You just can't get the staff these days. Chapter One
Ilya Tomorov needed staff for his recently acquired Antiguan mansion, so a second round of interviews was held that afternoon, as he always told himself 'Important decisions would only be made after lunch'. He had decided to hold the interviews on his sun-kissed veranda and then those who passed that phase would progress to the interior of the final, more intimate discussions. He sat on a comfortable wicker cushion-strewn sofa in white linen and drawstring trousers. He was barefoot but clean-shaven for this important day.
He sat and regarded the bevy of highly attractive, if not truly beautiful women who had assembled in a line before him. He bade them sit down, and his assistant Moira Dubois, another beautiful woman in her own right, and Charles, his Close Protection Officer, stood to one side. The beauties were a wonderful mix of skin tones and hair colours, all tall and with excellent slender physiques.
The agency had followed his exacting demands for the potential eight positions that were available, and now ten women had accepted his invitation to the island hoping to secure one of these positions. Having retired from the hustle and bustle, Illya had sold his businesses and settled on the island, savouring the delights of the tropical paradise in hotels and then his own tall masted Bénéteau Oceanis 440 yacht until the mansion's upgrades, called 'Rosaries', had been completed and scrutinized by Ilya himself. His exacting nature permeated all aspects of his life. Now he could live the manner of lifestyle that he wished.
The assembled women accepted his invitation to come to the island and be interviewed for the positions listed in the exclusive and discreet agency booklet and website. The highly exclusive and very expensive agency catered only to the super-wealthy single men and women of the world's elite. They all knew the sort of man Ilya was, from his profile. They all knew that such positions were highly lucrative, earning more than $500,000 if they could secure the contract for the three years, Ilya was offering.
Three years in this paradise and then half a million dollars was a no-brainer. If they could convince their client that they were the woman for him.
Katya Simnova knew what sort of man, Ilya was. She had escaped her war-torn Ukrainian home and after a terrifying and arduous trek, she made it to London. She learned her adopted home's language quickly and well, adding English to the Russian, Ukrainian and French she had learned at the knee of her well-educated Grandfather and her French Mother. She had lost the heavy Slavic accent and managed to get into the books of three well-known modelling agencies, after a brief spell as a high-end escort to make enough money to survive in a city like London. During a small fashion house show just before London Fashion Week, she was offered the chance to join another agency that catered for wealthy men and women of the elite.
Now she was here, among a bevvy of very attractive women all willing to do whatever was necessary to secure a three-year contract being at this rich man's beck and call. There were two black women, tall and exotic, three other blondes like herself, the rest brunettes and one stunning black-haired woman from either China or Japan, she guessed.
But she liked her chances. It was clear to her that the man opposite had money, worth more than five hundred million. He was unmarried, which meant he didn't commit easily to one woman. He had no children, as he didn't want restrictions on his lifestyle. Despite a good physique and expensive body conditioning, discrete but telltale surgical procedures on the lines of his face, he was not young, in his fifties and so was looking for the ego boost of young women around him, and one or two on his arm when he went out.
He was wealthy and enjoyed the trappings of money. His private jet, which brought them here was hired for the job and told her that he didn't want too much of a financial drain of jets or multiple homes. His yacht was his sole vanity project.
The final obvious element about her potential employer is that the positions on offer would involve a level of sexual intimacy with the employer. Katya had guessed that out of the girls assembled here, a few would prove ideal for him, including herself. She had guessed that all the women would have to sign iron-clad non-disclosure contracts with apocalyptic penalties should they break it, and all would have to be willing to have sex with him on demand.
Katya had heard of rich men indulging in the 'Romanesque' lifestyle. Wealthy elites had cottoned onto a fantasy lifestyle fuelled by inaccurate historical movies and streamed dramas that showed Roman masters or Dominus, taking advantage of their slaves, sexually, in the villas. These shows suggested to the jaded palates of the elites that a modern equivalent could be enjoyed for a price. Ilya was one of those men who wanted a 'free use' lifestyle while he enjoyed his retirement. This was another reason for a three-year contract, as he would potentially tire of the same women time after time.
Ilya watched each woman as she took either a seat on the assorted sofas, chairs or the arms of chairs. He admired their dresses, suited perfectly to the blisteringly hot day, now beginning to become a humid sultry evening. Ilya smiled secretly as the women looked first at the Close Protection Officer, then at Moira, and then at him. The PA cleared her throat,
