by Alice Ward
I faced Brandy. “Okay, I’m ready.” I wasn’t really. Who was ever ready to perform for a bunch of lust-infused billionaires? In the two months I’d been doing it, I’d been sick with nerves every time.
“Well, girl, you look stunning, and you’re only fractionally less famous than Gina’s golden vagina.” In a casual motion, she turned for the door, throwing back over her shoulder as if it were an afterthought, “You should give Jack Marshall’s offer some consideration. All you’d have to do is let him have you for one night.” Her smile bedazzled the words, almost making them seem like the deal Jack was offering would be a good thing for me.
Brandy could convince a person to buy shit in a ziplock baggy if she sold it with that smile, but she would never… ever… sell me that.
The blood in my veins heated up. “There’s one thing that keeps me from jumping from the roof, Brandy. I’ve never sold my body for sex.” How dare she insinuate that I should even remotely consider Jack’s vile proposal.
She lifted a shoulder and tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “He’s into straight-up vanilla, all you’d have to do is lay back and enjoy the ride.”
“Fuck you.” I wished I had the energy to throw something at her.
She had the balls to wink at me. “Yes. All he wants is to fuck you, just once. Don’t throw this away so fast. It’s a chance to earn back some of the money Nate’s family stole from you. Consider it, that’s all I ask.” She glanced at her watch and snapped her fingers. “Okay, time’s up, get your ass out there.”
Brandy shuffled behind me as she shooed me out of my dressing room. I really wanted to hate her, but I hated myself more. Brandy was just being Brandy. She’d never changed, never had to.
I took a deep breath, quieted my mind. Just go out there and do what you do best, Adara.
Shit… Mona.
CHAPTER TWO
Roman
One of my exs once suggested that life didn’t fit into my life unless it involved a business meeting.
The downside to owning a business based on the internet was that it never shut down. There was zero off time in the internet trading world. Someone was always awake somewhere, so at any given time an internet entrepreneur who was sleeping or out on a date was missing an opportunity.
Because of my jampacked schedule, I was notoriously late and gunned my Mercedes S65 Cabriolet through the light that was about to turn red.
That day, business involving my international trading company was taking place in the form of eighteen holes of golf with the head of the PGA. My company was working on a deal with the Professional Golfer’s Association to sponsor next year’s tournament, and I’d signed my brother-in-law slash business associate and myself up for a round of golf as a warmer.
While I was always a little on the late side, my brother-in-law, Peter, was worse. Pulling up outside his building, I laid on the horn and thrummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Two honks later, he finally opened the passenger door.
“Pete,” I scoffed as he slid into the polished leather seat. “What part of one o’clock don’t you understand?”
“Stand down, man, it’s one-ish. Close enough in normal people world.” Peter dove for the radio the minute he clicked his seatbelt, and his fingers danced over the radio controls. “I can’t do zombie death marches today.”
“Classical music is relaxing.” I seized his hand, holding him back from slaying Bach for Beyoncé.
He slumped into an overexaggerated pose, his gaze shifting to the roof. “Why do I hang out with you again?”
“I’m your boss,” I reminded him with a note of deep satisfaction.
Three years ago, when my twin sister, Liliana, introduced me to Peter, I was in utter shock. He was the same age as me, thirty-two years old, and he spoke and acted like a perpetual teenager. I couldn’t have approved of him less. However, he was the kind of guy who grew on you. He had a magnetic charm. Liliana was madly in love with him and she, being my twin, was my world. She’d always been a bit juvenile in her behavior, so it was a “match made in heaven” as they say.
Eventually, I saw what Liliana admired about Peter after spending more time than I cared to with him. He was fun.
I didn’t really do fun. I wasn’t a fun guy.
But Pete brought fun to the table, and sometimes I took a little fun away with me. As it also turned out, he was one of the most successful eco-adventure entrepreneurs in the business. I’d amicably bought his company and have made him millions, many times over.
I liked the fierce, no-nonsense reputation I’d built, but I was still a nerd in some instances. Peter raised my coolness quotient by more than I cared to admit.
“So, explain to me again why you aren’t taking the mini excursion to Banff this week? I got the wifi all sorted, you can work on the road.” Peter’s tone told me he was expecting me to be overjoyed.
I rolled my eyes, checked the time, and pulled out into traffic. “What about accessible wifi makes you think I’d consider it? How is staying in a hotel room in the middle of the wilderness even remotely fun by anyone’s definition?” Even though I would love to breathe in the crisp Canadian air, I considered it my job as his brother-in-law to mock his enthusiasm for all things outdoors.
“Dude, it’s everything. Unspoiled nature, fucking elk and bison.” His face lit up with excitement.
I had to interrupt him before he could launch into an exhaustive list of benefits of driving a large vehicle when bringing down large game. “As much as I’d love to go, which I hope you know is just me saying something to be polite, I have to take a Korean client to Jewel. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to fuck any elk or bison.”
It felt good to make a pretty decent joke out of an uncomfortable confession. My cool meter was rising.
Peter’s mouth dropped open, and he gripped the dash. “You’re ditching me for a sex club?”
“A client. I’m ditching you for a client.” This clarification needed to be made — I didn’t ever partake of the goods at Jewel.
“Dude…”
“Mr. Dickson.” I resorted to his last name when he really aggravated me. Because, god, he really was a dick. “If you call me ‘dude’ again…” Heat built under my collar, and I shifted in the driver’s seat, never wanting to break my impeccable facade of authority and command. Peter could test every one of my limits.
“Don’t ‘Dickson’ me around.” Pete barked out a laugh. “You’re not just taking a client, are you? You’re going to have a good time with a woman, right?” When I didn’t answer, he did a mock headbutt. “You’re an idiot.”
I flashed him an intense glare.
He completely ignored my I’m getting angry, don’t fuck with me vibe. “A well-advised person would sample the goods. It’s a sex club, come on.” He smiled devilishly with full disregard of my need for decorum.
“Among other things, there’s a nice restaurant. The sushi’s great.” So’s the anonymity. I sped onto the interstate, feeling a jarring sense of discomfort.
“Scantily dressed other things. No one goes there for the food.”
“They have an excellent chef. Besides, I usually stay in the lounge and let my clients accompany each other into the offer room — the theater. Wait.” I held up a hand between us. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” Peter was baiting me, trying to get me to admit to paying for sex. An indescribable fire spread across my chest at the thought.
“The offer room.” Peter clicked his tongue. “You think I’m stupid, but I know what’s up. Does Liliana know you buy sex? You can’t be that hard up. Women are always throwing themselves at you, and pretty shamelessly I might add. You don’t have to pay for love, bro. Just say yes to any of the women who are like… everywhere.”
Was he actually trying to school me in the art of love? This was comedy.
In the beginning of their courtship, to capture the attention of my goodhearted sister, he took her rock climbing and offered her Twinkies at the su
mmit of the mountain. Somehow that spelled love to both of them. They’re always on some half-baked adventure of his making. He’s lucky, and she’s crazy, or there’s no way he could’ve weaseled his way into one of the richest families in Montana.
“For god’s sake, I don’t buy sex. I’ve never contracted with any of the women. I take my clients. I have a membership to the most exclusive gentleman’s club in the world, why not use it to my business benefit?” I pressed my foot to the gas pedal and let the rev of the engine drive away the uncomfortable feelings the conversation had aroused in me.
“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you have an exclusive, and I’m assuming uber expensive — like tres expensif — membership to a club you just visit. For what, the sushi? That’s like reading Playboy for the articles, it doesn’t happen.” He shook his head in disbelief, as if the very thought of a man being uncomfortable with casual sex was an impossibility.
It was his confidence I hated and admired most about Peter. He was a man who had no fear or trepidation, just went balls in every time.
“I don’t read Playboy.” Turning into the lot adjacent to the golf course, I roared into the first open parking spot and yanked back the parking break, my agitation getting the better of me.
“It’s a waste of money, bro,” Peter deduced with his sage surfer’s wisdom.
“As we are barely on time and the head of the PGA is most likely waiting, I can’t go into depth about this. I have a membership because sex sells.” I lowered my voice as I opened the door. “The brand of sexual exchange Jewel has on offer is enough to close a deal on just about anything.”
“You mean, like for bulk bra and underwear vendors?” His snide affront to my business was more than I could overlook.
“No!” I stepped out of the car to give myself a second to regain control. He was such a child. “The exclusive trade deals with bulk suppliers that allow my website to sell… anything at an incredibly low price, lower than anywhere else in the world. People want deals, crave them. Crave dot com has everything at an incredible bargain. However, even bargains have a price.” I popped open the back and threw his golf bag at him, ready to literally iron out my angst on the course.
He shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, Mr. Wellington, fuck or don’t fuck who you will, but you need to get that dick out and get it some fresh air once in a while. A slice of pussy pie would totally solve your agromaniac issues.” He hauled his golf bag onto his shoulder with his usual overexuberance, and we headed for the golf course.
“Agromaniac isn’t a word,” I countered, biting my lip to stop myself from saying more.
He had a point. I did need a woman in my life, but the truth was, I made too much money to trust them. As soon as they learned how many zeros were in a billion, they suddenly became ravenous opportunists. I’d had enough heartbreak, learned the hard way how untrustworthy most women were. At the slightest hint that my generosity might be drying up, their interest and “love” waned. I didn’t need that in my life.
Our business over eighteen holes went well. We scored the account for Crave. Despite being cocky, Peter really could charm anyone into anything. I possessed the numbers knowledge and business savvy to tip the scales, and together we landed the account.
I made a quick apology to Peter for being an asshole, and he had the audacity not notice that I wasn’t being as unpleasant as usual. I truly loved and hated the man.
Upon returning to the office, energized and no longer affronted, I checked in with Adam, my assistant, one last time before heading out for the evening. “I’m waiting for Pascal Richardson to call from England tonight, so phone me when he calls, it’s very important.”
Adam searched his files for the account, which was annoying as he should have known all of our potential clients and always have their information readily available.
I gritted my teeth. “He’s the vacation homes guy for Europe, and we’ve got competition for his bid, so we can’t fumble this.” I knew I sounded like an ass, but if I missed the call, I’d have a hard time getting in Richardson’s face again.
“Of course, Mr. Wellington.” Adam stared at his computer screen, having found Richardson’s profile.
I liked precision and efficiency but knew my interactions with people were viewed as cold at times. Adam’s stiff and robotlike response was a great indication that my people skills were not one of my greatest assets.
“I’ll be at Jewel, so be discreet,” I added with a note of warning.
“Absolutely, Mr. Wellington. I’ll call you as soon as I hear from him.”
Again, I was running late, so I grabbed my jacket and rushed out to meet Duk Soo at Jewel. He was one of my biggest clients, and I’d received a text alerting me that he’d just landed and was en route to the club. He loved Jewel and was like a kid in a candy store. It was embarrassing at times. As a matter of fact, it was the first time I would make it for the opening act, thanks to his exuberance.
When I arrived just behind the driver I’d hired to pick up my client, it was pouring rain. Still, Mr. Soo greeted me with an excited bow, obviously looking forward to the evening ahead. The valet produced two umbrellas with the Jewel logo and shepherded us inside.
We were met by a woman wearing a gown sheer enough to glimpse her nipples underneath. She led us to the greeting room, handing us warm, wet towels for our faces that smelled of sandalwood.
Soft, soothing music funneled in that was laced with heavy bass. Despite my determination to remain unaffected by the atmosphere, my heart thumped faster. Jewel had truly mastered all elements of seduction.
After toweling off the rain, we were directed to a table in the lounge. A cocktail waitress dressed in a black silk kimono that barely covered the peak of her ass cheeks came to our table to take our drink order.
“Mr. Soo.” She bowed her head graciously. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” She gently stroked his shoulder and let her fingers linger softly on his arm.
“Do you have the new menu?” Duk asked, his eyes as wide as a child’s as he twirled the edge of the black silk napkin between his newly manicured fingers. He wasn’t referring to the “catch of the day” but rather was inquiring about The Book of Delights and whether there were any new Jewels inside.
Each Jewel employee was well schooled in the evening’s client list, and most knew him well enough. He was a frequent visitor.
The waitress bent low enough to give him a good look down her top. “We’ve acquired some new delights since your last visit, and your favorites are ready and waiting to show you more.” Her voice, low and sultry, was like honey.
Trained to arouse every sensation, she bowed her head again and slowly turned from him, displaying her barely covered backside at his eye level. He let his hand brush across it as she sauntered toward the hostess stand.
She lingered for only a moment as the hostess produced a large glossy volume from behind the lacquered mahogany desk. Her every move was perfectly calculated. Taking her time, she moved back to us with gracious movements orchestrated to arouse his need and build the level of suspense. When she finally handed the heavily bound catalog over to him, even I was anxious to see it.
At that moment, my phone rang, the screen lighting up with Adam’s name. Probably my call from Pascal being forwarded. I looked over to Duk, who was engrossed in the glossy pages of the book.
“Excuse me.” Duk gave me a half nod without looking up, and I stepped away to take the call.
CHAPTER THREE
Adara
There was an ominous crack of thunder as I exited my dressing room. I hated storms. Goose bumps rose up on my arms and legs as the energy in the air from the storm pressed down on me. I took an umbrella from an assistant waiting by the front door to my building with shaking hands.
“Watch out for the walkways, they’re really slick,” she said with a note of real concern in her voice.
I nodded, unable to say anything because flashes of another night and another storm wer
e filling my head. My hand clutched the umbrella as if it could help me cling to my sanity.
Outside, I walked as quickly as I could in the rain, but I still had plenty of time to get to the theater. Brandy usually wanted us in the main building ten minutes before curtain. It wasn’t a far walk, two minutes maybe, even at my slow pace.
The Jewel compound had an odd but remarkably efficient lay out. Everything was designed for illusion and discretion. The dressing rooms weren’t connected to the theater as they were in most traditional venues but had their own building nearby. This way, the girls could enter in full costume and never be caught in their everyday clothes. The owner was very particular that the illusion of Jewel appeared as real as possible. All of it was designed for the gentleman’s pleasure.
As soon as a man entered the property, the “show” began and didn’t truly end until he drove out of the gates. The structure of each night’s performance was the same with some variations nightly.
Each night, different women were presented in The Book of Delights. Food was handcrafted by chefs and tailored to each man’s personal preferences. Rooms were staged for whatever specialty they housed. By day, a staff of people cleaned and set up props in preparation for the night. Designers tailored the rooms for their nightly specialties by changing out linens, providing toys, contraception, lotions, candles, and lighting.
After the opening numbers — of which mine was the first — there were usually acrobats, singers, dancers, and illusionists, then the Procession of Delights. A catwalk-style parade of the women on offer that evening. A man would place an offer with a hostess and raise it until the hostess awarded him his choice. It wasn’t the same as an auction. The women for sale had the ultimate decision and since it was reservation only, the club prepared their “menu” to each man’s preferences. Hostesses could maneuver attention to available women, avoiding a bidding war.
When the women were selected for the evening, the Jewels would greet their clients in the audience and take them backstage. The rooms behind the stage were specialized for the variety of amusements the men sought. There, they began their evening.
