11. Sienna
11
SIENNA
“ I am so sorry about that.” I smiled as I took my seat across from Jacob, but inside was a different story.
How? How did he always do it to me? I told myself to be the adult, to have the cooler head, yet there I was, flustered and furious, not to mention feeling like a smacked ass thanks to the little scene Noah had caused.
Jacob waved it off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I guess you have a lot of people who want a piece of your time.”
“Something like that.” The salad I was enjoying the hell out of only a few minutes ago didn’t look so appetizing anymore. Was there anything Noah couldn’t ruin? “Did those couple of minutes on your own give you time to think about the plan we put together for you?”
“Oh, I’ve seen all I need to.” And then he did something incredibly stupid. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his, using his thumb to stroke my knuckles. “I think we’re going to work together very well.”
Oh, goody. Harassment.
The worst part was, I couldn’t stab him with my fork the way reflex demanded I do. Not if I wanted to continue working. It didn’t take much to spread ugly gossip. I, of all people, knew that. And there weren’t many more dangerous egos than the ones belonging to actors.
Withdrawing my hand, I maintained a weak smile to keep the mood light. “Let’s be careful,” I warned. “That’s the sort of thing that had your agent reaching out to me in the first place, remember?”
His laughter was warm and affable as he offered a helpless shrug. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Were they all the same? I was starting to think so. It seemed like I was too young to feel so cynical, but the only other option was na?veté, which I couldn’t afford.
We made plans to chat the following week, closer to the opening of his latest film, which happened to coincide with starting rehearsals for his upcoming play. I would be working overtime trying to monitor the goings-on with his leading lady since he was notorious for having flings with his costars. Again, the reason he needed me. There were some pretty pissed-off boyfriends and husbands back in California, and his agent didn’t want the same mess erupting in New York.
Thanks to the gnawing in my stomach, it was a shame I couldn’t focus on the thrill of signing a new client. Fucking Noah. It was like he got off on trying to make me feel small, the way he did back in the day—looking down at me, laughing at me, and treating me like a child. It was the same now, only I wasn’t a little girl. He didn’t know half of what he thought he did.
The thought of it had my blood pressure at an all-time high by the time I reached the spin studio for the class scheduled after my lunch meeting. I had stuck to salad to keep from feeling too full while working out. At the time, I figured that would be my biggest problem this afternoon. Stupid me, forgetting how Noah tended to pop up to ruin even a good day. It was sort of his thing.
Aria wasn’t around when I finished changing in the locker room. At first, I was concerned, but then I remembered the text she’d sent earlier in the morning about not being able to make it to class today.
I was that pissed off over Noah accusing me of flirting with a client. After he’d practically eye fucked Gretchen all through the interview earlier in the week. He had the nerve to act like he had no idea what I was talking about when I accused him of the same thing.
If anything, I was glad he’d decided to act like such a prick. It reminded me of everything wrong with him, which was something I needed to remember after feeling so jealous of Gretchen. He wasn’t worth my jealousy. He was barely worth the oxygen he used to survive. I couldn’t give him that power over me.
At the same time, I couldn’t get the image of his face out of my mind as I battered my body, peddling until sweat rolled down the back of my neck and dripped from my chin. That bastard. The audacity to treat me like I was… well, no better than him.
I didn’t feel any less bitter by the time we cooled down. No amount of exercise could get Noah off my mind or keep me from resenting him the way I did. To judge me, to make a fool out of me—again.
And dammit, I kept letting him do it. Why?
I had originally planned on going back to the office after my meeting, but considering I kept swinging back and forth between wanting to kill someone and wanting to cry out of sheer frustration, it seemed a better idea to go home and take care of whatever I could from there. Yes, I was letting Noah Goldsmith get to me. I hated it but felt powerless against it. And not powerless in that good way, like I felt at the club.
The club.
I couldn’t get it out of my head. The memories would bubble to the surface when I least expected them, like now, on my way home with a gym bag over my shoulder and a true crime podcast playing in my AirPods. Not even the most gruesome mass murder was enough to ease the churning sensation in my gut.
Only one thing could. Was that true? Maybe, or perhaps I was telling myself that as an excuse to revisit the most incredible sexual experience of my life. Who was I kidding? He wouldn’t be there, my mystery man. Unless there was another big party, I doubted there was any chance of running into him again.
The idea made my feet feel heavy as I dragged them through my apartment to the bedroom, chiding myself for being childish and taking unnecessary risks.
That didn’t stop me from eyeing the bubblegum pink wig on my dresser and wondering if I should break her out again. I would just go to see if he was there. That was all.
Maybe I would have a drink.
Maybe I was coming up with excuses to return.
“Very well, Miss Black. You’re all set.” The intimidatingly beautiful girl behind the reception desk finished processing my payment before collecting my purse and phone to lock away under the counter. “Have a lovely evening.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had paid a membership fee to revisit Club Caramel. Until now, I could tell myself it was only a casual, passing interest sort of thing. Once money changed hands, it was a different story.
It wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it, even if I never came back. Nobody behind the desk batted an eye at the fact I was wearing a mask as I had before. In fact, my anxiety lessened a little when I entered the main room and found a few guests also in disguise. It made sense. Party or no party, there was still a little bit of a stigma around this kind of business. Even though we were all there together and, therefore, just as open to scandal if we outed each other, we felt like we had to hide.
My hunch was right. It was a lot quieter this time, though a few dozen people were getting a start on the evening. Since it was still early, there wasn’t a lot of action going on. I knew once the liquor started flowing and inhibitions dropped away, it would be a different story.
I ordered a dirty martini at the bar, self-consciously adjusting the corset I wore over a pair of tight leather pants. Not a true corset, but it gave the right effect, pushing my boobs up until they were practically a shelf I could carry a drink on. The pants fit like a second skin, tucked into knee-high boots. It was very tame compared to the wild outfits and costumes worn by other members. Some people chose to change in the club’s locker rooms to avoid being seen in their club wear outside the premises.
Discretion was key.
I could appreciate that, especially since my nerves were jangling, even with vodka entering my system. What if he didn’t show up? That was possible, even probable. Still, there had to be part of me holding onto a shred of hope, or else I wouldn’t be here.
I sipped the martini, observing a demonstration of various punishment techniques going on at the far end of the dance floor. That was one thing I wouldn’t have expected—the amount of technique behind the sort of activities I’d always figured came naturally.
How many ways could a person be spanked? As it turned out, there was plenty I didn’t know. “You want to be careful not to strike up here,” the latex-clad instructor explained, hands against the lower back of his partner. “You don’t want to damage the kidneys.” I never would’ve thought of that. There was a lot more to this than I had imagined, and it had me paying closer attention to the demonstration as it went on.
Until…
The hair on the back of my neck lifted, and goose bumps raced across my skin. I didn’t have to look to know I was being watched and didn’t need proof of who was watching me. I felt it just as my body came alive—skin tingling, going warm all over, my heart fluttering before I ever turned my head to find a familiar stranger eyeing me up from the other end of the bar.
Like me, he wore a mask, making me wonder who he was in real life that he felt the need to disguise himself. His dark hair was slicked back away from his forehead, and his finely sculpted mouth curved into a knowing grin.
The rest of the room melted away, going hazy and vague, all my attention focused on him. I wanted to know him—who he was, why he was here, and why we were drawn to each other. I could barely breathe when his lips parted to emit what looked like a sigh. It was exquisite agony, hanging in midair, waiting to see what would happen next.
Instinctively knowing he was calling the shots.
He turned his head, looking toward the open door leading to the room we had visited before. A silent request, or was it a challenge? Either way, I wouldn’t refuse .
Still, I didn’t want to look too eager. I was shaking with anticipation, which meant it was smart to take my time, sliding from my barstool and walking down the length of the bar to where he waited. Like before, he was dressed in black, without anything that might set him apart from virtually any other man in the city.
I couldn’t have picked him out of a line-up if he was dressed in street clothes, maskless. I liked it that way. The added layer of mystery deepened my interest, my pulse racing in anticipation by the time he raised a hand and touched a finger to his lips. No talking. I nodded, eager to get started, relieved when he pushed away from the bar and began leading the way to whatever the night had in store.