Happy weekend, my lovelies! Today we return to the Dollhouse with a new book, a new “gentleman,” and a brand new look to our books. We hope you enjoy meeting and getting to know Margo, the first lady to join the Dollhouse!
Author: Eden Myles
Discover the secret behind the mysterious Dollhouse Society, an exclusive collection of powerful men and women and the modern-day courtesans and courtiers who service them…
Margo Faulkner is a lady–not just in name but in rank. She’s the first female “gentleman” to gain full membership in the mysterious and secretive Dollhouse Society. But when she sets her sights on her partner, Robert Burkett, with an intention toward turning the sexy, mysterious attorney into her own personal courtier and sex slave, she finds that she isn’t the only one harboring secrets.
The Dollhouse Society: Margo includes:
The Rules of Conduct Inside the Dollhouse
Margo by Eden Myles
Bonus Story: All I Want for Christmas by Jay Ellison
Previews & Excerpts
“You seem a little down this Monday morning, my pet,” my partner Robert Burkett said as he joined me in the employee lounge for a coffee—or, in his case, tea. Even having been in America for the past twenty years, I still couldn’t break him of his English habits.
“Well, it is Monday,” I argued as I poured a black cup of joe for myself, then added one Earl Grey tea bag and a cream to his mug of hot water before handing it over. The mug was his favorite; I’d given it to him for Christmas the year before and it read Trust Me, I’m a Lawyer and had a great white shark on it, dressed in a necktie and carrying a briefcase. Robert thought it was hilarious, but felt his public image required he keep it in the employee lounge rather than letting our high-profile clients in the entertainment business see it.
“Monday, bloody Monday,” Robert said as he used a spoon to stir his tea. Every Monday morning I gave him a cup of tea and every Monday morning he stood at the coffee counter and stirred it with great concentration. Sometimes he regaled me with stories of growing up in rural Wales, waiting for the milkman to arrive at the farmhouse where he and his mother, father, and seven siblings lived. After five years of working together, it had become our ritual. He told me detailed stories of his “smallholdings,” the tiny llama ranch his father owned in Snowdonia, and I would tell him what I’d been up to during the weekend.
“I remember we had this stocking vendor who would come up the hill on Mondays. My mother used to send me down with a few shillings when she had the money…”
And just like that, he was off with one of his stories. I leaned against the counter, listening to and just admiring the man who had taken me onboard as an equal partner in his firm in what was normally the very competitive and male-oriented field of entertainment law. I wasn’t meeting with my first client of the day until ten o’clock. That gave me an hour to kill, and there was no better way of killing an hour than by listening to one of Robert’s stories in his deep, whispery soft voice and country Wenglish accent.
Robert was well into his fifties now, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. I’d seen pictures of him in college, back in his early twenties, a muscular giant of a man who’d been big on rugby but still graceful enough for cricket. He hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still big, well-chiseled but elegant, and his bright grey eyes had never lost their gleam. But the years and the loss of his wife of twenty-six years had left their mark on him as well. I saw it in the lines in his face and the way his thick dark hair had turned all silver almost overnight. He was still handsome as hell, and his mind was sharper than all the young, ambitious sharks at Burkett Associates combined, but sometimes I wondered what he’d been like in those younger years, if he’d always been this confident, wise and cynical, or if that was something he’d had to work up to.
I’d always gotten along better with men than with women, and I liked joking that we were soul mates. We were both very much at ease with one other, and more than one junior associate at the firm thought we were romantically involved, but that was marginalizing what we had between us. In many ways, Robert and I were best friend. I was there for him when Joanne had her stroke and slowly went downhill from there, and he’d taken me out drinking when my marriage to Brent fell apart.
“Did you see your friends this weekend?” Robert finally asked when he’d finished his childhood story.
“You mean Malcolm and his friends? No, I stayed in to work on the accounts.”
Robert sipped his tea and raised an eyebrow at that. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’d like to do a bit more work before I bring anything to you.”
Robert didn’t push. He knew that if it was important enough, I would tell him. “Very well. Lunch at one?” he said, consulting his watch. He and I usually enjoyed a long lunch on Monday to discuss our clients and our goals for the week.
“One sounds good,” I told him. “How does the Sakura sound?”
The Sakura was one of the more elegant Japanese restaurants in Lower Manhattan, but it sold food you could actually eat.
“It sounds like you, my pet,” Robert told me, setting his mug down to take my hand and brush a brief kiss just below my knuckles. “Down to earth and elegant.” He gave me a very Japanese bow before skirting off to his office.