I don’t know who I am anymore.
I can’t say the words. I couldn’t say them to Tessa, and I can’t say them to Betsy.
Why is my identity so wrapped up in others all of a sudden?
I’m more than the sum of my parts. Aren’t I?
I’m not just Tessa’s best friend.
I’m not just Addison Ames’s ex-assistant.
I’m not just a budding influencer, the new face of Susanne’s discount line.
And…
I’m not just Braden Black’s girlfriend.
“It will work out,” Betsy says.
Will it?
I’m not sure.
But in a few minutes, Christopher is driving Braden and me to the airport, where we’ll take his jet to New York.
Everything will work out once I’m back in New York.
I’ll be whole again.
Won’t I?
Fuck, I don’t even know anymore.
“Tell Tessa…”
“Tell her what?” Betsy asks.
“Just tell her… Tell her I love her. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. She’s going to be all right.”
“Thanks.” I end the call.
Tessa will be all right. With or without me, she’ll be fine. This was just a blip on the radar for her. The Tessa I know will realize she did an out-of-character thing and will vow to never do it again. She’ll also realize she doesn’t need Garrett Ramirez or any man. That she’s just fine on her own.
I’ve witnessed it. She’s pulled herself up before, and she’ll do it again.
I just wish I were there to help her through it.
It’s what besties do. We help each other. We eat Ben and Jerry’s together and commiserate. We tell each other that Garrett Ramirez—or whoever—is a piece of shit who isn’t worth our time. We vow never to repeat the ill-advised behavior we engaged in.
We have each other’s backs.
Betsy will help her, and Tessa will be fine.
And that’s what I want. I want Tessa to be fine, to be happy.
Yes. I want that.
The problem? It’s not all I want.
Chapter Fifty
Early in the afternoon, we arrive at Braden’s Manhattan penthouse.
“When can we go to the club?” I ask.
“Tonight. It doesn’t open until eight p.m.”
“It’s your club, though. Can’t we go now?”
He stares at me, his countenance slightly tense. “What are you looking for, Skye? Why is the club so important to you?”
“For the same reason it’s important to you,” I reply.
He nods. “I think that may be partially true, but you seem to be after something more than just sexual gratification.”
“Aren’t you?” I ask.
“I like to be in control,” he says. “You know that, and playing a scene at the club gives me the control that I like to a greater extent than in a regular bedroom. Though I could easily build my own playroom.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because…the lifestyle is important to me, but it doesn’t define me.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
I nod, swallowing. Do I?
“Because I think,” he goes on, “you found something at the club that helps you deal with other aspects of your life.”
“So what if I did? Is that bad?”
“No, Skye. Nothing about the lifestyle is bad. But I have no interest in living that way twenty-four seven.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
“How could you think I wouldn’t be on the same page? Do you really think I want to spend my life as your submissive day in and day out?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you want that.”
“Then why are you—”
“You resisted my control in the bedroom. You still resist my control in other aspects of your life.”
“That’s true. So why would you think—”
He rubs his jawline. “I don’t think that. Trust me on that one. I don’t think it for an instant. As to whether it’s what you want, we’ll find out tonight.”
Shivers overtake me, surprising me.
His words are enigmatic. I don’t want to be his submissive. I know that as well as I know my own name.
What am I after, then?
Why is the club so intriguing?
Many potential answers to my own question exist.
And every single one of them frightens me.
Chapter Fifty-One
No corset tonight. Braden gave me a bustier and black leather miniskirt along with the fishnets, garter belt, and platform stilettos. A much more comfortable ensemble. He also asked that I wear my hair in a high ponytail, which makes me wonder what he has in mind.
Doesn’t really matter. I’m already wet and ready.
Last, he places the diamond choker around my neck and eyes me lasciviously. “Nice,” he says simply.
My fingers wander to the choker. I did some research on collaring. In the club atmosphere, it means I belong to Braden and everyone else there will respect that. But there’s another meaning. A real-life meaning.
Some submissives wear their collars twenty-four seven. They are submissive in real life.
The choker is warm around my neck, almost as if it’s burning me. Branding me.
I like the feeling.
Another thing that frightens me.
“What will you wear tonight?” I ask.
“Black pants and a black shirt. My usual.”