by Zara Cox
SPIRAL
The Indigo Lounge Series, Volume 3
Zara Cox
Published by Zara Cox, 2014.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SPIRAL
First edition. June 24, 2014.
Copyright © 2014 Zara Cox.
ISBN: 978-1498990943
Written by Zara Cox.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Also By Zara Cox
About the Author
Chapter One
Noah King stared back at the grave faces across from his desk with a growing sense of disbelief. For several seconds he was sure they were joking. But then nobody, least of all he, was laughing.
“Let me get this straight. You three are here to stage some sort of fucking intervention?”
Gabriel shrugged. Mike folded his arms in a defensive gesture that hadn’t changed since the fourth grade. Damon, his oldest friend, rubbed the side of his nose before staring him square in the face. Noah knew he wouldn’t like what came next. Not that he liked what they’d just announced.
“Take it easy, man, we’re just watching out for you,” Damon said.
“By ambushing me in my office? What’re you, The Real Housewives of Corporate America?”
Mike laughed, then sobered quickly when Noah turned his steely gaze on him. He turned out his palms in a 'chill, man' manner. “Damon’s right. We’re worried. You haven’t been yourself for a long time now—”
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Noah cut across him, his insides clenching with the effort it took just to breathe through the vice that tightened around his heart and the anger boiling in his gut.
The three guys – his best friends until exactly three minutes ago – exchanged wary looks.
Gabriel stood and paced a few steps to the window before turning to face him. “Noah, buddy, it’s been two years,” he said quietly.
“Dammit, I know exactly how long it’s been.” His tight smile held no mirth. “What I didn’t realize was that I was on a goddamn clock.”
“I told you he wouldn’t make it easy,” Mike muttered.
“Yeah, you two should’ve listened to Mike and killed whatever it is you’re cooking up,” Noah growled. After two years the anger and bitterness still burned like acid and he would’ve given his right arm not to be having this conversation.
“Hey, that wasn’t what I said,” Mike protested.
“I don’t give a fuck what you ladies decided on your way over here. This...whatever this is, is over. I have a meeting in ten minutes, so...” He gestured toward the door. None of them moved. Noah’s sense of disbelief grew. “Are you kidding me with this bullshit?”
Damon grimaced. “Yeah, we’re not leaving, pal. We kinda made a pact.”
The back of Noah’s neck tightened. “A pact? Do you have any idea how very 80s high school sitcom you sound like right now?”
“Listen, it’s like this. We’re not leaving here until you agree to hear us out.”
“Then get to the point,” he said through teeth clenched hard enough to hurt his jaw. "So I can kick your asses out the door and carry on with my day."
“You need to get out from behind that desk, and we don’t mean just to go home and crash out and return here at six am. We mean, have some sort of life beyond making your next million.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I get out plenty. I’ve never missed our monthly poker matches.”
“You arrive late and are the first to leave,” Angelo said.
Noah’s jaw tightened. “Again, I didn’t realize I was on a timer.”
Mike shook his head. “You can be defensive all you want. Bottom line is you’ve given up on living. You play poker with us because you feel obligated. Aside from riding your desk everything you do these days is an obligation.”
His gut clenched harder. “Seriously, watch it, Mike.”
Mike glared back. “Fuck man, you're throwing your life away because of her. You know that by shutting yourself down she's winning, right?”
Noah's breath caught on the jagged anger ripping through him.
"That reverse psychology bullshit hasn't worked on me since we were kids, Mike, and even then it worked like what, once? Frankly, I'm disappointed you think I'd fall for it."
"Well, we have to try something before you turn into a goddamn zombie."
He collapsed back into his seat and clenched his fists tight to stop him from going for Mike’s throat. Of course, not so deep down he knew the anger that rode him was more directed at himself than anyone else. So was the unrelenting tide of guilt and confusion that washed over him every time he thought of his ex-fiancé.
Had he pushed her too far with in those final months before his life had descended into hell? He’d thought he’d made his feelings and expectations clear enough. Hell, he’d even come straight out and told her what he wanted from her. What he wanted for both of them.
Only he’d gotten it hugely...spectacularly wrong.
He inhaled slowly and looked at the narrow-eyed, concerned faces staring back at him.
Jesus. He didn’t want to do this now. Or ever. Ashley had been gone a long time. So what if he couldn’t let go of what had happened? That was his problem to deal with. His hell to inhabit for however long he chose.
Whatever his friends were up to didn’t matter.
His intercom buzzed. He leapt on it with relief.
“Yes, Maddie?” he answered his PA.
“The clients are here. They’re on their way to the conference room.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
He scrapped his chair back loudly. They made no move to budge. He sighed and speared his fingers through his hair.
“Seriously guys, I'm not doing this right now—”
He paused as Gabriel reached into his suit pocket, extracted an envelope, and tossed it onto his desk.
Noah picked it up turned it over. The indigo-colored envelope looked expensive and normally he'd have used a little bit of care in opening it. Right now though he felt no compunction in ripping it open. The contents made him exhale in disbelief.
“No.” Hell, this was the last thing he needed. There was a reason he’d been so careful not to put himself in a situation like this...a reason he didn’t let the hunger within take over...
“Show some appreciation, man. We shelled out a quarter mil each to get you that ticket—”
“Then get a refund,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it. He didn’t want to be drawn into a lengthy argument but the last thing he wanted was to cause offence. The three guys staring at him with varying degrees of concern were the same who’d stuck by him two years ago. They had his back, whether he liked it or not. And they were stubborn enough to remain put when he wanted them gone. “Shit, I can’t do this guys. I’m keeping seven Japanese businessmen waiting who will consider it an insult if I’m any later than I already am. I’ll give you my answer on the next poker night. Does that work for you?” It’ll still be a no but by then he’d have found a way to refuse without pissing his friends off.
Mike shook his head, his stubborn streak that
had seen him battle through a shattered ACL and shattered dreams to head one of the most successful baseball teams around, clearly evident. “No can do. Like I said, we made a fucking pact.”
Noah sucked in another breath, hanging onto his patience by a very thin threat. “Did you pinky swear too?”
Mike shrugged. “You can snark all you want, as long as you say yes.”
He looked down at the invitation. He knew all about the Indigo Lounge – the A-class adults-only clubs operated from luxury super jumbo jets. There was no way he’d let himself be talked into taking the trip. For two years he’d managed to stay away from temptation, to avoid the urge to lose himself...to indulge.
No way.
He curled his hand over the thick envelope. “Okay. You win. I’ll go.”
Shocked faces stared back at him, then Damon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not jerking our chain? Because if you’re humoring us so we leave—”
He maintained the poker face that had won him more games than he cared to count. “I said I’d do it. Now can I get on with the rest of my day or are you going to break out the tutus and perform the Nutcracker for my enjoyment?”
“Fuck,” Gabriel huffed. “You’ve just proven that we were right to worry about you. Your imagination has strayed very deep into Tim Burton territory.” He tugged on his custom-made Armani jacket before turning for the door. “See you at poker next Thursday. And don’t even think about coming up with some lame excuse to cancel the Indigo trip. We may be buddies but don’t think I won’t sue your ass if you let my money go to waste.”
The other two delivered equally pithy warnings before they exited.
Even before he strode down the hall towards his conference room, Noah had come up with several plausible reasons to turn down the invitation. If worse came to worst, he’d refund them the cost of the ticket with a firm no thanks.
Their friendship worked because they each knew when to push hard and when to back off. They’d come close to overstepping today. He’d seen it in their eyes along with the concern that drove them.
It was nothing he wasn’t willing to forgive but by accepting the invitation to the Indigo Lounge, he would be placing himself in a position where his control could be tested. Only Gabriel knew the true extent of what had happened two years ago but Damon and Mike knew enough to worry about him, too.
So far he’d resisted the temptation of the Indigo Lounge, had listened, unaffected, as Mike, Gabriel and Damon rhapsodized about the sheer hedonistic pleasures of the luxury outfit.
He’d told himself he was okay with it, that the CFR - catch-fuck-release - mantra he’d adopted with regard to his sex life served him well.
So what the fuck if sometimes the mantra rang hollow? Or that the sex barely scratched the deep, clawing hunger he’d locked away under concrete and titanium?
It was the way it needed to be. The only way it could be.
Except when midnight rolled around, he was still in his office, staring at the indigo-colored invitation.
Rising from his desk, he strolled to the window, envelope in hand, and gazed out of the window at the blazing nightlife that pulsed through Miami, the place he’d made his home for the last eighteen months once he decided New York wasn’t big enough to contain both him and Ashley.
He’d ignored his phone’s incessant reminders to confirm his next CFR, this one with an accomplished pianist he’d met at a client luncheon on Monday. Her curvy petite frame and large blue eyes had tweaked his interest, even as his mind had clocked her generous attributes and then immediately drifted along to who would replace her come next week.
The hollow feeling in his gut expanded. It grated to admit his friends were right. Finding risky and cutting edge ventures to invest in had become ninety-nine percent of life, with marathon sex session with a decent lay who knew the score thrown in once a week.
It didn’t even satisfy him anymore that King’s Ransom, his venture capitalist business was making him more money than he would be able to spend in one lifetime. He could make money in his sleep.
The rest, the one percent was what kept him awake.
He glanced at the envelope and drew out the invitation.
Seven Nights. Seven Highs. An Experience Not For The Faint Hearted.
He read through the brief description and his pulse began to throb. A heady combination of extreme sports, unique cultural experiences and uninhibited sex.
He allowed the forbidden door to crack open a cautious inch, granted himself a tiny glimpse into the vault he usually kept slammed shut.
Sucking in a breath, he clawed a hand through his hair and realized his fingers were trembling.
His ex-therapist would no doubt have informed him that he was at breaking point, that denying his needs was taking a physical toll on him, if he’d still been seeing her. She’d been right about more than a few things. Certainly she’d been right that the weekly sexual marathons with faceless women would eventually cease to satisfy him. Just as he’d been right to warn her he’d never see her again if she kept up the sexy come-ons and he gave in and he fucked her. She’d kept them up. He’d fucked her on every surface in her office. And then walked away.
Which was a shame because she’d been useful on the rare occasions when he’d needed to unburden. She would’ve been useful now. Because he was stroking the edge of his endurance. Because something had to fucking give.
But so far he’d made no exception to his CFR rules.
The inner door creaked wider and he tensed. But the words hammered relentlessly through his brain.
Seven Nights.
Seven Highs.
Could he do it? Take what he needed and walk away after? If the crack were showing enough for his friends to be worried, he was in trouble.
Seven Nights.
Seven Highs.
He could carry on as he was, ignoring the ache shredding his gut and the need fucking with his brain. Or he could grow some balls and do something about it.
Chapter Two
Leia Michaels zipped the empty suitcase, put it away and looked around the large luxury cabin on the jumbo A380 she’d boarded half an hour ago. The control freak in her had declined the services of her personal valet and unpacked her own clothes.
She was well aware that at some point she would have to let others serve her. The experience wouldn’t be the same if she insisted on doing everything for herself, as Warren had warned her.
And considering he’d curbed his objection when she splashed out on this insanely extravagant trip, the least she could do was make sure she got her money’s worth.
She steeled her spine against the gut-clenching knots she’d come to associate with separation anxiety.
In one month she would turn twenty-three.
Things were about to change, were already changing. Leia had been surprised when Warren had let her choose how she spent her birthday instead of making the choice for as he’d done since she was seventeen. And although she’d sensed his disappointment when she went ahead and bought herself a ticket on the highly exclusive Indigo Lounge, she sensed that it was some sort of test he’d set that she’d passed.
It was one of many tests he’d set her over the last five years.
In the beginning, she’d failed many of them. But he’d been patient. Gentle, even sometimes. Nurturing.
Leia exhaled and smoothed a trembling hand over the side of her hair. The six-inch swathe she’d shaved off above her right ear had grown almost a millimeter. She was undecided whether to let it grow back completely or keep it shaved. But that was a decision for another day.
Right now the only thing she needed to think about was whether to join the champagne reception once they reached cruising altitude or stay in her suite and decide on which Seven High to indulge in first. Every self-preserving nerve screeched at her to stay put in her suite. To stay safe.
She started as her cell rang. Only one person knew her whereabouts. Only one person would call to check up on her so s
oon.
As usual mixed feelings of trepidation and elation wrestled within her. She picked up the phone.
“Warren.”
“Are you well, my dear?” His voice, always soft, always modulated, drifted over her senses. A sense of calm stole over her, like a soothing pat on the back after a long cry.
“Yes, fine thanks.”
“Is your adventure everything you dreamed it would be?”
She laughed. “It’s barely started.”
He paused a beat. “You will be careful, won’t you, my dear? You won’t forget everything I’ve taught you?” Although his voice remained soft, she sensed a tiny threat of censure, the same tone she’d heard in his voice when she told him her plan to join the IL trip.
Her hand tightened over the phone as her trepidation escalated. “No, of course not. I haven’t forgotten.” Not that she needed the reminder.
Leia’s instincts had been on red-hot alert since she left the safety of home. And she planned to keep it that way.
The intercom next to the door buzzed. “I have to go, Warren.”
“Of course. We will speak tomorrow. The board meeting has been rearranged for the day after you return as we agreed.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“I hope you’re prepared, Leia. It will be a big change for you.”
“I know. But I...I’ll handle it.” Stepping into shoes that had been so violently vacated she was sure there was residual blood and gore was one thing she wouldn’t be thinking about during this trip.
“But also don’t forget you have options. I can make a few suggestions—”
“Do you mind, Warren? I really don’t want to talk about that now. And no, I’m not burying my head in the sand. I just don’t want to deal with it until I get back.”
She bit her lip at the silence that greeted her response. Warren disliked being interrupted. How could she have forgotten that? Her apprehension grew with the silence.
“Very well. As you wish.”
“I...thank you for calling.”
“You are precious to me, my dear,” he said simply, his voice once again smooth. Her heart stuttered at the wealth of meaning behind the simple words. At the subtle changes she’d begun to notice.
