Chapter 8
Saffi
Ihad to admit, I was scared shitless about my next destination of the evening after dinner with Dad, not to mention, a little titillated by Dad’s hot friend. What was the guy’s name? Oh, right. Varden. He was gorgeous, no doubt, with thick, messy hair, a perfectly chiseled face, and dark, dark eyes. And he’d worn some of the most beautiful clothing I’d ever seen on a man. Certainly nicer than anything I ever saw on the guys I worked with at the paper.
But I knew Varden’s type. Hot, rich, man-whore. And commenting on my appearance? What the hell?
It didn’t matter. I’d never see him again.
Unless Dad invited him to the firm holiday party…
I got in my car and leaned back on the headrest, eyes closed. With a deep breath, I turned on the ignition.
Let’s get this party started.
The instructions for accessing the club had come in a text message toward the end of dinner. My phone had buzzed, and for a second I was afraid Varden had spotted it. I casually glanced at the message while they discussed some sort of new industry regulations.
I was to arrive at Club Silk and ask for Miss M. The message said the building’s street address would not be visible, and to give myself extra time to identify it by looking at the addresses to the right and left. There would be no asking for identification since the club was all about protecting its members’ privacy, but I’d have to verbally agree to follow a few, simple rules.
I was to text back with the first initial of my last name.
Sounded easy enough.
I arrived with time to spare and parked a half block away so I could watch other guests come and go. The club was in the old Dog Patch district of the city, which mostly consisted of run-down warehouses and factories, tech startups, and the occasional house inhabited by hipster squatters.
I checked my makeup again and took some deep breaths to calm my nerves. I would not let this opportunity slip through my fingers. How many other chances like this would I get at the paper?
What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? They’d figure out who I was and kick me out? That would suck, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Who knew, maybe there’d be a story in that.
At two minutes past the hour—I didn’t want to look desperate—I climbed out of my Honda Civic. I crossed the street to the club, and discreetly read the buildings’ street numbers while strolling.
The club’s front door was large, black, and nondescript. The only indication that there was life on the other side was a peephole, and a small, illuminated doorbell. I fluffed my hair, rubbed my teeth clean of lipstick, and put on my best I own this place smile.
The door whipped open. I could barely see beyond the glamorous woman facing me.
“You must be Miss M?”
C’mon, confidence.
“Please, come in,” she said, nodding.
It took me a sec to adjust to the dim light, but when I did, I took in a room covered in heavy damask wallpaper with pillar candles scattered about and dark, overstuffed furniture, just as I pictured a bordello. And it was pretty damn sexy. A few men and women sat on the sofas, chatting quietly with cocktails in hand. On a small dance floor in the corner, a couple moved to the music while enjoying a passionate kiss. I’d never seen such a collection of perfectly toned, coiffed, and stylish people. How did they pull it all off?
But what was most striking was M, herself. Curls spilled down the back of her silky, green evening dress. Her eyes were ringed in just the right amount of kohl, and her full lips were red and glossy. Her sky-scraping heels put her around six feet tall, something I could easily gauge, being five foot ten myself.
I dutifully followed this thirties-era screen siren to a couple club chairs in a corner.
“Please sit,” she said, gesturing. “I understand you’d like to be called B here at the club.”
I forced a graceful smile. “Yes, that would be fine.” I crossed my legs with my hands around my top knee.
“Very well. And you said you were referred by a friend?” Her head tilted while she smiled coolly.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And who was that friend?”
Oh shit. Of course she was going to ask that.
Think fast.
“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you. Sorry.”
She looked down at her hands. “All right, B. I would like to stress that Club Silk is an oasis for its members. People come here for many reasons. But one thing they all have in common is a desire to have their privacy protected. Just like you hope for, I assume?”
“Yes, I expect my privacy to be protected.” I nodded.
“Then you will verbally agree to never speak of the club when you are beyond its walls. If you see someone outside whom you know from the club, you will not acknowledge them. You will not ask anyone’s real name, nor share yours. You’ll see that many of the members wear masks. You will respect their desire to keep their faces hidden. All sexual activity—from light touching to full-on intercourse—is completely consensual. You can count on never being pressured by anyone to do anything.” She smiled and sat back in her seat.
“Of course, there may be interested parties who will endeavor to seduce you. We all know and enjoy the thrill of the chase,” she added.
Damn right.