She picks up her glass and holds it out. “To new beginnings.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes.
She tilts her head, frowning. “What did I say?”
“That’s what Victor said before he dumped me.”
“What a tool.” She shakes her head then lifts her glass again. “To starting over then.”
I take a big gulp of my dirty martini before setting it down. “You know what I want? A night of hot sex with a stranger.”
Heather snorts. “You need a sexorcism.”
“Yes,” I add with a giggle. “Do people even do that anymore?”
“One-night stands?” she asks. “Sure.”
I look around the bar and take in the dozens of men dressed in suits. It’s happy hour, and I’d say the male-to-female ratio is around sixty-forty. Several guys at the bar are minding their own business, drinking and watching the baseball game playing on the television above. Clearly they’re here to unwind after a long day at the office and not looking for a hookup. Some are gathered at their own tables, engrossed in conversations and laughing. And then there are the prowlers. The ones watching and waiting for an opening to pounce on some poor unsuspecting woman who just wants a fun night out with her girlfriends.
“If I was sure I wouldn’t be kidnapped, killed, or walk away with some unnamed STD, I’d totally hook up with a random guy.”
Heather smirks. “If there was a place that could guarantee all those things and more, would you go?”
I raise my brows. “Does such a place exist?”
Nodding slowly, she scans my face, carefully considering her next words. “It’s very private. The only way in is if you’re invited by a member.”
Propping an elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my open palm. “Are you a member?” I drawl teasingly.
She wiggles her brows. “I might be.”
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Is it one of those sex clubs where they tie you to a big wooden cross and whip you?”
She leans forward, the corners of her mouth curling up in amusement. “It’s a fantasy club.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. If your fantasy is being tied up and whipped, then you can have that. It’s up to you. You can change it up whenever you want.”
“So, what if I just wanted someone to rub my feet?”
“Then your fantasy guide will rub your feet. But you can get a foot massage anywhere.” She flicks her wrist, waving the suggestion away. “Be more creative.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “I guess if it were my fantasy, I’d want the man to make it all about me.” Isn’t that what Victor did?
“Well, it’s your fantasy, so it is about you,” she explains.
“True.” I nod, staring down at my glass. “I don’t have a lot experience. I’ve been with three guys yet I don’t know what I like or if I’m even good in bed. My high school boyfriend was just as inexperienced as I was. Spencer was okay, but he was lacking in the foreplay department. Then Victor came along…” I shudder at the thought of what took place in the hotel earlier. “I don’t hate Victor for his sexual preferences. I hate him for forcing them on me, knowing my lack of experience, and for making me feel used and worthless.”
“I think that’s all part of his need to control you.”
“Ugh. I’m done whining about Victor,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “Take me to this club.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. “I have to make an appointment, and you’ll have to go through the application process.”
“Seriously? What kind of application process?”
“Background check, proof of birth control, drug screening, STD testing, and pregnancy testing.”
“Pregnancy?”
She shrugs. “Can’t be too careful.”
I push myself away from the table and lean back against the booth. “I’m gonna need to get tested anyway. I’m on birth control, but Victor and I didn’t use condoms.”
The waiter comes over to the table with a round of drinks we didn’t order.
“Where did these come from?” I ask.
“They’re from a secret admirer.”
I crane my neck to scan the bar. “Which one?”
“He left.” He sets the drinks on the table. “They’re safe, I promise. I made them myself.”
“Thank you,” Heather says.
“Would you mind bringing us the check?” I ask.
“The gentleman paid your tab, too.” He winks. “Great tipper.”
I frown. “What did he look like?”
The waiter beams. “Tall, dark, and handsome, honey.”
Chapter Nine
Cannon
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist before heading to my bedroom. As I slip into a pair of boxer briefs, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s a text from Heather. It’s been two hours since I dropped her off for drinks with Makayla.
Heather: I’m taking Makayla to Veil. Set it up.
Me: What the fuck? That wasn’t the plan.
Heather: Trust me on this.
Me: You better not fuck this up for me.
Heather: You can thank me later.
I haven’t taken a woman to Veil since the Courtney disaster three years ago. The only time I go is to discuss business with Desiree. I never involved myself with the members, and my passion for the club died the day my father did. Desiree took over management while I worked endlessly on building my father’s empire, as I couldn’t keep up with running two businesses. I confess, I found myself back in Desiree’s bed from time to time, but that fizzled out years ago. Despite that, she’s still my best friend, partner, and one of the few people I trust.
Chapter Ten
Makayla
Heather rolls to a stop outside a set of tall iron gates and punches in a number on the call box. A moment later, a woman’s voice purrs through the speaker, “Good afternoon. This is Desiree.”
“Good afternoon, Desiree. It’s Heather. I’m here with Makayla Hawkins.”
“Lovely,” she chirps.
The call cuts off with a buzz, and the gate swings open.
Last night, after drinks, Heather and I took an Uber back to the penthouse,
