Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 52

“Will Stanton is a man of great common sense,” says my Master. “He believes strongly in, among other things, community policing.”

“So… what's the problem?” I say. “That sounds like an agreement. Not an argument.”

Grimacing, he stares into his glass, swishing the wine around. “The problem is that Will is working within budget constraints set by the mayor. More boots on the sidewalks, as you put it, mean more salaries plus the associated costs plus more facilities to house the extra officers. They're out of space at Police Central.” He clicks his tongue. “More than out of space. They already have three officers occupying offices designated for two.

I shrug. “So they need more offices. And presumably, extra parking and whatever else goes with it.”

He arches brows, nodding. “Which brings us back to budgets. And Vandervoort doesn't want to cough up. More police on the ground are good for votes. Higher taxes aren't.”

“Alright, I get that. But where do you come in? Why did they call you away?”

He purses lips. “Who do you think they come to talk about the costs of new offices and facilities? Besides, the fact is, they are completely out of space. There’s no room in that building to expand. And Vandervoort was clear that he’s not willing to pay for all-new facilities.”

“Won’t he even meet the commissioner halfway?”

“Perhaps if there were some viable halfway mechanism, but…” He shrugs. Sniffs.

I ponder his words. “These extra officers… It’s for patrol purposes only? We’re not talking about some massive database or networking department? Or trying to set up a new intelligence section?”

“That’s as I understand it, yes.”

“And these days, when the patrol officers make reports, it’s all done on computer? Linked to the central database? Is that right?”

His head cants, eyes assessing. “I think so, yes. I'd have to check with Will.”

“So, these new facilities, if they're only to accommodate patrol officers, why do they need to be all in one big central building? Wouldn’t it make sense for officers out and about in the City to have small satellite stations? Set in appropriate areas? Maybe…” I flounder for a moment… “Maybe in shopping malls. Or near the highway access or beltway.”

My Master sets his wine glass on the edge tiles then, sitting back, his gaze steady on me, clasps his hands together. “Go on.”

“Um… Well, wouldn’t that be a lot cheaper way of doing things? If it were just a series of small outlying offices, all it would need surely is bathroom facilities, room for a desk, a kettle and microwave, and an internet connection? A ring of those around the City in strategic spots and the commissioner would have officers right on the spot for wherever there's lots of population. And that’s where patrols are usually needed.”

My brain rattles off ideas. My mouth follows suit. “And if these satellite stations were away from the main centre, but close to the highway connections, the value of the land and buildings would be less, so it would be cheaper anyway than trying to fit everyone into Police Central. And it would be easier too to have lots of parking…”

His eyes fixed on me, my Master listens in silence. Suddenly feeling a fool, I dry up. “Am I making any sense?”

He sucks in his cheeks. “You're making a great deal of sense, Elizabeth, except…” He raises a finger… “… for the value of land with highway access. That's almost as valuable as city centre real estate.”

“Oh? I didn't realise that.”

“Why should you? It’s not your speciality. Still…” He plucks at his lower lip... “There's a lot in what you say. A lot. I'll pass your suggestion by Will.”

“Not the mayor?”

“No, Will first. He's the one with the budget constraints and who would be on the sharp end of any consequences.” He grins. “I knew there was a reason I married you.” Leaning forward, he plants a kiss on my forehead. “How about after this, we go for a walk in the garden?”

“Sounds lovely. I didn’t get to explore it properly yesterday.”

“No? It’s time I gave you a guided tour then.” He looks away, musing for a moment, then his glance slides back. “Did you discover the Nook?”

“The what?”

*****

Dressed once more in my sweater and jeans, my Master in the black jeans and linen shirt that suit him so well, we head downstairs. As we pass between the two mirrors, a grin cracks across my face.

“No? Tough. She’s an employee. You…” He lays a fingertip to my chest… “… are the Lady of the House. You give the orders. Besides…” He sniffs. “… You’ve barely had the opportunity to get to know each other. I’m sure it will work out. In any case, I’ll send her the instruction to pass the paperwork to you.”

He offers out a hand. “Shall we?”

As we stand up and the blood rushes back to my flattened ass, I make a mental note.

Cushions for the swing seat…

Now that I look properly, the garden too reflects its age. We stroll a long path, bordered one side by the garden wall, edged by lawns on the other. In places, thin, sandy soil, used up, sprouts yellowing grass.

Antiquated rose beds need love. Some of the occupants are well past their best, needing, at the least, hard pruning. Five and six feet high, the shrubs are all old-fashioned varieties, their thorns savage, and I walk by carefully, leaning away from straggling stems which threaten to snag and slice. But the blooms, deep and perfect, cast their fragrance into air that hums with bees and hoverflies.

In places, the wall supports fruit trees, trained espalier-style along wires and stakes, their long branches popping plump buds primed to be autumn fruit. In other spots, a riot of clematis and ivy hides the brickwork entirely and threatens to engulf herbaceous beds planted with lupins, hollyhocks and peony.

Following gravelled paths through the knot-work garden, neatly trimmed box hedges brush their tops over my knees. Leaf and twig clippings lie scattered on the gravel. A set of hedge trimmers, the blades glistening with oil, lie on a bench nearby, a rake propped up close.

“So, there’s a gardener?” I ask.

“I’ve had someone in, tidying it up. But I’ve not done anything beyond that. I assumed you would want to make your stamp on it.”

I point to a break in the wall, a gate standing half-open. “What’s through there?”

“Vegetable garden. Plenty of space there to supply anything we need if you wanted to do that?”

“Sounds lovely.” Trotting across, I take a quick peek at turned soil, neatly planted with rows of beans and peas. A stand of raspberry canes takes up one corner. A large ironwork glasshouse another.