The Boss's Daughter

The driver had already been waiting outside for fifteen minutes, but Eleanor didn’t hurry as she made sure all her jewellery was right and her black hair was sitting perfectly straight down to the middle of her back. She’d put in her custom red contact lenses and spent ages doing her makeup, making her skin a few shades lighter aside from the carefully applied blush and contour, her lips and eyelids coloured in a red so dark it was almost black. Her outfit had taken most of the afternoon to choose, eventually settling on a black minidress that fit as if it was designed for her body (because it had been, by Vivian Carrington herself) which sparkled like the night sky when it caught the light just right.

Finally satisfied with how the silver moon earrings hung from her lobes, Eleanor swivelled to the side and began the long, laborious process of lacing up her kneehigh platform boots. She would have preferred to have someone else do it, except her daddy had fired all the male housekeepers a few years ago and it wasn't as fun to tell off the girls for peeking up her dress. The car had been ready to go for twenty minutes now, and would be waiting for longer still before she left the house, but the staff knew better than to complain about her or to not be ready when she demanded them to be. Even if it meant sitting there all night because she’d forgotten about them.

Tugging the bow to sit neatly on both boots, Eleanor finally stood from her dressing table and sauntered out of her bedroom at a relaxed pace. It took her another five minutes to reach the front door, and she didn’t see a single other person until her father’s PA, who was waiting for her in the foyer with her head bowed.

“What is it, Collins?” Eleanor asked with a sneer. The busty blonde was daddy’s third assistant in as many years, and young enough to have been the goth’s sister. She had learned not to get too attached to any of them. Especially if they looked like they might not put out.

“Your father wanted me to let you know that he has doubled your allowance this week, and he would like you to spend the extra on some nice formalwear,” the assistant said pleasantly, “He would also like to remind you that your attendance is required next weekend at the regatta.”

“I remember,” she grumbled, stopping herself from frowning too deeply so she didn’t spoil her makeup, “I’m going out now. Have them open the gate.”

“Of course, Miss Wells,” the PA bowed her head again, and turned to speak into the intercom.

Eleanor left the house, slamming the door behind her with her mood thoroughly ruined. She climbed into the back of the black Bentley, not making eye contact with the driver or the bodyguard in the front passenger seat, barely recognising either of them and certainly not remembering their names. She hadn’t really been looking forward to this night out anyway, but social obligations with people her own age were at least more fun than networking events with daddy’s friends. Ever since she’d turned eighteen, and probably a bit before that too, he’d been shopping her around with his business partners and their children. Hoping to find someone from a suitably upper class background to take her off his hands. It was exhausting, but at least it meant she’d actually get to see her daddy for once.

By the time the luxury car pulled up outside the nightclub, Eleanor had mostly managed to stop herself from sulking. She climbed out of the car without a word and strode straight in, with the bodyguard hurrying to catch up. She ignored the line, the bouncers parted before her, and she headed directly for the VIP area. As she saw the group already gathered at one of the tables (they wouldn’t dare arrive late and deny her her entrance) she schooled her face into a wide, vapid smile and let out a loud squeal. She’d had a lot of practice at acting like she was happy to see any of the insufferable bitches who pretended to be her friends.

The answering squeal set Eleanor’s teeth on edge, as they all clamoured to be the first to greet and compliment her.

“OMG, El! You look so great babe!”

“Girl, that dress is fab-u-lous! Is that a Carrington?”

“Loving the boots, El.”

“God, I wish I could pull off earrings like that.”

“So good to see you, hun. What drink are you starting with?”

The final comment was the only one Eleanor bothered to respond to. “Oh I'd looove a cosmo, Stella. Get them to make it strong too,” she demanded, taking a seat while her bodyguard leaned against a nearby wall and settled in to watch the crowds for danger.

“You got it babes,” Stella flashed her a wink and strutted across to the private bar, managing not to wobble on her own heavy platforms this time.

The crowd around the table had once preferred to dress in bright colours and fashionable pastels, until Eleanor had dyed her hair black and replaced her entire wardrobe with the darker side of the colour spectrum a few years ago. After that, one by one they had all transitioned to various flavours of gothic and done their best to hide their discomfort in the thudding, wailing, growling tunes at the clubs she had started inviting them to. It was part of why she knew they weren't really her friends. They were more like a flock of lower-upper class sheep, following after the shepherd's call of Eleanor's daddy's money.

Despite asking for the cocktail strong, Eleanor drank it as slowly as she could get away with by taking tiny sips at regular intervals in between gossip. Her fake friends had no such restraint. They'd already been at least one drink deep before she arrived, even though it was still early for a night out, and quickly got to round two, then a round of shots she couldn't avoid joining in with, then onto round three.

Usually by this point Eleanor would be making her way to the dance floor just to get away from the relentless drunk chatter, but she didn't really feel like it tonight. Instead, once enough time had passed that it was believable, she made her excuses and went off to the toilets. At least they were well soundproofed in the VIP section. The bassline throbbed in her skull as she meandered her way across the room, wobbling and weaving, putting a deliberate stumble into her step to make it seem like she was as drunk as the rest of them, trying to ignore the fact that her bodyguard was following a few paces behind.

When the door swung shut and blocked out the worst of the music, and the bodyguard, Eleanor checked the stalls to make sure she was alone, then leaned heavily on the sink and stared into her own artificially-red eyes. The woman in the mirror looked well put together. Confident. Sexy. Dangerous. Tired.

“Come on, Eleanor,” she scolded herself, “You're rich, you're powerful, you're pretty. You're out with your friends. This is fun. You're having fun.”

The lie wasn't very convincing, but Eleanor **** herself to believe it anyway. What other choice did she have? She slapped the mirror, psyching herself up, and then walked out of the toilets and into the throne room.

Eleanor went deathly still in the middle of the open space, instantly sober, her cheeks going pale beneath the makeup. Her eyes were wide and panicky, taking in the people looking back at her. A man on a golden throne, looking down on her through a gap in his fingers. A punkish woman with brown skin and bright green hair, who looked vaguely familiar, was staring at her with scorn. A short, slightly overweight woman glanced at her anxiously. A small redhead in a red leather jacket gleamed at her with glee.

“Hey there, kiddo!” the redhead sang out performatively, skipping closer to the terrified heiress, “Time to introduce yourself to the Audience!”

The woman brandished a weapon at Eleanor, who only just had enough time to realise it was actually a feather quill before it was jabbing her in the chest. The scream died in her throat, and despite her panic at the situation and the new knowledge inserted into her brain she found herself walking calmly over to take a seat next to the other women, then introducing herself.

“Hello, my name is Eleanor Wells and I'm nineteen years old. I don't have a job and I won't ever need one. I think I'm straight, but I've never had sex because I don’t like the boys my age or the older men daddy keeps introducing me to. I met the Master at one of daddy's work parties when he refused to go get me another drink because I'd already had too many. I was going to have him fired afterwards but daddy told me off for getting drunk in front of his friends before I could ask him.”

“So you nearly got fired for saying no to the princess, and now she's in your harem?” the green haired woman snorted, raising one pierced eyebrow at the man on the throne, “Looking forward to putting her in her place?”

“Well? Are you, Matt?” chimed in the other woman, in a tone that was half angry and half afraid.

“Don't make things worse, Max,” the man sighed tiredly, “And I'm sorry, Sarah, but it's not like I had any more control of this situation than any of you.”

“That's true,” the Host, Scarlet, said in a chipper voice, “All the choices for this season’s Contestants have been pulled directly from the Master's subconscious mind. It's not his fault he wants some barely-legal goth pussy!”

“I'm nineteen!” Eleanor protested, doing her best to ignore the rest of the implication. She recognised the Master now, and the magic had filled in his name and some basic information about him. Oh fuck, she really was part of his harem now, wasn't she?

“Still a teenager,” Scarlet pointed out, then tutted, “And aren't you a little young to be getting drunk at parties? For shame, Elly.”

Everyone looked at the Host with confusion.

“You realise we're British, right?” Max asked with a disgusted look, “The drinking age is eighteen, and I was getting sozzled at parties way before that anyway.”

“Of course I know you're British!” the Host sputtered defensively, “I saw how you were spelling ‘colour’.”

“...spelling?” Sarah questioned carefully. She definitely hadn't written anything since they arrived, and neither had any of the others. Just how long had they been spied on before their magical abduction?

“Shut up,” Scarlet snapped, trying to get control of the situation again.

“Is there a way for me to buy my freedom?” Eleanor asked as her circumstances finally started to sink in for her, “I'm sure my daddy will pay any ransom you want.”

“Fuck no! The Turners and Vivian Carrington can't afford to bribe their way off the show so you definitely can't either.”

“Vivian Carrington is here?” Eleanor's head shot up and looked around the empty room for any sign of the other British heiress.

“Not here here, on another branch of the...” Scarlet waved her hands and huffed, “It doesn't matter. On with the show! For our next Contestant we'll be bringing in someone who has prior experience with pleasing the Master, though she may be a little out of practice...”

“No!” Sarah shouted angrily as she suddenly sat bolt upright, but Scarlet ignored her and waved the feather again.