Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Kitten
After an eventful lunch, I go back to work, waiting for the time to pass. It’s the last hour of work before I see Fox. That's the worst. Does time stop in a vortex or something?
I am debating whether I want to change at work or at the club.
I opt for changing in the unisex bathroom on floor thirty-two—more space, and I don’t work there.
Plus, it’s ten floors away from the Alpha Dogggz.
I pass a man in his fifties, silver hair, bushy eyebrows, and a lean body.
Could he be Fox? A man in a blue polo shirt and black slacks, glasses perched on his nose, blond hair.
Maybe? But he doesn’t look at me, too preoccupied with whatever’s on his screen.
Then there’s a man in a crisp white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, green tie hanging loose.
His dark eyes give me a once-over, but then he turns back to his friend, who I don’t get a good look at. Ugh, this will drive me insane.
One thing is for sure—Fox isn’t that Ryan guy. Their voices are different and Fox isn’t nearly as jumpy. And Ryan laughs while all I get from Fox is mild amusement. A strange sense of disappointment picks at my mind. Why? Did I want it to be Ryan, or do I just want Fox to like me?
I hitch my gym bag over my shoulder and lock the bathroom door behind me. These bathrooms are huge, so no fear of dropping my shirt in the toilet. History will not repeat itself—thank you night in Miami when I was twenty-one.
I shed my boring functional clothes and pull out the pink corset. It’s so cute I could die. Why don’t I wear these more often? Then I see all the hooks on the back … oh, right, now I remember.
Ten minutes later, after twisting and pulling it around my body and getting hook number eight latched, I finally look acceptable.
Then I see the thigh-high stockings. Fuck.
Another five minutes of body contortion just to get these damn things on.
Know what’s really hard to do? Bending over and breathing in a corset.
At least hair and makeup are easy—ish. But the reflection in the mirror is worth it.
I’m curvy in all the right places, soft and smooth.
A mix of sweet and innocent with an “I’m down for anything” vibe.
I slip on a cute white-and-pink mid-length dress with black accents so my shoes don’t seem out of place, and I’m ready.
When I’m satisfied, I shoot off a text to the valet. Alana said I need to use the service for at least two weeks, until she feels everything is safe. Plus, she’s run background checks on all the valets.
I’m excited as I push the elevator button, so mundane. I do it several times a day, but tonight it’s different. Butterflies in my stomach, a growing thrill in my core. The elevator is taking forever.
There’s a woman next to me, her hair frazzled from a long day. She gives me a side-eye. “Date?”
I nod.
“Have fun,” she says, and pulls out her phone. Her attention is already gone and she almost misses stepping into the elevator when the door opens.
It’s fun having a secret, going off to do something new and thrilling. I feel … special. Which is weird, because that’s never been a word I’d use to describe myself. But there’s power in having a secret, in being ‘precious,’ and tonight I will relish it.