Chapter 4
Genevieve
“Allie?”
I glance up to find one of the girls who works for me standing in the doorway of my office, the same place Corinne just abandoned after grilling me about my encounter with Ford at the bar. Bree gnaws on her bottom lip nervously, and my smile dissipates. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I talk to you?”
When I nod, she takes the seat on the other side of my office. “Are you okay?” I ask, concern woven between each syllable. My eyes track over her body, searching for any outward injuries, but I don’t find any.
“Yeah, I, um…” She shakes her head, swallowing audibly. “I’m trying to get pregnant.”
“Congratulations, Bree.” The tension coiled around my neck and shoulders like a boa constrictor loosens.
“Thanks.” Her fair complexion pinkens as she takes a deep breath. “I want out.”
I smile at her and nod. This isn’t all that surprising since Corinne told me about the rumor floating the halls that Bree and her fiancé were trying to start a family of their own.
While I have several employees who work for me who are parents, I never suspected Bree would join that list once she brought a baby into the world.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I—”
Cutting her off with a wave of my hand, I relax into my seat, crossing my legs, my skirt riding up a little. “Bree, you don’t owe me an explanation. If you want out, you’re out. It’s as simple as that.”
I’m not a tyrant. I don’t kill the men and women who want out of the business of sex.
I treat them fairly, only taking a thirty-five percent cut of their profits for providing a safe atmosphere for them to work, security, and regular medical testing for themselves and their clients.
I’m not some asshole pimp from off the street.
I care about those who work for me, and in turn, they’ve become my family of sorts.
I have only their best interests at heart.
Having once been a victim of a pimp who only ever took, took, took, I know how valuable it is to give.
The air conditioning cycles on, filling the room with its low, hypnotic hum. She wrings her hands in her lap as she nods. “I can work another two weeks, but—”
I smile at her consideration. “Don’t worry about that. If you don’t want to work another minute, that’s just fine, Bree. I’ll get your clients covered.”
Her relief is palpable, and she squeaks out, “Thank you. Milton is the only client who might be hard for you to place, but Carissa told me she could take him starting next week.”
My brow furrows. Milton Torres works for the National Security Agency, and while Bree has never once complained, I’ve kept an eye on him.
He has a reputation for working outside of the law to get results, and I’ve never wanted my business, or Bree, to get swept up in his storm. “Has he given you trouble?”
“No, not really. He’s just…cranky.”
I nod slowly, making a note to discuss this with both Marcus and Carissa before she formally takes him on as a client.
Something about Milton pricks the hair on the back of my neck.
“You look lovely tonight,” Julien compliments me, holding open the door to the backseat of the SUV. I rarely, if ever, back out of appointments with clients, though for the first time in ages, I considered it. While it has nothing to do with the gentleman offering me his hand, I’m still on edge.
Carissa is meeting with Milton for the first time tonight, and despite her assurance that she’s comfortable taking him on as a client, I don’t feel great about it.
I even went so far as to ask her to reconsider, but she was adamant.
I’d never deign to dictate or force any of the men or women who work for me to take or refuse a potential client.
That’s up to them. Although, I did ask Marcus to increase security, placing an extra man on the second floor, and I insisted that she see Milton there so there’d be additional safety measures.
Regardless of the lengths I went to for her comfort, I’m still twitchy.
This is her choice, I remind myself, trying to focus on the present and not what might be happening halfway across town within the walls of my haven.
Placing my hand in his, I step out of the car, ensuring that the revolver strapped to the inside of my ankle isn’t seen as I make my exit. The skirt of my dress feels like liquid against my smooth legs, the form-fitting silk onyx evening gown shining beneath the sparkling lights of the gala.
Julien leads us past the row of reporters and photographers, and when he stops to speak to a journalist, I tuck myself closer to him, smiling up at his handsome face dotingly.
We pose together for a few photos before he leads us inside, murmuring in my ear, “Thank you for coming.”
I return the sentiment with an authentic smile because, at this point, I would accompany him for free, and he knows that. If he weren’t one hundred percent gay, I might’ve dated him. He’s certainly handsome: early forties, exceedingly tall, with a dark complexion and eyes the color of hot caramel.
Inside the gala, an orchestra plays a melodic, classical tune from their station in the corner.
Like clockwork, a server greets us, offering us a beverage, and Julien passes me a flute of bubbling champagne, snagging one for himself.
Wrapping my slender fingers daintily around the glass stem, I bring the flute to my lips so that the bubbles dance across my tongue.
Slipping my free hand into the crook of Julien’s arm, I stay at his side, playing the part of adoring girlfriend as he mingles with dignitaries, government officials, and America’s elite.
As always, I pretend not to know a single person here other than Julien, and every client in attendance feigns ignorance as to who I am as well. It works well this way. It always has.
And I’ve ensured that it always will.
The sound of raucous laughter has my neck twisting to find a group of men gathered around the bar, tossing their heads back in a carefree nature. Only, I know better. That’s the thing about this city: everyone’s a liar.
Julien’s hand slides over mine tucked into his elbow, capturing my attention. “Would you mind terribly if I spoke to those men for a moment?”
I can’t, for the life of me, understand what Julien might want with those men, but I confirm that my face remains benign, pleasant even, before nodding. “Of course not. I’ll take the opportunity to powder my nose.”
Really, I’d just like a moment to text Corinne to confirm that things are still going well with Carissa. Maybe then, my uneasiness will settle.