The Trainer by Laura Antoniou

watching how the man idly nodded
to what Geoff was saying, and how his eyes darted occasionally to
find someone else to move on to. Other people in the room watched
as Geoff introduced his little party, and Michael could feel slight
amusement, curiosity, and even a touch of confusion coming from the
people whose hands he shook, but not even a second of warmth in
their welcomes. Uh-oh.
    It seemed to get worse, too, although
sometimes Michael doubted his sanity, because he seemed to be the
only one disturbed by these things. Brad was his typical,
glad-handing self, heartily greeting strangers as though they were
long-lost friends, slipping his card into their hands before they
even had a chance to say hello back. And Crystal was very impressed
by both the opulence of the Georgian manor house and the various
British accents she heard, falling in love and lust with one
speaker after another, grabbing Michael and sighing from time to
time as she pointed out the latest object of her attention.
    But while his companions were getting along
in a fairly oblivious way, it didn’t take Michael too long to
realize that Geoff was the only trainer who had brought more than
one student with him. During that first evening, when they all
wandered from room to room, Michael never met an apprentice who
didn’t seem to be identified as “my pupil,” or “my junior,” or
once, “my best student.”
    To be one of three—with two others still at
home!—seemed suddenly odd. And what was odder was that they were
the only Americans there, too! Almost everyone else was British—or,
as he was corrected more than once, they were English, or they were
Scots, or Welsh, or Irish. There were two Germans there, but they
were not of the training line; they were presenters. There was also
a married couple from South Africa.
    But Geoff was the only American. At first,
it was easy to believe that it had been a singular honor.
    Yet, even arriving back at their rented
cottage was another moment that shook Michael up and left him lying
awake in confusion. Because, when the four of them piled out of the
car and ran to the door through the rain, there was no light on.
Brad searched for the key while Geoff knocked, and the door was
finally opened by a sleepy-eyed slave, pleasantly naked, whose eyes
widened as she let the travelers in.
    The other two slaves had to be awakened,
too. And they had to be told what to do—even basic things like get
robes from the bedrooms. Oh, they were very solicitous—one of the
girls even wound a leg around Mike’s own thigh as she dried his
hair, and whispered a sexy suggestion into his ear.
    But all Michael really wanted was to get
into bed and sleep off the jet lag in peace and dry warmth. He was
grateful, as usual, that Geoff took control and sent the slaves
running to fetch things and get them all settled, but when it came
time to get into bed, the last thing Michael wanted was company. He
listened to Crystal whimpering and panting for a while as her
chosen slave went down on her, but stayed awake long after the
breathing calmed and the room was in complete silence. His only
consolation, as he finally drifted off to sleep, was that compared
to the slaves who had helped them so well at Rothmere—including the
ones who served drinks and passed canapés—the three here were much
better looking. Probably more fun in bed, too, since the Rothmere
slaves seemed so damn serious. But he hadn’t needed a pretty girl
in bed. He needed one at the door with a cup of tea and his warmed
bathrobe and a pair of slippers.
    Obviously, Brad wasn’t keeping his slaves in
line the way he should, Michael had decided. It was a good thing
they would have this time with Geoff, to set things right.
    The next day was even worse. They entered
into the more formal style of the weekend, with set roundtable
discussions and seminars. On that day, Michael found out just how
small a pond Geoff was the big fish in.
    The Rothmere gathering wasn’t just a