Chapter 1

 

Margaret Chambers, Personal Assistant to Amanda Taylor, looked up as her boss swept in to the outer office of her business empire's command centre.

'Good afternoon Ms Taylor, how did the recording go?'

'Bloody awful, that new producer doesn't know his arse from his elbow. He hadn't done his homework and kept asking about stuff we had covered in last week's programme.'

'That good eh?'

'The little prick kept calling me Mand!'

'Oh dear,' Margaret managed to maintain a non-committal tone, but was secretly struggling to prevent her face cracking into a smile. Amanda Taylor did not do informal. Margaret had worked for her for four years now and had only been allowed to call her Amanda once in all that time, 'That won't do at all, will it?'

'No, it bloody well will not do!'

'Never mind, the series is nearly over, perhaps you can get him replaced before they start on the next one.'

'I wouldn't bet on it, his Father owns the production company. He's probably off-loading the family idiot on us so he doesn't try to bugger-up the main family business.'

Margaret chuckled dutifully, then scooped up a bundle of print-outs and offered them to Amanda.

'Never mind, Ms Taylor, have a look through these while I get you a coffee.'

Amanda stood staring at the proffered sheaf of papers without attempting to take hold of them.

'What are those?' she asked, suspicion colouring her tone.

'You asked for background info on specialist, high-end resorts and such, as potential projects for the next series. You've done retail, wholesale and manufacturing so far and said you thought a little Spa Hotel would go down well for Tiger Traders Four. Well, this is what the sales and publicity people have come up with. I've weeded out some of the least likely ones and selected these as the first batch for you to peruse, but the rest are waiting for you when you want them.'

'Oh right!' Amanda's tone was immediately more cheerful and she took the proffered papers with better grace. Margaret knew her foibles by now and, although she tried to filter research materials into manageable chunks, she would never discard something without giving Amanda the option of perusing it first.

'I'll give these the once-over now, it might distract me from that moronic producer,' as she stepped around Margaret's desk she suddenly stopped, 'And as for the coffee, could you make it a cappuccino?'

'Of course, Ms Taylor.'

 

An hour later she had finished her initial perusal of the items selected by Margaret and was, more for the sake of thoroughness, working her way through the not-so-likely pile. As she had known it would be, her PA's sense of wrongness had proved to be spot-on. Everything she had seen so far had screamed Danger! Several of the adverts and data sheets had struck her as being such bad choices that she thought she could actually feel them trying to suck her money into the abyss as she read them.

Then suddenly, about two-thirds of the way through the pile, she came across one advertisement that caught her attention. Not as an investment opportunity, but on a personal level. If her instincts were correct and they usually were, what these people were offering would never be allowed on a main-stream TV channel, even if she had wanted to choose it. But something about it struck a chord with her, resonating with a little piece of her psyche that was buried so deep and locked behind so many mental doors that it very rarely got to see an incandescent bulb, let alone daylight.

Surreptitiously she checked that no-one was watching, even though she was alone in her office, before carefully slipping the print-out out of the pile and into her briefcase.

When she got home that evening she prepared and ate a Stir-Fry, washed-up, showered and changed before tentatively retrieving the piece of paper from her briefcase. Making herself comfortable on the couch she read - and re-read - the advert several times. Each reading left her more and more convinced that the service on offer was what she had originally thought it was. That it was real and that she wanted to make use of it. There was a web address at the bottom of the print-out and Amanda was suddenly taken by the urge to pay a visit to their site.

Within minutes she had logged-on, clicked on her preferred search engine and typed-in the details. Seconds later her screen filled with an almost identical version of the print-out that Margaret had presented her with earlier. Closer examination revealed that, when printing-off the screen image, her PA had clipped off the interactive links and buttons around the edges, but the essential message was the same.

 

Power Play

For professionals who really mean business

 

If you work hard - In Public

You should play hard - In Private

 

Power Play provides stressed-out executives

with opportunities to unwind, in whatever way

they choose - and in complete privacy

 

DISCRETION GUARANTEED

----------

Tell us your deepest desire and

provided it's not illegal

we'll make it happen

----------

Make your fantasy REAL, with Power Play

There's (almost) nothing we cannot provide

for the right price

 

After checking the site and its links as thoroughly as she could, Amanda clicked on the "Tell Me More" icon and completed the short application form that was revealed. Once she had finished and clicked on the "Submit" button a message informed her that, "One of our representatives will contact you by email within 48 hours - Thank you for your interest."

 

When she arrived at the office the following morning, Amanda was tired and irritable. After responding to the advert her brain had gone into overdrive, conjuring up image after image of what the Power Play representative would look like. These had been followed by a myriad of imaginary scenarios, ranging from the cringe-making - in which she revealed her deepest and darkest secrets, only to discover that Power Play was a Laser Gaming Club - to the licentious, where multi-participant sex took place in the office of the person who was there to take her booking. As a result of an over-stimulated mind, anxiety about having 'done the right thing' and anticipatory masturbation, she had found it difficult to sleep.

It was soon obvious to Margaret that she would have to brush-up on her eggshell walking skills, especially when Amanda nearly took her head off for entering her office unannounced. Actually her PA had knocked but, in her sleep deprived state, Amanda had not heard her. The real reason for her anger was that she had been in the process of returning the print-out to the pile of unlikely candidates, when she suddenly realised that Margaret was standing before her desk, and she was afraid that her eagle-eyed PA might have noticed which item it was.

By lunchtime her mood had begun to improve and it changed completely just after one o'clock, when she realised that a newly arrived email was from them. She immediately opened the missive and eagerly devoured its contents. Once again it thanked her for her application and proposed a face-to-face meeting, that very evening, at an up-market restaurant on the other side of town. She instantly clicked on the "Reply" tab and hurriedly typed-in her response, acknowledging the invitation and confirming her intention to attend the meeting - as well as suggesting a time that fitted more conveniently into her own schedule. Once finished she hastily scanned the content for typos, before selecting "Send."

Within minutes there was another email, confirming the time and place. Amanda had been initially taken aback by the manner in which the Power Play representative had signed-off. She had closed her email with the name Ladey Strickland and it had taken Amanda several re-readings to realise that it was not a badly spelled pseudo title, but the unknown woman's Christian name. Her excitement at the illicit nature of the correspondence had made Amanda paranoid, just in case someone should enter her office and catch a glimpse of the addressee's details. It never occurred to her that it would be impossible for someone - even Margaret - to enter unannounced or that, even if they did, the chances of anyone seeing - let alone - recognising the address and its significance, was astronomically small.

For the rest of the day she found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything. The sense of anticipation, coupled with the child-like thrill she got simply from the thought that she had taken her first step off the well-lit path of the 'normal' and into the dark -and potentially dangerous alley of the perverse. Margaret was mildly surprised at her boss' lack of drive, but that was as nothing to the shock she experienced when Amanda announced her intention to leave early.

With her mind on autopilot the woman known, to press and public alike, as The Tigress, because of her aggressive and no-nonsense attitude on the TV programme Tiger Traders, drove home, showered and changed without really being consciously aware of her actions. As the time for her meeting grew steadily closer her anxiety levels began to rise, she had not felt this much concern about making the right impression since she attended her first job interview after finishing university.

Under normal circumstances - and depending upon the person she was going to meet - Amanda would arrive either spot-on time or anything up to ten minutes late. But these circumstances were not normal and, as a result, she presented herself to the Maitre-D almost twenty minutes early. The supercilious man, who she would usually have treated with condescension, made a show of checking the bookings list, before confirming the reservation and then insisting that she wait in the bar until her dinner companion arrived, when he would seat them together.

This instantly put her on the back foot - this sort of thing happened to little people, not Amanda Taylor - but the reason for her being there and the nature of the service she was about to request caused her to bite her tongue. As she ordered a glass of white wine and took a seat in a corner booth, Amanda failed to notice the Maitre-D make a discrete phone call. Rather than use the ostentatious 1930's retro style device on his podium, the outwardly pompous man retrieved a smart phone from an inside pocket of his jacket, hit speed-dial and spoke two words before stuffing the ultra-modern device back out of sight.

'She's here,' was all that emanated from Ladey Strickland's own smart phone before she returned it to her handbag. She checked the time and forced herself to sit back and wait, a smile of satisfaction barely registering on her serious features. No-one at Power Play could believe it when the request had arrived the previous evening. By the very nature of their business everyone was used to being contacted by potential clients who were rich and famous, but what had taken them by surprise was the fact that this minor celebrity had made no effort to conceal her identity. The return contact details had been Amanda's own personal email address whilst, unlike most contactees, she had answered every one of the application form's "getting to know you" questions with a directness touching on naivety. In fact the application was so devoid of evasion that some at Power Play had suspected some kind of trap was being attempted.