Three Guilty Pleasures

by Nikki Sloane

  Shame was a terrible, heavy burden, and he put a hand on the doorframe to support himself. “Yes.”

  The bees in my stomach got angrier, threatening to come out. I swallowed a shallow breath. “All of it?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Which meant he knew all my sins. Every dark detail I’d put down on paper, which had only been meant for me. I wasn’t going to buy any excuse or explanation on how he’d “accidentally” read the entire thing. No one had forced him to, or to steal it in the first place. Those were choices he’d made, and now we were both going to have to live with them.

  “We have nothing to talk about.” My skin was cold and unfeeling. “Give me my journal and get the fuck out. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  -32-

  Grant

  As soon as I handed over Tara’s journal, the guy slammed her door in my face.

  I stood in the hallway, shouting my apologies through the door, until he yelled back that if I didn’t leave, he’d call the police.

  My head was a jumble of terrible Afrikaans words, all ones I’d use to describe myself. I’d fucked this up on so many levels, I didn’t know how I was going to undo any of it. How I was going to make it right. Was that even possible?

  I texted Ruby from the steps outside Tara’s apartment building and told her I needed to see her immediately.

  Ruby: I’m at Kyle’s.

  Ruby: I mean my place. Come over, you can help us unpack boxes.

  My jaw set. I’d forgotten she moved in with him yesterday, and in my foul mood, I didn’t want to deal with McAsshole. But I didn’t have a choice. I was desperate for her advice, and they were a package deal now. Maybe he’d be able to help.

  I’d never been to his apartment before, and when I arrived, my irritation escalated. Not only was Ruby on the far side of town from me now, but she lived in a penthouse. The end unit was all windows and spectacular views of the Chicago River.

  “You look like shit,” she said. We stood in the kitchen area beside the marble-topped island. Kyle was nearby, pounding nails into the wall to hang her series of pictures. He looked weird being handy. He was one of those guys who was always put together and polished. Like he’d just finished doing an Instagram photoshoot. He seemed more likely to know how to use a hair dryer than a hammer.

  I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Rube, I fucked up.”

  She looked alarmed. “What’d you do?”

  I set my hands on the countertop and hung my head. It was embarrassing to admit it, especially with him hanging around, but at the same time, I deserved it. I was a glutton for punishment right now.

  “Tara keeps a journal. It’s a long story, and I can’t really get into the ‘why,’ other than I’m a curious motherfucker and a bloody idiot, but . . . I took it.” I sighed. “And I read it.”

  Kyle’s hammer stopped mid-swing so he could raise an eyebrow. “You read her diary?”

  “Are you insane? What’s wrong with you?” Ruby demanded.

  “I just told you, I’m a fucking idiot.”

  She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Does she know?”

  “Oh, she’s quite aware.”

  Ruby rounded the island and put her hands on my arm, shoving me toward the door. “What the fuck are you doing here? Go apologize.”

  I was nearly twice the size of her and locked my knees, which made me immovable. “You don’t think I’ve done that? I just came from her place. She won’t talk to me.” I stared at my best friend, hoping she’d have the answers. “What the fuck do I do?”

  Her eyes were compassionate and her voice gentle. “Do you love her?”

  I hadn’t said it out loud, but it was easy. It came without hesitation. “Yes.”

  “Then you don’t give up.” She exchanged a look with Kyle. “You keep trying until you find a way to get through to her.”

  All I wanted was to talk to her. Five minutes to tell her the truth about everything. But I wasn’t a fool. I’d hurt her, and she was smart. She wasn’t going to let her guard down or let me get near her.

  She can’t see you if she’s blindfolded, and can’t avoid you if she’s restrained to a table.

  Well, that wasn’t going to work either. Julius wouldn’t let me near her or his club.

  My gaze settled on Kyle.

  Last year, Ruby had slipped up and mentioned the blindfold club. It was the first I’d heard of it. She’d been the one to plant the seed in my head and set me in search of the place, even when she said she knew nothing about it and to leave it alone. It had only been a misunderstanding with Kyle, she claimed. So, I knew he was somehow involved, but she had locked up any discussion. It was all attorney-client privilege, according to her.

  He was an attorney as well. Would he be able to talk? It was worth a shot.

  “Rube,” I said, “do you mind giving Kyle and me a minute alone?”

  He went wooden. It might have been the first time I’d used his real name to address him. At least, that was the way they both were acting.

  She hesitated, unsure. “Uh, are you going to be nice?”

  I eked out half of a smile. “Yes.”

  She gave me the evil eye. “Okay . . . I guess.” She went to him. “What about you? Are you going to be good?”

  His tone was loaded with innuendo. “Me? I’m always good.”

  Her smile was coy as she went into the bedroom and shut the door.

  As soon as she was gone, his smile faded, and he looked at me, wary of whatever I was going to say.

  “There’s a club here in town,” I said. “A brothel where the girls are blindfolded.”

  Kyle’s posture went stiff again. “If you say so.”

  “I went there,” I announced. “I wanted to break the story on that place.”

  The hammer he was holding was thrown down on the counter with a loud clatter. He looked nervous, but also . . . adversarial? “Don’t say anything else.”

  “I lied to get in,” I continued, “and negotiated a deal.”

  He glared at me, his eyes full of fire. “Did you not hear what I just said? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you’re going to get me in there again.”

  His expression was pure surprise. “What? No. Why?”

  I wasn’t going to give away Tara’s secret any more than I already had. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “No,” Kyle snapped a second time. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to help you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to—which I don’t.”

  “Why? You have a client who works there?”

  His eyes were dark. “I have people in my life, who I care very much about, who are linked to that place.”

  If I wasn’t so desperate, my curious mind would have wanted me to investigate that statement. Instead, my words were weighted. “I do too.”

  He considered my admission, and a jolt of surprise went through him. His voice was low. “Fuck. Tara’s last name is Vannett, isn’t it?”

  My pulse leaped forward. “You know her?”

  “No.” He gave a hard, evaluating look. “But if I help you, you have to promise you drop the story.”

  “Easy. Already done.”

  He dug his phone out of his pocket and began typing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking with a friend,” he said. “He used to run the club, so he might have some advice.”

  Now my pulse kicked into overdrive. I’d read her journal, which meant I had a good idea who Kyle was texting. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a plan.

  “If that’s Joseph,” I said, “I need you to introduce us.”

  Joseph Monsato met me for dinner at one of the restaurants he owned.

  He was ten years older than I was, a precise man with dark hair and sharp eyes. As he stared at me, they cut deep and peeled back my layers. After introductions, it didn’t take me long to confe
ss everything. What parts I left out, the secrets that weren’t mine to tell, he filled in. He already knew Regan was FBI.

  I told the truth, no matter how terrible it made me look, and threw myself at his mercy.

  He’d started the blindfold club and been Tara’s first Dominant. He knew her better than most people and was the best judge on whether I had a chance at winning her back.

  “I need some time to think about this,” he said, “and what’s best for her.” He picked up his wine glass but paused before taking a sip. “What will you do if I say I don’t think she should trust you again, and it’s better if you walk away?”

  My heart was a heavy stone in my chest, leaving hardly any room for hope. “If you convince me that’s what she needs, I would do it.”

  He looked pleased. “That was the right answer. I may have an idea.”

  After dinner, I went home, and like any intelligent, high-functioning adult, I handled my situation irresponsibly.

  I got drunk.

  The first thing I did was draft a resignation letter. I hated my job, and life was too short to spend it doing something I despised. Morgan could become someone else’s problem. I had an education, experience, and a great work ethic. I’d saved enough money that I could survive for a while as I searched for new employment. When I sobered up in the morning, I’d see how I felt about it. If I still thought it was the right decision, I’d turn the letter in.

  And the second thing I did, since I was already sitting at my laptop and had my word processing program open, was start a new document and begin typing. It would be my journal, only my handwriting was shit. So, whatever I was feeling or thinking, I put it down on the page.

  It was supposed to be about me, but all I could think about was Tara. She lived how I wanted to live. She knew who she was and what she wanted, and fuck, it was inspiring. I typed, and typed, until my eyes were blurry, and the red squiggly mark underlined every third word. I closed the computer, crawled into my bed, and sent her a text message.

  Grant: I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back.

  Tara: Don’t text me again. I’m blocking this number.

  Joseph had told me to give her time, but I should have known better. When it came to her, I had no self-control.

  -33-

  Tara

  Monday morning, I had the worst hangover of my life. I’d committed the cardinal sin of “beer before liquor” and therefore, had never been sicker. I spent a good portion of the morning in bed, and the remainder of the day I continued to wallow.

  It was strange how fast Grant had become a fixture in my life, and then disappeared. I’d cut him off just as quickly as I’d let him in.

  On Tuesday, there was coupon in my mailbox for the pizza place he liked, and I went to hang it on my fridge, only to remember I didn’t like it enough to order a large pizza for myself.

  Wednesday, flowers arrived. Classic red roses with baby’s breath and greenery, in a tall square vase. The card simply said, I’m sorry. I was still angry enough with him that I considered tossing all of it in the garbage, but it had been forever since I’d had fresh flowers in my place, and the arrangement was gorgeous.

  I didn’t want to admit to myself the real reason I kept them. I was a sucker for a romantic gesture. Come on, Tara. Apology flowers from boys were cliché, and I was a twenty-eight-year-old woman. Hadn’t I outgrown that shit by now?

  I sipped my coffee as I stared at the velvety red roses. Apparently not.

  A package was delivered on Thursday from the Law Offices of Sterns and Clifford. More paperwork from Dance Dreams? I’d already signed my life away, what was left to do? It was odd, though, that the address was on Wacker Drive here in Chicago, and not from New York. I tore open the end of the thick mailer and dumped the contents on my coffee table.

  It was a cover sheet and a thin book, covered in black cardstock and bound with brass brads. There wasn’t a title on it. I picked up the sheet and read.

  I know you don’t want to hear from me. I will do my best to honor that after this letter.

  I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. On Sunday, I sat down at my computer to organize my thoughts and try to explain why I did it. I could give you an excuse how I’d only intended to read the entry about our night, but then I was too fucking curious to stop, and was riveted by your words from start to finish.

  But there’s no excuse. I did it because I wanted to know more about you, even the parts you chose not to share with me yet. I violated your trust and am ashamed I couldn’t be patient enough to let you make that decision.

  I sat down at my computer and intended to write this letter, but something else came out. I went to the club looking for a story, and on Sunday night, I found it. It just wasn’t the one I was expecting.

  Enclosed you will find the first three chapters.

  Shove it in a drawer. Set it on fire. Rewrite it. Or publish it. It’s yours to do whatever you’d like. I haven’t and won’t share it with anyone else. It’s not my story—it’s yours.

  If you’d like me to continue or have notes, I am here for whatever you need.

  -Grant

  P.S. I’m sorry for using one of Ruby’s envelopes, but I wanted to make sure you read this.

  I dropped the letter, letting it flutter to the table, and snatched up the book, flipping to the title page. It was written in simple, unassuming font.

  The Blindfold Club

  by Tara Vannett

  - based on a true story –

  Intrigued, I turned to the first page and began reading.

  Usually when I arrived at the club, I went to the lounge, changed into my robe, and chatted with the other girls about how their week had gone, but tonight I went into Julius’s office.

  He was sitting at his desk, and the wall of monitors behind him was dark since the club wasn’t open yet. When he saw me, he motioned for me to have a seat. “Shut the door.”

  Julius’s door was always open. Was he firing me?

  I pulled it closed but refused to sit. Just like everyone else, he’d been lying to me. I’d texted him a week ago from the back of my cab after leaving Regan’s apartment, tears stinging my eyes. I’d asked if he knew who she really worked for, and he’d answered by telling me it was complicated.

  Which meant yes.

  “How did you find out?” he asked softly.

  “Her boyfriend slipped.”

  He steepled his fingers together, his elbows on the desktop. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. Nobody knows, and I’m not supposed to talk about it.” His expression was reassuring. “You’re safe. They do their thing and we do ours, and everyone stays happy.” He eyed the black book I had clutched in my hands. “What’s that?”

  I dropped it on his desk with a thud. “The first three chapters of the book I’m thinking about publishing.”

  He leaned forward, picked it up, and opened to the first page, only to pull back like the book had burned his fingers. His stunned gaze snapped to meet mine.

  “Read it,” I said. “Change what you need to, so you’re covered.”

  “They won’t let you publish it.”

  An evil smile curled on my lips. “Unless you tell them, I don’t know how they can stop me.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I turned, tugged open his door, and walked across the hall to the lounge.

  A large part of me didn’t want to be working tonight. It felt wrong and weirdly disrespectful, but I didn’t know any other way to make my feelings go away. I just wanted one evening where my thoughts were quiet, my body numb. To escape thinking about the South African who’d broken my heart.

  I scanned the board to see my room number for the evening, then checked again to confirm Regan wasn’t working tonight. We hadn’t talked since I’d left her place. She’d texted and called, and I’d left them all unanswered. Eventually, I would deal with it, but she’d kept me in the dark. It’d do her some goo
d to see how it felt.

  “Hey,” Nina said in her husky voice. “I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”

  She hadn’t changed yet into her robe. She wore a black leather skirt that fit her so perfectly, it looked painted on, and a black tuxedo jacket. It was buttoned, but she wasn’t wearing a bra, and it was miles of skin and cleavage.

  “Nina,” I gasped, “you look fucking hot tonight.”

  She gave me a genuine, flattered smile. “Aw, thanks, girl.”

  She scanned my outfit, maybe wanting to return the compliment, but it would be wasted. I’d put on heels, black cigarette pants, and a purple backless top. The bare minimum of effort.

  “You should probably get changed,” she said, her gaze drifting to the white silk robe hanging in cubby number five.

  It finally clicked why she was dressed, when all the other girls were in their robes already. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and tugged it up over my head. “Are you my assistant again tonight?”

  She nodded. Seeing me topless had no effect on her. At this point, we’d seen it all, and many times too. She leaned in, lowering her voice so the other girls wouldn’t hear. “Rumor is your appointment tonight is with somebody special. Julius won’t even put his name on the schedule.”

  My hands slowed. “Mr. Gold?”

  “Fuck, no. Someone new.”

  There was relief it wouldn’t be Katzenberg, but otherwise I didn’t feel the excitement I would have a month ago. I moved like a robot, striping off my clothes and slipping into the robe. It used to feel luxurious, but tonight it was cheap and scratchy on my skin.

  When I was ready, we went down the stairs and turned into room five. My complacency continued as I shed the robe and climbed on the table. The chandelier overhead didn’t seem as bright. The crystals were dull and ordinary.

  “You okay?” Nina asked as she handed me the blindfold. “You seem . . . unhappy.”

  I was unhappy. Last week I’d been ready to walk away from this place for Grant. And now, here I was one week later, already back up on the table. Like it had all meant nothing. I donned the blindfold and tugged it over my eyes, not wanting to see the concern in hers.