“What? Why?” Thorne dropped his head against the window. No. No. No. He’d tried a number of escorts before finding Marc, none of whom satisfied Thorne’s needs for both dominance and submission, depending on his mood. Marc had been perfect. For the last several months, he’d made Friday night the highlight of Thorne’s week.

“He’s decided to pursue other interests.”

Thorne snorted. That could mean anything. “Fine. I suppose I’ll have to cancel the appointment.”

“Actually, I have someone else for you.”

“I don’t think—”

Thorne didn’t want to break in someone new. Not this week with him trying to wrap up a report for one of their biggest clients, a report he’d rewritten twice, while prepping to head out bright and early Monday morning to win his firm another multimillion-dollar contract. He’d made a killing as a high-end management consultant, but to keep the money flowing in, he had to be his best every day. There was always someone out there hoping to take his business away.

“Dash is well-suited to serve your needs, and he’s available at your usual appointment time.” Sheila had been the one to match him with Marc. Maybe… Why couldn’t anything go right this week? He really did need a good fuck.

“Fine. Send him then.” Thorne hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

“Excellent. Do let us know if he meets your expectations. If so, I can book him for your regular appointment.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Have a lovely day, sir.”

“It’s been a shitty one so far.” Damn, he sounded bitter and put out.

“Tonight will be better.”

It damn well better be. He ended the call.

***

Thorne’s intercom buzzed. “A Mr. Dash is here to see you. He says he’s expected. Shall I send him up?”

“Yes, Je-Michaels, thank you.” Michaels had only been working as a doorman in Thorne’s building for a few weeks, yet Thorne had lost count of the number of times he’d almost called the man Jeeves. Michaels’ British accent and starched appearance simply begged for it. Years ago he’d loved to watch and re-watch the Masterpiece Theatre version of Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster, with Clint, his—boyfriend was certainly not right, even lover didn’t fit—boss. His boss whom he’d occasionally fucked. Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched anything but videos of junior consultants’ meetings.

Two crisp knocks at the door signaled that Dash had made the long elevator ride to his penthouse apartment.