“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” I say.
“Protect me?” That wrinkle is back between his brows but so is his smile.
“From the ladies. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” Then he leans down until his mouth brushes the lobe of my ear. “I thought you were here as my date.”
My lips part and I gaze back up at him. There hasn’t been another incident between us since the foot rub a couple weeks ago, and I’ll admit, it’s been excruciating. Every day I come into work hoping he might brush his hand against my lower back or lean in close enough while reading over my shoulder that I can feel his breath on my neck. My mild curiosity and subtle crush has turned into full-blown infatuation, and I’ve been looking forward to tonight for weeks.
I squeeze his arm as we stroll toward the door. Just before reaching to open it, he adds with a sly smile, “Besides, in that dress, you’ll be the one who needs protecting.”
A blush rises to my cheeks, and I squeeze his arm tighter.
It’s so quiet outside, but the second we pass through the front doors, that changes.
The lobby is dark with hazy red lights shining over the front desk and loud music echoes through the entire building. People are mingling around the edges of the room, all dressed in formal gowns and tuxedos. The partygoers fall silent when they recognize Emerson, and I cling even closer to him, as if I can actually protect him from anyone who might want to steal him away.
He nods to the woman behind the desk and she greets him with a warm, “Evening, Mr. Grant.”
I smile at her as we pass. A heavy black curtain separates the lobby from the main room, and Emerson holds it open for me. It’s not as crowded in here as I anticipated, but I guess that’s what I should have expected in such an exclusive club.
“Oh my God, Emerson…it’s amazing,” I say, holding my hand to my lips. There’s a crowd of people around the bar and a DJ’s playing at the front of the room on the stage. Dancers twirl around the poles, and quite a few people are dancing in the middle of the dance floor. The private rooms are all open, and it makes me wonder if people will actually have sex in there tonight. Is that even legal? I mean…it’s no different than a hotel room, right?
Toward the back is the hallway where I found the throne room, but there’s a bouncer standing by the door and a red rope keeping people out. It’s ominous, without a sign telling people what is down the hallway, although I know: rooms with windows and plenty of opportunities to live out your wildest fantasies.
“Emerson!” a voice calls from the bar. We both turn to see Garrett heading our way. When his eyes fall on me, he does a double take. Even as he shakes Emerson’s hand, he remains staring at me.
Then, as he points at me, he says, “Charlotte?”
“Am I that unrecognizable in a dress?”
“You look beautiful,” he says, as he takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips.
“That’s enough,” Emerson snaps, pulling me away. Garrett and I laugh in unison.
“Need a drink?” Garrett asks as a server with flutes of champagne strolls by. He grabs three and hands one to each of us. While I sip on my bubbly, the men chat about the opening. I tune them out, letting my eyes scan the dark room. At first, everything looked normal, but as my eyes adjust, I notice certain things.
Like a woman holding a leash that’s connected to a shirtless man’s neck beside her.
People browsing the open rooms as if they’re picking out their favorites.
And a group of very rich-looking men sitting at one of the tables while someone doles out cards.
My eyes also catch on a girl kneeling next to one of the men gambling. He’s stroking her hair as he stares at the cards in his hand. She looks so content, a lazy smile plastered on her face as she nuzzles her cheek against his leg.
I can’t take my eyes off of her, thinking about that day in Emerson’s office when he told me to kneel. Is this what he does with his girls? Does he pet their heads like they’re dogs?
Why does it disgust me in theory? But seeing him pet her head lovingly,adoringly…it seems almost romantic.
My eyes catch on a pair of dark, ominous eyes watching me from across the room, stealing my thoughts away from the woman on her knees. It’s an older man, probably in his late fifties, and there’s something oddly familiar about him, but not in a way my memory can place him. A slight fear settles over me at the thought that he could be someone from my regular life—
“Can I have this dance?” Emerson whispers, clutching my waist and stealing my thoughts. I barely noticed that the music has changed to a sultry, slow dance beat. There are couples scattered across the floor, grinding their bodies together, and I gulp, looking up at Emerson.
He must sense my apprehension because he leans down and adds, “It’s not the Electric Slide, but I think you can handle it.”
A laugh slips through my lips. Damn, that champagne is kicking in already. I’m such a lightweight. The next thing I know, I’m electric sliding my hand into his and letting him pull me onto the dance floor. I briefly wonder for a moment if people look at us and think he’s too old for me. Then I realize that in this place, there’s really nothing too taboo or unacceptable. No wonder people feel comfortable here. It’s freeing.
“Relax, Charlotte,” he mutters, his deep voice seeping into my bloodstream and making me instantly melt into his hold.