Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Hopefully, my white blouse and black pencil skirt—courtesy of the precinct’s Amex card shopping spree—projects something close to a sex-club vibe. I leave the bathroom and wobble on the tallest heels I’ve ever worn in search of my keys.
It’s seven in the evening when I lock up my townhouse and leave for the club. One new thing about working at an establishment like Club Greed is the late hours. The place doesn’t even open until eight p.m. so I will no longer be a morning bird with a nine-to-five schedule. Well, if they hire me.
They have to hire me.
As I take the left onto Hallow Drive, my nerves ratchet up with each mile that passes.
The winding road takes me up the coast, and I glance at the ocean. It’s a dark storm of waves at this time of night. Even the moon hides behind a cloud for fear of witnessing something it doesn’t like.
Before long, I see the club’s spotlights shooting up into the heavens above to tease God about all the lewd acts happening inside its walls. I white-knuckle the steering wheel as I make a right and drive down the tree-lined road leading to Club Greed.
The club is nestled in an immense hollow to hide all the dark secrets of the people paying big money to remain anonymous. Signs to visitor parking direct me around the grounds, and I find a well-lit space in the front row. A cobblestone path leads me from the parking area to the imposing two-story brick building, sprawled out on acres of land. The bubbling fountain in front changes from yellow to red as I approach, like liquid flames taunting me.
I can do this.
I can play with fire and not get burned.
Up close, Club Greed’s exterior reminds me of a posh hotel, surrounded by elegant greenery. Because of their strict privacy policy, no pictures are circulating of the interior, so I have no idea what to expect when I step inside the building. My feet want to head back to my car, but Captain Adler, those dead girls, and the town of Saint Pierce are counting on me to catch a killer.
At the entrance, a bald man in a suit guards the oversized wooden doors. He checks a list that has my fake name on it for an interview and allows me entrance into the lion’s den. Chilly air cools my hot face as I move toward the marble desk situated at the back of what looks like a ritzy hotel lobby. Completely professional, as if there isn’t a lewd party taking place somewhere within these walls.
“Hi, I’m here to interview for the open position.”
The petite brunette behind the desk tips her lips up at me, but there’s sadness in her dark eyes. I’m sure the murders have hit her hard. They must have hit everyone here hard.
“I’ll let Adele know you’ve arrived.” She picks up the phone and pushes a button. “There’s a girl here for an interview.” As she hangs up the phone, her eyes sweep over my attire. “Adele will be right down.”
“Thank you.”
The club’s music booms behind a door to my right, and while I wait, I take in the surrounding red walls adorned with framed pictures of painted statues, all in black and white. An enormous rose, also in black and white, hangs over a white leather couch accented with black throw pillows. Maybe it’s a good omen that my outfit matches the décor?
The steel door to the right of the brunette bursts open, and a tall woman with sleek red hair bustles through as if she’s on an important mission. She’s like a supermodel walking toward me, and her fitted navy suit makes her appear even more intimidating.
“Are you here for the interview?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m Chl—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her elegant hand. “No names. You’re blonde, that’s good. We don’t have any blondes.” Her eyes scan my body from head to toe as if I’m another piece of art she’s considering adding to her collection. “Beautiful face, nice breasts. Are they real?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are your breasts real?” she asks, like it’s the same as asking for my five-year goals.
“Uh, yes.” Based on her quick appraisal of me and the meticulous, tightly wound bun atop her head, I peg Adele for someone who appreciates anyone who can make her life easier. So, I try to win some hiring points. “And the carpet matches the drapes. No piercings or tattoos. Just lots of pale skin.”
It works.
“Excellent. Follow me,” she says, snapping her fingers. “There’s a no-name policy. I’ll be the only one with access to your file and your real name.”
“Oh, the owner doesn’t know?”
She studies me. “No, he’s got more important things to do.”
I nod as she leads me down a lengthy hallway with marble floors and walls painted a darker shade of red than the area we just vacated. When we emerge, we’re in a vast space with a high-end nightclub feel to it. A golden chandelier sparkles in the center of the room, and to my right is a long bar, with fluorescent red bulbs running its length. On the left-hand side, a grand staircase with white limestone banisters leads up to another floor.