Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
So I stay seated. I’m impatient and annoyed, but I don’t move. Claudia is probably just going for a break and I’m reading into this too much.
Except a few minutes after she disappeared, Rodrigo follows after her.
And a nasty feeling fills my guts.
I get up and walk after him. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I can’t help myself. I move down the hall and spot Rodrigo punching in the code at Tommy’s office door. He grabs the handle and is about to push it open when I call his name.
He pauses and looks over with a frown.
“Mr. Bianco,” he says, hand still on the knob. “What can I do for you?”
I rack my brain. This is fucked. This is beyond fucked. I don’t even know that she’s in there. But if she is—
“I need you to set up a private room for me on the third floor.” The words spill out before I have time to consider them.
Lucky for me, Rodrigo’s a pro. He doesn’t show any surprise. “Of course, sir. I’d be happy to. If you like, you can go directly to any of the employees—”
“I have specific needs and I need someone discreet. I’d prefer it if you would do this for me.”
He nods once. Still keeps his hand on the knob. “What can I do for you?”
“I need a bed.” His face doesn’t react. His hand doesn’t move. “And flowers. Roses and tulips. I need champagne—”
“Really, Mr. Bianco, these are standard requests. If you head upstairs, there’s no judgment.”
“I need a sex machine.” I draw in a slow breath and blow it out. “You know the ones. They do the fucking for you.”
Rodrigo’s lip twitches. “Yes, sir, we have several different models available.”
“Bring me three. I need a saddle, velvet blindfolds, silk ropes, handcuffs, lubricant, condoms, and a grilled cheese sandwich.”
Finally, Rodrigo’s hand moves away from the handle. “I can take care of this, Mr. Bianco.”
“I appreciate your discretion. Which room should I head to?”
“I’ll put you in 33. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Very good.” He turns to leave and I raise my voice. “Fifteen minutes, room 33 on the third floor. I’ll be there.”
Rodrigo nods once and hurries off.
I glance toward the door. I have no fucking idea if Claudia’s in there, but if she is, I hope to fuck she heard me.
I turn around and spot movement at the end of the hall. A man in a dark suit lingers against the wall, nonchalantly looking at his phone, pretending like he’s not tailing me.
Tommy’s not even trying to hide it.
But that’s why I can’t go into the office myself—the second I do, my little guardian angels will know.
If I’m lucky, Claudia might’ve already come through.
Chapter 10
Claudia
“Fifteen minutes, room 33 on the third floor. I’ll be there.”
The voice is muffled, but distinct. It’s Angelo out there talking to someone. I think it’s Rodrigo. I can’t move a muscle, stuck in my panic-trance, until the lock automatically clicks shut again after three minutes of inaction.
Silence outside. Nobody comes in. I keep hearing Angelo calling out. Fifteen minutes, room 33 on the third floor. Like he knew that I was in here and what I was doing.
But how? I didn’t even realize he was in the club tonight. Although I guess it doesn’t matter, because whatever happened out there kept someone from coming inside. Probably Rodrigo, if I had to guess.
I grab the folder and keep it hidden under the drink tray. Then I unlock the door and slip out, glancing around to make sure there’s nobody nearby. My mouth is so freaking dry it tastes like sandpaper, and I hurry away from Tommy’s office over to the bar. I put the tray down, the file still under it, and start loading drinks on top. A glass of whiskey, some water for myself, a gin and tonic, two glasses of champagne. Once it’s covered, I heft it up, keeping it low so the folder stays hidden, then take my time going up to the third floor.
My head’s spinning. I am so freaking stupid. I was inches away from getting caught, and I didn’t have a single excuse ready. If Rodrigo had walked in on me, he would’ve instantly known I was up to something. Maybe I could’ve bluffed him, but I was freaking out too much, and any moron would’ve realized I was acting suspicious.
Rodrigo isn’t a moron.
I’m kicking myself mentally the whole walk back toward room 33. Nobody stops me—mostly everyone knows who I am, thanks to Tommy’s very much unwanted attentions—and it helps that I have a tray with drinks. I hear muffled moans, some shouts of pain, some murmurs, but mostly this section of the building is quiet. The clients here are interested in much more interesting pastimes, and everyone on the third floor knows that discretion is paramount. I keep my head down, trying to steady my heart, but it’s almost impossible.