Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Warmth greets me as I take in the foyer and lobby on my right and the darkened ballroom on my left.
The click of my heels is muted as I step onto the thick, dark red carpeted floors. Club X is a fantasy come to life and a gateway to another world. One so many people will never know exists, let alone experience. Every detail is meticulous and exudes luxury. The golden sconces give a decadent glow to the place as I flick the light switch on. The light barely reaches the high ceilings, by design, to add to the feel of a fantasy.
As I pass the dining room, I take a moment to ensure the tables were set last night. In only a handful of hours, this room will be filled with rich men, easily poured alcohol, and the finest dining served by white-gloved waiters.
Beyond the velvet-covered booths, the thick red curtains that guard the stage in the back will remain closed today.
The next auction hasn’t been announced, but they all know it’s coming.
Wealth and anonymity are required for members who bid at the auction.
Curiosity and willingness are a must from the women who are curated and invited to partake in these exclusive events. It’s a lust-filled fever dream for many, an irresistible temptation for others, and a potentially life-altering opportunity for all involved.
It’s an honor and a privilege and yet . . . a constant reminder for me. Taking the iron spiral staircase up to the second floor to my office, I remember a time when all of this was only a dream to me. Something I thought would lessen the pain of my wounds, in a way. Stopping short of my office door, I lean my back against the wall and take in a deep, steadying breath.
Today will always be a heavy date, but reminders of him are everywhere in this place, and recently, more often than not, I’ve felt as if maybe, after so many years, it’s time to let go. It’s been so long, and although I deal in the world of fantasy, I don’t want to live in one myself.
Shaking off the nerves, I open up the door and go about my tasks as if it’s any other day. My purse and tweed coat are hung on the metal hooks in the closet, and my golden heels click on the white-washed wooden floors of the office. Apart from the blush wingback chair, the blood-red velvet curtains that line the back wall, and a pale pink damask wallpaper on the right side, everything in my office is a bright white. Even the roses are white in their crystal vase. They’re delivered weekly, and the soft scent carries through the long days.
My carved wooden desk is new. It’s curved, with two clear, yet comfortable chairs that cost a fortune. They’re modern and transparent. Every inch of this place looks and feels expensive. And that’s because it is.
My typical deep red attire, in the form of cashmere dresses and silk blouses tailored just for me, fits right at home with the image of femininity yet confidence and power. Today, though, my black V-neck dress stands apart from the softness of my office.
I take a sip of the barely still hot coffee before setting it down on the coaster and bringing my computer to life. Just as I think to myself that the cheap cardboard cup should be replaced with a porcelain cup before anyone arrives, the screen flicks on and there’s a knock at the office door.
Curse my desperate heart. For a moment, a fraction of a moment, I think it’s him. The treacherous thought lingers a second too long before I swallow down the foolishness. Hating my lovesick thoughts, I clear my throat and call out, “Come in,” knowing all too well that it’s only my security team.
I half expect it to be Joshua, a good friend and partner and the only other person who knows almost everything. He knows enough . . . more than enough. It’s a foolish thought, though. There isn’t a reason that he’d be in this early.
“Madam Lynn,” he greets me with a tilt of his head, both hands shoved into his hoodie jacket. Dressed all in black, he appears somewhat intimidating at the moment. But under the hoodie is a collared shirt, and the moment he smirks, charm takes over all appearances. “It turned winter overnight, huh?” Holden is a twenty-two-year-old kid. With bright blue eyes and a handsome face, he’s as charismatic as he is brutal.
“Your knuckles have healed well,” I comment agreeably, making a note to lift a brow as I spot the bruised skin. When I met Holden, he was broken down and seemingly damaged beyond repair. He needed a distraction and a second chance.
A client once told me I’m a collector of broken birds. My gaze slips to a small wooden bird painted white that sits next to my computer. That client, a beautiful young woman needing only a chance to escape, gifted me the bird the week she got engaged. With love, we will all fly again is engraved on the bottom.