by Linnea May
“An opportunity to enhance both your pleasure and business portfolio.”
The taste of scotch heats my tongue as I wait impatiently for her to expand. Her vague tone agitates me, to say the least.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Of course,” she enthuses. “But if you don’t mind, I think it’s best to discuss this in private. Here.”
“You want me to come to the agency for this?”
“You won’t regret it.”
“If this is just about introducing me to a new girl, you could just—”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she interrupts. “Mr. Graves, I would never consider inconveniencing you if I didn’t believe you’d benefit from it.”
I suppress a tired sigh, turning my back to the window. Heading in the direction of the seating area in my living room, I pass by the upholstered furniture and aim directly for the bar. One more drink tonight should be fine.
“Can you come by tomorrow? Around noon?” Miss Barry asks. “I won’t take up much of your time, and I promise—”
“Noon, sharp.” It’s my turn to cut her off. “I’ll be there.”
3
Elene
She doesn’t look happy to see me. Miss Barry gestures toward the chair with a dismissive wave, her every motion emitting her obvious impatience.
She looks immaculate as always. The black pantsuit hugs her figure tightly, emphasizing her feminine curves, and her hair is styled in a tight bun, leaving not a single strand out of place. I admire her chic, professional look every time I see her. Everything is so perfect, so pristine and flawless. Even her makeup looks as if it were freshly applied, even though it’s almost noon and I know she had an early start to her day today. She told me when I called that she’d be at the agency all day starting at nine o’clock, which seemed unusually early. The majority of this business is conducted in the evening, after all; no one, not even the madam, has a reason to be at work this early in the morning. I’m curious what—or who—is responsible for today’s early start.
Regardless of how much effort I put into my appearance, I always feel inferior next to Miss Barry. I’m wearing one of my Valentino ensembles, a navy skirt with a matching blazer that features a playful ribbon at the waist. The dark color stands in stark contrast to my long pastel-colored hair that I’ve swept up in a loose bun, sitting low on my neck. The basic white blouse under the blazer is far less upscale, because unlike the skirt and blazer, it was not a present from one of my clients.
“I don’t have much time,” she informs me as I sit down opposite her, her massive office desk separating us.
I cross my legs at the ankles in an attempt to curb my fidgeting. I pay special attention to my posture, sitting unnaturally straight to convey a confidence that typically escapes me when I’m in Miss Barry’s presence. My confidence is especially taking a beating today because I come with bad news, and she looks stressed out already.
I shouldn’t have pushed for an as-soon-as-possible appointment. It’s never a good idea to push the madam. I should know that.
But now that I’m here, sitting across from her with nowhere to go, I need to go through with it.
“I’ll get straight to the point then,” I begin, taking a deep breath to prepare myself. Short and fast, like ripping off a bandage. “I’m handing in my resignation.”
I didn’t even notice that I had closed my eyes until I hear her gasp. My eyelids open instinctually, and my stomach turns when I see her shocked expression. Miss Barry has never looked at me like this, a combination of perplexed and outraged at the same time, as if I’ve just done a very, very bad thing.
“You want to quit?” she exclaims. “But, Elene, honey, what could possibly make you want to do that?”
I swallow hard, unable to come up with an explanation fast enough.
“Does it have to do with one of our clients?” Miss Barry prods. “Did someone mistreat you? Did something happen? Because you know we can—”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” I hurry to assure her, raising my hands and opening my palms in an appeasing manner. “It’s just that... I feel I need to be doing something else,” I stutter.
Why did I come here without any preparation? I should have invented some kind of excuse, some well-spoken words that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot. “I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.”
Miss Barry looks at me, unable to hide the regret on her face.
“You have been with us for...”
“Four years,” I finish her sentence. “And I’m very grateful for the opportunity, Miss Barry. I really am. But I think it’s time for me to do something else.”
“Like what? You know, if you want to go to college or something, this would be the perfect job for funding that. You could cut down on the number of clients and still make enough to—”
“I know,” I say, biting my lip as I interrupt her again. She is right, and it’s not like I haven’t considered that option. I started this job when I was only eighteen years old, and when I first started, I thought it would be a great way to pay my way through college. That and nothing else. I even took a few classes, but soon realized that none of them held my interest for longer than a few weeks. I’ve never been the scholarly type, never did well in school, and my options for college were limited. It didn’t come as a surprise that it didn’t come as easy to me as it did for others. It felt more like something I should do, not something I wanted to do.
“I don’t think college is the right direction for me,” I say, nervously fiddling with my fingers. “I just... I don’t know. But I think I need to try something else.”
I lower my gaze, but I can feel Miss Barry’s eyes on me, holding me down, paralyzing me, while painful silence builds between us. Is she waiting for me to speak? What could I possibly tell her if I don’t even know myself? All I know is that this job was okay for a while, but it no longer is. I need something else, another job. That’s all I know, all I want.
Miss Barry lets out an exasperated sigh.
“I’ll be frank with you, Elene,” she says. “I’m not happy about this. You’re one of our most popular girls, and we love having you here. I don’t like the idea of losing you. And you know it’s not only your looks that make you an asset to this agency. You’re smart, and a great conversationalist—your clients often mention on their evaluations that they genuinely enjoy spending time with you, above and beyond the play part.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Is she trying to lure me back with this praise?
Miss Barry leans forward, placing her elbows on the desk while fixing her eyes on me. Her gaze is intense and piercing. It’s making me feel uncomfortable, but I manage not to blink or look away.
“Be honest with me, honey,” she says in a low voice. “What is it that suddenly bothers you about this job? Is it the sex part?”
I bite my lower lip.
“You can tell me,” she encourages. “There’s no room for secrets here.”
I take another deep breath. “Quite frankly, yes, it is. It didn’t... bother me, at first, but I no longer feel comfortable doing this.”
She nods. “So, it didn’t bother you? Before? What changed?”
Our eyes meet, and she tilts her head to the side in a questioning manner. I just respond with a puzzled expression.
“Well, maybe I’m being naive, but I like to think that our girls actually enjoy their jobs,” Miss Barry says. “And that they aren’t just ‘not bothered’ by it.”
“Oh, I...”
Damn it. How do I get out of this one?
A smile curves up at the corner of Miss Barry’s lips. “It’s all right, honey, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to tell me what I want to hear. I value your honesty. Besides, you always did a very good job. I’ve heard nothing but the utmost praise for you, which is why I’m so surprised to hear that you didn’t actually enjoy it. People usually don’t become this good at something they don’t enjoy.”
I feel myself blushing. It’s not the first time that I’ve heard this. Most of my clients have been more than charming, showering me with compliments and gifts, and almost all of them wanted to see me again after the first time.
It always surprised me. How could they feel something I didn’t feel? Why was this so much more to them than it was to me? Maybe it was just in the nature of things. After all, they were the ones paying for me, and not the other way around. But what if there is more to it than that?
“So, if I understand correctly, you are resigning, yet you haven’t come up with a plan as to what you’re going to do next. Is that correct?” Miss Barry states, interrupting my quiet musings.
I nod reluctantly. “Yes… you could say that.”
Her eyes rest on me for a few moments, her deep red lips twitching as she ponders her next words. I feel terribly uncomfortable and wish for nothing more than for this conversation to be over. I expected it to be unpleasant, but I also hoped it would be quick and over with by now. Miss Barry must have girls quit all the time; I don’t understand why she seems so upset about me leaving.
“I may have a proposition for you,” she says, watching my reaction.
“A proposition?”
“A way for you to continue working for me without having to do anything that you no longer feel comfortable with,” she elaborates.
“Do you mean an office job? Here? Like in accounting or something?”
She smiles, shaking her head. “No, we’re all set on that front,” she says. “But we’re looking to expand our business and create something new, something very special and unique.”
She pauses, further observing my reaction as I await what she’ll say next, my eyes wide with curiosity.
“I haven’t told any of the girls about it so far, because it’s not official yet,” she continues, casting me a conspiratorial look. “Would you like to hear more about it?”
Our eyes meet in a silent stare-off for a few moments, before I respond with a voiceless nod.
4
Damon
She is making me wait. It is almost six minutes past noon, and Miss Barry has not called me into her office yet. I’m sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the waiting area right next to her door, checking and rechecking the time like an idiot. It’s not like I have to be anywhere, but I despise tardiness. This is a matter of principle.
There’s not a single soul around. The dark and somewhat gloomy halls of Violent Delights are dead silent. The walls are painted dark red, adorned with black and white photographs set in black frames. They are pictures of some of the girls who work here, or used to work here. I recognize quite a few of them.
I get up from my seat, driven by the same unrest that has tormented me all my life. Sitting still, waiting—I hate it. I roam the hall, slowly walking past the photographs lined up on the wall, inspecting every single one of them as if I’m seeing them for the first time. For some of them, it’s true. It’s been a while since I last stepped foot inside the agency. The last time I was here must have been the day I introduced myself to the madam as a potential client. Miss Barry prides herself and this agency in exclusivity, and it’s not just the girls who are vetted through a thorough application process, but the clients as well. Only the best can work for Violent Delights, and only the best—and wealthiest—can enjoy the services they offer.
All of which makes this fucking waiting game even worse. I check the time again, realizing that less than five minutes have passed since I last checked. This is going too far.
I turn then on my heel, facing the door to Miss Barry’s office to my left. I can no longer tolerate this waiting game. Whatever, or whoever, is keeping her busy enough to forget about her appointment with me will just have to leave her the fuck alone right this second. I don’t have time for this.
The angry thudding heels of my heavy shoes echo against the dark walls of the hall when I approach the door to her office. Just as I’m about to impatiently hammer my knuckles against the door, it swings open right in front of me. I freeze mid-motion, my hand still lifted in preparation to knock. My eyes are mesmerized by the vision standing in front of me.
Piercing blue eyes lock onto mine. Framed by fake, deep black lashes, they contrast the platinum-blonde hair and porcelain skin of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s tall, very tall for a woman, and towers over the madam, who is standing right next to her, by almost four inches. Both of them are wearing high heels, but I can tell that this knockout beauty would be tall even without the added inches. Still, she needs to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
The navy suit that hugs her slim frame emphasizes her fair skin and artificial blonde waves. Her pouty lips are painted light pink, matching the overall ensemble perfectly.
“Mr. Graves,” I hear Miss Barry saying. “I’m sorry for making you wait!”
I acknowledge her with a quick nod, unable to tear my eyes away from the girl standing next to her. How have I never seen her before? Is she new? Did she just have her introductory meeting with Miss Barry?
I will have to inquire about her after we’re done with whatever business Miss Barry wants to discuss with me today.
The ethereal beauty casts me a quick look. There is no smile, just an unreadable and somewhat apathetic expression on her gorgeous face as she slips past me out the door and into the waiting area.
I can’t help but move with her, turning around and pinning my gaze on her backside as she hurries off.
“Please, come in.”
Miss Barry’s voice is coming from behind me, drawing my attention back to reality.
I turn to her in an instant, a polite smile gracing my face as I follow her gesture to come in and take a seat.
“Again, I’m really sorry to make you wait, Mr. Graves,” she says after we’ve taken our seats. “You know this isn’t how we usually treat our clients.”
I nod quietly, crossing my legs as I lean back, casting her an expectant look. “You said there’s an opportunity you’d like to discuss with me?”
She smiles then and fixes her tight-fitting blazer, a sign of nervous tension that doesn’t escape me.
“Yes, I actually have quite exciting news,” she begins, her gaze locked onto mine. “As you may or may not know, our agency has done really well for itself the past few years. We’ve been growing every month, attracting more and more high-profile clients such as yourself, and employing extraordinary talents, only providing the best—”
“Let’s skip the marketing talk,” I say, twirling my hand in an impatient gesture. “Why don’t we get to the point, Miss Barry?”
She clears her throat, nodding in understanding, but arching her eyebrows for a split second, displaying just the slightest hint of annoyance.
“We want to expand,” she states simply. “So far, Violent Delights is nothing more than an exclusive—very exclusive—escort agency, providing companionship and pleasure, but there is no place to live out your fantasies in safe and suitable surroundings.”
She pauses, fixating me with her gaze to make sure I’m still listening. I urge her to continue with another twirl of my left hand.
“This is how we want to improve our service,” Miss Barry continues. “We want to expand our business by providing a space for our clients and girls to meet in a relaxed atmosphere, surrounded by lavish luxuries, exotic beauty, and unimaginable pleasure. There will be a bar, a lounge area, and well, of course, some rooms to retreat for private or semi-private adventures.”
She winks at me, trying to evoke a reaction.
“So, you want to open up a sex club?”
She scoffs and shakes her head.
“I prefer the term ‘kink’ club,” she says. “But no, it’s more than that. First of all, our premises will be very different from an ordinary club. Bigger, more beautiful, equipped with everything you could ever dream of—and more. There will be rooms specifically assigned for certain pleasures and fantasies, and they will not be accessible to e
verybody.”
She stops, flinching as if she just remembered something important.
“Speaking of accessibility,” she adds. “The club itself will have a new level of exclusivity. Not all of our clients will have access to it.”
“I thought the agency’s customer files were already selective and exclusive? Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
“Yes, they are,” she concurs, nodding. “And still, we’re not approaching all of our clients to become a part of this new endeavor. You see… the opportunity I was speaking of is more than just enjoying something new. It’s about becoming a part of it.”
Realization dawns when our eyes meet, and I see the request written on her face without her saying the words out loud.
“You want me to become a part of it, huh?” I repeat. “That means… you want me to invest in this? Help you make it a reality.”
She shrugs.
“To be quite frank, Mr. Graves, we can make this a reality without your financial assistance,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m merely presenting a business opportunity for you. I’m convinced that your investment in The Velvet Rooms would benefit not just us, but you as well. And it would come with early and exclusive access to something very, very special.”
“The Velvet Rooms?”
“Yes, that’s what we’re going to call it,” Miss Barry affirms, smiling proudly.
I sigh, shifting in my seat while I contemplate her offer. It’s hard to deny that it does sound intriguing. Of course it does. It’s new, it’s exotic, it’s exclusive. It speaks to me and my never-ending hunger for more.
But I’m not ready to say yes just yet. Every investment has to be considered thoroughly, especially when I just recently decided to put a lot of money into yet another opportunity that lured me in with its own promise of newness.
“I will need more information before I reach a decision,” I respond. “And I need to see your business plan.”
