have enough mindless and underpaid interns to pick up, and three, can have Jerry deal with?" I asked, though I already knew I'd get the damn package, whatever it was.

"Because, first, you don't have plans, second, its to sensitive, three, our interns are paid, so they're overpaid if anything, and four, because it's private, and Jerry, as much as I adore him, is an employee with a demanding schedule, so I refuse to pull him away to deal with a personal matter. Are you going to get it or will I have to start with the threats?" Beneath our banter, I could heart the strain in her voice. She really was stressed.

I released a long suffering sigh, but had to smile at the small cheer from Cynthia when she heard it. She knew she'd won from that sound alone.

"Yes, you pain in ass. I'll get your stupid package. What even is it?"

"Just ask Jerry. He'll know. And talk to him! He says the last time y'all talked was last year at the river party, and that was in July. It's June, Sam." Cynthia said, using the disapproving voice that sounded so much like mom that it honestly hurt. Not sharply, not anymore, but a dull ache.

I covered the small hurt with more sarcasm, as usual. "If he's soooo busy, with such a demanding schedule, how would he even have the time to talk?"

My logic was impeccable. My sister used the best counter to logic, overwhelming force.

"I'm CEO. He'll make time." she said, affecting a vaguely threatening tone, "and so will you."

"Fine, fine," I sighed again, "You win. Even though I will point out I'm not one of your employees."

"Good!" Cynthia's voice turned happy instantly, ignoring my jab "I've got to go. Talk later. Love you!"

"Yeah, yeah. Knock em' dead."

We hung up and I stared around my office, at the cluttered pages, reference books, random cups, and the two freestanding white boards with murderer scribbles on them. While I wasn't a murder, sometimes the difference between one and an author can be hard to find. Lots of the same habits, questionable morals, and search history. The only real difference is that I never killed anyone except on the page. Sadly, that might have been hard to tell to someone who wandered, unsuspecting, into my office.

Damn, I thought, Now I have to people today.

***

About an hour and a half later, I was pulling into the sub-level parking of one of the taller buildings in the city's central business district. My pass still worked, even if I hadn't visited the company's regional office in well over a year. My beater Ford Ranger, a manual, didn't exactly blend in with the different Mercedes, BMWs, or Tesla's in the main area of the parking space, and it certainly stood out among the Italian sports cars and Bentley town cars parked in the upper management area. I pulled my truck into the space reserved for the CEO, something I considered my right given I was running an errand for her, and got out.

At least I'd washed the thing this week. I'm sure some C-suite executive would have fainted if they saw dirt so close to their shiny cars.

I rode the elevator up to the 81st floor, almost the very top of the building. The elevator opened into a tasteful lobby, decorated with everything some corporate interior designer thought belonged. Basically a lot of metallic and reflective surfaces, and a tiny little tree in the corner. The pretty young women sitting at the desk, underneath the massive logo, was attentive and already smiling at me. It was a polite customer service smile, but definitely not the worst one of those I'd seen.

I slowly approached, my eyes taking in the logo with some reservations. Cynthia had pushed for it to be redesigned for years, and got the current design approved last year. What had once been an, honestly, quite ugly design had been replaced with an elegant star, encircled by chains.

I had to admit, the new design for the company our father had started over 60 years ago was better. Much better than the cartoonish kneeling and shackled female that had been the original logo. However, he had hand drawn that original design. He'd always said it sucked and needed to be replaced, but he'd never done it. Starlight Unlimited had stayed with the same design all his life. It felt a little wrong to not see it.

I lowered my gaze and shook my head, smiling a greeting to the receptionist as I walked past her, deeper into the offices. My eyes were already focusing on the door and my hand was reaching for it when she spoke, startling me.

"Excuse me, sir, do you have an appointment with someone? If not, you'll have to schedule one. I'm afraid Starlight Unlimited does not allow walk-ins at this location."

I froze, a bit stunned, then turned and really looked at the receptionist. Her gaze was slightly lowered, a submissive posture, but it was clear she was firm in her limit. It was made clearer as she pointed to the space in front of her desk, ordering me away from the door.

I realized I didn't recognize her. Of course, she had the same brunette hair, slender build, tanned skin, and pretty face, just like every other receptionist I'd ever seen here, but she wasn't Lyra. Lyra, the receptionist I'd known for the last 12 years. This one was significantly younger, probably 19 or 20. The nameplate on her desk read Ubel.

"Sir? Are you quite alright?"

Ubel's insistent voice shook me from my thoughts and I slowly stepped over to her desk, staring at her quizzically. It was probably my fault, since I hadn't visited the company for longer than I usually let it, but I'd never been denied access to my family's biggest legacy before. Sure, I wasn't active with it, but this was still a novel experience.

"Do you have an appointment, Sir?" Ubel had perfected the submissive-but-strong tone. Most would call it a respectful customer service attitude, but I knew what she was, could guess where she was trained, and knew she was probably very confident in security's ability to come restrain me if needed, so I wasn't fooled.

I cleared my throat, "Yeah, I'm here to talk to Jerry, uh, Mr. Whitlaw. Well, I don't have an appointment, no, but I think he's expecting me."

Ubel's eyes rose and finally met mine and I could see the barely hidden doubt and contempt behind the sky blue orbs. They flicked over me, toes to top of my head, taking in my outfit, and she gave me the fakest smile yet.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but to see Mr. Whitlaw, you need an appointment. I can give you the number for his secretary, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

I looked down at myself, at my outfit, trying to see what she did. I kinda got it. My stained and slightly ripped cargo pants, my wrinkled plain gray t-shirt, and especially my ratty and ripped slip-on shoes didn't scream I'm here to see Jerry Whitlaw, Regional Director and most likely next in line to be COO of one of the biggest international companies in the world.

I lifted my gaze back to Ubel's and saw the almost pitting look on her eyes as she held out a card, presumably with Jerry's secretary's number on it.

I raised a finger in a 'wait a minute' gesture and fished my phone out of my pocket, quickly pulling up Jerry's number and calling him.

He answered on the third ring, "Sam! I thought I was going to see you today. Surely you aren't going to leave me with Ms. Thompson's package? You might survive her wrath, but I'm not so sure about my safety. Surely you aren't going to let me die such an ignoble death?!"

"Hey Jare. Uh, well, no. I wouldn't let Ms. Thompson," I stressed the name, wondering why the hell he, as someone who'd known Cynthia almost literally her entire life, was being so formal, "Kill you. She probably wouldn't any way, but she might if you keep calling her Ms. Thompson."

Jerry snorted, "Well, that's true. It really pisses her off when us old fogies do it. Great fun though. Any way, if you aren't calling to tell me you're not coming, why are you calling? I expected you to just show up, cleared most of my calendar for midday for it."

I met Ubel's confused and slightly angry eyes as I responded, "Well, I was going to do just that, but Ubel at the front desk stopped me. Said I had to have an appointment. What happened to Lyra?"

The phone was silent for a long second, about the same time for Ubel to grow even angrier. She started to rise, her mouth opening, but I pointed my still raised finger at her sternly and she settled down. She did grab her desk phone and hit a button, talking quietly into the hand-piece.

Jerry started to laugh, hard. "Oh, wow. Yeah, Ubel's new. A firecracker. Oh, this is what happens, boyo, when you don't visit for so long." He was barely understandable between the chuckles.

I sighed, shaking my head slightly and putting my raised hand down. I suspected that Ubel had just called security.

"Look, can you just take care of this? Also, what happened to Lyra? I thought you loved her as gate guardian." I said, grumpily.

Jerry calmed down slightly, still stifling chuckles. "I still have Lyra. Jenna, you remember her, my personal secretary? Yeah, she was getting older. I bought her from the company. I moved Lyra up to be my personal secretary, leaving the gate guardian, as you put it, open."

"Oh. Okay. Well, can you please tell Ubel here to let me in?"

"Yes, I suppose. See you in a minute." Jerry hung up.

I looked over at Ubel, who was just setting down her phone. Her eyes met mine, and the expression on her face was only theoretically a smile. It was far too vicious to actually be a pleasant expression.

"Sir, I must ask you to leave. If you don't leave willingly, you'll be escorted out." Her voice was full of satisfaction.

I just raised a finger again, waiting. I didn't wait long. Ubel's desk phone rang, and she picked up without taking her eyes off of me.

"Front desk, Ubel speaking. Oh. Yes, Master Whitman. Yes, Master. No, Master." Her eye's flared and darted towards me, her face a picture of shock. It quickly took on a blank expression, probably a trained response. "Yes, Master. I... I didn't know, Master. Yes, Master, I'll let him right up. I'm sorry, Master. Of course, Master, thank you."

Ubel hung up. Her blank expression remained, and she took a deep breath before looking at me again. Or, more accurately, looking toward me. Her head was bowed submissively and, if she wasn't under orders to remain at her post, I highly suspected she'd be prostrate on the ground, begging for forgiveness.

"This slave is heartily sorry, Master Thompson. If you wish for this slave to be punished, you only need to ask. You are, of course, free to go in, Master." Ubel's voice was steady, the words formulaic. She was well trained, as all the slaves the company bought were.

I gently waved a hand, smiling, "It's no problem, Ubel. It is your job, and you seem quite good at it. It's probably my fault anyway. I don't visit enough, and I was to stupid to offer any actual identification or reason. Be at ease."

Ubel relaxed, but only minutely. She didn't meet my eyes, and I sighed internally. It had been nice, the collision of informality and this place.

Quick footsteps hurried from the other side of the door Ubel had stopped me from going through. A man came through, striding purposefully. He was quite large, easily 6'6" and 350 pounds. His short blonde hair and fair skin set off the deep black of his suit, with a small RR tattoo behind his right ear, the mark of one of the premier slave academies in the world.

He came to an abrupt stop when he saw me. His gaze flicked from me to Ubel and back, and I saw him bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling. He easily dropped into a graceful bow.

"Master Thompson. How good to see you again. I apologize for my arrival. Is there someone else here? A, hmm, I believe he was described as a scruffy, shaggy, freeloader trying to come see Master Whitman?" His voice was perfectly polite and dry as a desert.

Ubel, still looking at the ground at my feet, made an interesting fizzing sound. It cut off after a second, but her face was bright red, shining through her tan. I decided to save her as best I could.

"Danny, you're incorrigible. She didn't know, and you have to admit, it's an accurate description." I took a minute to look in one of the many mirrored surfaces around the lobby area, and had to admit scruffy and shaggy were eminently applicable to me.

I was tall, just an inch or two shorter than Danny, but much leaner, probably close to 200 pounds on a good day. My auburn hair, more brown than red, was almost down to my shoulders in a wavy mess and my mustache and beard were in desperate need of a trim. The only saving graces were my eyes, a bright and piercing grey, and the fact I enjoyed cardio.

Well, I did a lot of cardio. Enjoy is a bit of a stretch.

Danny cleared his throat. It was well done, I doubt anyone who didn't know him would catch the smothered snicker. Of course, both Ubel and I knew him. I could see Ubel in the corner of my eye. She broke her blank mask, finally, to glare daggers at Danny for a second before returning to the submissive, apologetic posture.

Danny, having collected his composure, bowed again, "Whatever you say, Master, though I highly doubt Ubel was describing you." His face seemed to flicker into a smile for a brief moment, directed at Ubel, before he continued, "If there is no one else here, however, may I show you to Master Whitman's office."

I nodded, but turned back toward Ubel for a brief moment, "It's fine, Ubel. You're doing well. No need to worry."

Ubel bowed in her seat, holding the pose, "Thank you, Master."

I couldn't help myself. I reached into my pocket and set a silver coin before her, then turned and went through the door Danny was holding open.

I followed Danny through the bullpen toward the back corner, glancing around. In every direction, people were busy. Men and women went through paperwork, typed on computers, talked on phones. Around half of them had a good looking slave helping them, for various meanings of helping. While I knew some companies policies, and certainly the laws, were lax about restricting when and how someone could make use of a slave, Starlight Unlimited had a fairly strict policy. I saw a lot of groping, a lot of whispering, and a lot of over the clothes touching, but no nudity.

Danny brought me back to the corner office, knocked gently, and opened the door at the call from inside. He bowed to me again and I handed him a copper coin as I passed.

"Sam! Well, now. Locked out of your family's company, how embarrassing. You deserve it, for not stopping by more often!"

Jerry Whitman, Starlight Unlimited's Regional Manager for fully half the United States, was like an uncle to me. He'd been an intern for the company back when he first started, the same year I was born. Now, 26 years later, he was next in line to become the company's Chief Operations Officer.

He was a small man, all told. Fit, closing in on 50, with salt and pepper hair that was slowly becoming more salt each time I saw him. A close cropped beard that was still the dark black his hair had once been. Brown eyes, often hidden by his cheaters. He was 5'8" and didn't care to look up to anyone any more, wiry and thin, but with a vibrant energy.

He closed on me before I could defend myself and wrapped my taller frame in what he probably thought was a manly hug. It would have been, had his head not been about level with my chin. He still slapped my back hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

"Master, you're suffocating him." The voice, smokey and almost purring, came from the woman standing beside her desk, just beside the open interior door that led to Jerry's actual office. Lyra, just as stunning as ever. She looked a great deal like Ubel, Brunette, slender, but with a certain steadiness and maturity Ubel wouldn't have for years.

"Nonsense, Lyra. He's fine. Just needs a haircut, a shave, and a real job." Jerry's voice was deep and booming, totally at odds with his wiry frame. His laughter at his own joke was infectious, and Lyra's gently chiding frown melted away.

"I make plenty of money from my books, thank you," I choked out, recovering from the welcome, "Lyra, good to see you. Enjoying the promotion?"

Lyra lowered her eyes demurely, "Of course, Master Thompson. Serving Master Whitman personally is... invigorating." Her teeth sank into her plump bottom lip as she peered through her long lashes at Jerry.

He laughed, waving a warding hand in front of his face, "Down girl. Not right now." He looked over at me, "Hard to keep up with her sometimes, but she keeps me sane in the face of all this madness."

Lyra's seductive look collapsed into a remarkable pout, but that was quickly erased by a grin, "How was Ubel, Master Thompson? She's been doing well in the training, but its still only been a few weeks since she took over the front desk alone full time."

I shook my head at Lyra, "She's doing fine. Don't let Danny and the boys tease her too much for today. She had no way to know." I switched my gaze to Jerry, "Was her name originally Ubel? It seems odd."

Lyra snickered, which earned a mock severe look from Jerry, "No, her name was Ursula when the company first bought her, if you can believe it. It seemed unfortunate, so I changed it to Ubel. I don't remember where I got that, but it seemed close."

I frowned in confusion, "You didn't want your gate guardian to be named 'Little Bear', so you decided to name her 'evildoer' instead?"

Jerry blinked, "Is that what those mean? That makes so much sense! Of course, now I wonder about Gretchen Ubel, if her name means..."

He chopped himself short and Lyra politely covered her mouth to stifle the giggles spilling out. I raised an eyebrow at Jerry.

"Really?" I asked, bemused.

Gretchen Ubel was a character from my newest book. She was a seductress, ostensibly helping the main character establish himself in the court of space kingdom he's supposed to be spying on. Of course, I planned on having her be an information broker with several groups, including terrorist groups, but that was for the second book. The second book scheduled for release next year.

More to the point, Jerry had been adamant about not reading my stories for years. Most of what I'd written before had been urban fantasy, which he absolutly refused to read. He was a sci-fi snob, through and through, the harder the science, the better. His refusal to read anything with magic had always struck me funny, and his dogging on my writing ability had been one of the reasons I'd started writing my newest series.

"So... how did you like Red Sun Setting?" My face was set into perfect innocence, while my voice sucked all the water from the air with how dry it was.

Jerry silently turned toward his office and walked away from me. He only made it a few steps before he whirled around. "Please, Sam. I need the next book. You have to have something, a pre-release or sneak peek? Anything, please, I need to know!"

Lyra seemed to be choking, with how hard she was fighting her laughter. I was worried until Jerry waved his hands in the air disgustedly and Lyra laughed out loud, long and hard. I simply shook my head at both of them.

"Sorry, Jare. Only me and my editor ever see any of my works before their release date. You'll have to wait until then." My voice was apologetic. My face was not.

"Come on kid, it's your uncle Jare! Surly you can share something?!" He was teasing, but he really did want that sneak peak. To bad.

"No. And now that we have successfully confirmed I can write good sci-fi, much to your shame after all those years saying I couldn't, where is this package I have to pick up for Cynthia?"

Jerry just scowled, "I didn't say it was good. Lyra, can you go get that package? Take your time, I want time to weedle Sammy here into giving me something to tide me over until the release date. "

Lyra bowed, still composing herself, "Of course, Master. If you'll excuse me."

Lyra left, closing the outer office door behind her silently. Jerry grinned at me, and gestured for me to follow him into his inner office. He settled at the conversational grouping instead of the desk, settling onto a luxurious leather couch. I took an overstuffed arm chair to his right.

"How are you, kid? Haven't seen you in a while." Jerry poured a few fingers of amber liquid into two tumblers, passing me one before leaning back and regarding me steadily. He still grinned slightly, but his eyes were shadowed.

"I know. I'm sorry, just, you know... been busy. Writing, editing, working out. Keeping the old pile in good repair. Busy." I sipped the drink in my hand, buying time. I didn't even like most liquors. This one was smooth, slightly sweet, and, knowing Jerry, exquisitely expensive. To me, it was simply... fine.

Jerry remained silent for a beat longer, then spoke, "Cynthia's worried about you. Says you never leave the estate except for the gym and meetings with your publisher. The books are great, at least if they're anything like your last one, don't get me wrong. Even if they are all wizards and magic bull. It's just... she's worried you're going to become a recluse."

I heard the silent part he didn't say. Like your mom, before the end. I winced slightly at the memory, the cold study, the pill bottle.

The other bottle.

I gently set my glass onto the table. Jerry's eyes, steady and warm, watched my movement.

"I'm not depressed, Jerry. I still go to the dojo. I still work. My last therapist appointment went fine. I'm... okay. Cynthia knows that too."

Jerry raised an eyebrow at me, "She still worries about you. I still worry about you. You've been through a lot. It just seems that you're withdrawing, especially in the last year."

I just nod. There's nothing for me to say. Well, more accurately, there's nothing I want to say.

Because the truth is, I'm scared. Things are boring. And I know what happens when I get bored. That's why I stay busy. Why, at the tender age of 26, I have a master's degree and a doctorate in different things. Why I have so many wild hobbies.

Of course, Cynthia and Jerry think my other problems are the things causing me to withdraw. And since those problems have been put to bed, they aren't affecting me.

I hope.

"So, what's this package I'm supposed to pick up? What sort of horrible thing has Cynthia found that she doesn't trust even you to take care of it?" My change of subject is obvious, but Jerry lets it happen.

"Well, I can't say I know what she was thinking, but... I'm sure it'll be interesting. I'm sure it won't cause you any problems. All you've got to do is hold onto... the package for a few days. Cynthia's due back in just a few days, a week or two at most. Then she's supposed to be coming here for a conference, so she'll probably be crashing at the Estate for a few days. She'll be able to pick... the package up then."

Even my badly tuned social radar was pinging me that Jerry was dodging the question. My much more finally tuned bullshit detector was screaming that these two were up to something.

"Jerry..." I drew his name out, fixing him with a gimlet stare. He was remarkably un-intimidated, of course, choosing to focus on his drink.

"What," I started, "kind of fresh bullshit have you two nosy assholes cooked up now?"

Jerry waved his hand, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Kid. You're just taking care of a package until your sister can pick it up. Private property, so the company shouldn't really handle it. It's legal, don't worry, just, ah..."

He trailed off as he looked up and saw the scowl on my face. He bit his lip and considered what to say next. We were both saved by Lyra returning.

A soft knock announced her presence, and she opened the door to the outer office. From my angle, with the door behind me, I couldn't see into the outer office, but Jerry could, and his eyes lit up at the rescue. He beckoned Lyra into the inner office, and the secretary came to stand attentively at his shoulder. I noticed she was distinctly lacking anything I would consider a package, only holding a small manila envelope.

Jerry took the envelope from Lyra and opened it, quickly checking the contents. He removed one before closing the envelope and rising to stand.

"Is that it? Cynthia called me in a panic about something that could have gone through the mail?" I was incredulous as I stood too. What in the world could this package be, to be so important and private only I could deal with it?

Jerry winced slightly, "Well, no. This is just part of it. Cynthia insisted. So..." he offered me a single sheet, embossed with a symbol I recognized but couldn't place, "If you could sign this, you can take the package."

I was so confused and annoyed that it was hard to keep a level voice, "Jerry, what the hell is this? What's with all the cloak and dagger skulduggery?"

Jerry offered me the paper and a pen, "Sign it and I'll explain."

I stared at him, just for a second. Jerry was an uncle, a father figure, and a confidant. I trusted him and I trusted Cynthia.

I quickly skimmed the paper. It was from something called Richland and Raymond and listed the transfer of ownership from them to me, with a proviso I couldn't transfer the product for at least two weeks. What was being transferred wasn't quite clear, just that something was. I signed, and desperately hoped I hadn't just taken responsibility for a case of enriched uranium or something equally stupid.

Jerry relaxed, pushing a deep breath out. "There. All sorted. Come in, dear." He raised his voice and I heard someone I hadn't realized had entered the outer office with Lyra move.

Suddenly, I had a crushing realization. Damn, I'm slow.

Cynthia and Jerry were worried I was becoming reclusive. I had just signed something guaranteeing I couldn't get rid of whatever I was getting for at least two weeks. Richland and Raymond. RR.

Both Cynthia and Jerry had loyal, obedient slaves who they sweared kept them sane.

Just as I had suspected, a young woman walked into the room and swept into a graceful curtsy, the motion a little awkward due to her wrap dress lacking the flow of a fuller dress's skirts.

She was gorgeous. Her dress did it's best to flatter her, but she didn't need it. She was short, maybe five feet even. Her body her red hair fell in long curls down her back, her cheeks and upper chest dusted with light freckles. Her green eyes, a vibrant emerald, remained focused on my feet.

She had a pear shaped figure, her waist flowing outward dramatically into what I suspected was a spectacular ass. Her breasts were a decent handful each, perky and round, a bit small to fit her frame but still full. It looked like she wasn't wearing a bra. Her feet, with perfectly painted toes, rested in spartan style sandals, with ties that crossed and wound up her calves, drawing the eye to her perfect legs. She had a small tattoo on her left ankle, the same double RR symbol Danny had.

She stood, head bowed submissively, and I fought between my outrage at Cynthia and Jerry forcing an entire new human in my life, my sudden raging hormones as my eyes took in the sight before me, and my utter incomprehension of why, in the world, did Jerry and Cynthia think this was a good idea? Also, what did Cynthia think me spending two weeks with a slave girl, even one as stunning as this one, would do me any good if I actually was depressed? Wouldn't suddenly losing someone, or worse, knowing I was going to lose her, defeat any benefit?

I just didn't know. I really hate not knowing.

I pulled out my phone and hit Cynthia's contact, listening to the ringing while glaring at Jerry. He made an abortive attempt at calming, but I raised a hand to block him and turned away slightly. I didn't want to hear it, yet.

After five rings, the call connected. I didn't even give her a chance at speaking.

"Cynthia Mary Anne Thompson, what in all that's holy do you think you're doing. Package? This is not just a package. This is an investment. She couldn't have been cheap, so I'm sure you blocked out enough money for transport if it wasn't offered as part of the services! What do you think is going to happen?!"

I paused to get a breath and waited for her answer.

Sadly, she wasn't on the phone.

"Hello, Mr. Samuel. I apologize, but Mistress Cynthia couldn't come to the phone right now. She did expect this call, however, and Instructed me to renew her promise to call tonight." The voice was calm, cultured, with the hint of an accent. I recognized it immediately.

I sucked in a huge breath, releasing it through my teeth, "My apologies, Lago. I had meant that diatribe for my sister, and you didn't deserve that. Thank you for passing her message along."

Lago, one of my sister's two personal slaves, was alright. He didn't deserve that.

He simply hummed, "Is there anything else, Sir? Any issues with Erin? She did arrive to the city alright, I hope."

I turned to the still slightly bowing redhead and realized she was waiting for me, her new Master, however temporary I expected the title to be, to acknowledge and release her. I ground my free hand against my forehead, ashamed for forgetting about her.

"Ah, Erin, is it? Stand easy. Are you... alright? No issues?" I was floundering.

Erin rose from her half bowing position, though her head stayed angled downward, "Thank you, Master. I am quite alright. The trip was standard and I was housed comfortably for the few hours while I waited for my transfer. How many I serve, Master?"

I was confronted by her words. I remembered my parent's slaves, the maids, the cook, the bodyguards, but I was strictly forbidden from commanding them to do anything. My parents had always believed in earning your privileges. Despite what all happened, that lesson stuck with me. I'd never actually owned a slave in this sense.

"Well, Erin, just... wait a moment." I refocused on the phone still pressed against my ear, "Everything seems fine, Lago. Just, ah, tell Cynthia to call me as soon as she can."

"Of course, Sir."

I hung up, refocusing on Jerry. He wore a pained look, but shrugged helplessly at me. I was angry at him and I couldn't really understand why. I couldn't really understand my anger with Cynthia either. Yes, they were butting in where they weren't welcome, their plan seemed so full of holes it was practically a fishnet, and I didn't need to deal with a slave.

Well, those seemed like good points, actually. But I just knew they weren't enough. Erin was undoubtedly expensive, and I was sure she would be useful to most people. She was a good gift, a great one, to most people. Just not to me and I thought Jerry and especially Cynthia would have known that.

I just shook my head at Jerry and spun on my heel. I snapped a finger, a motion I'd never used in this context but seen Cynthia do quite often, and Erin easily took up station to my right and slightly behind me.

I strode out of the office, mind spinning, my new slave following behind.