Submitting fully to her new lover comes naturally to a woman who has been trained to serve.

“Would you care for extra whipped cream?”

The man stared coolly at me. “I only give extra whippings,” he said in a voice so low that only I could hear him. “I don’t take them.”

I stood there, hovering with my silver spoon in hand, unsure of what to do next. It was clear to me that Mr. Stevenson, the party’s host, had intentionally misheard me, and my cheeks went instantly pinker than the filling in the homemade berry pie. The fact that the man was my type of perfect ten — black hair going to silver, chiseled features of a silent screen star — didn’t help the situation. Nothing in my training as a caterer’s assistant had prepared me for... Read More