Chapter 29
Today wasn't productive at all. Reports and contracts piled up, forming a stack of papers on my desk.
I kept glancing at the clock, like a child waiting for their parents to keep a promise.
There were still many hours until our fateful meeting, so I decided to take the watch off my wrist and tuck it away in my desk drawer.
Trying to concentrate, I started the same contract for the fifth time.
After attempting to understand what it said and comprehending absolutely nothing, I closed it and tossed it onto the pile of papers.
I shut down the computer, grabbed my phone, and left my office, leaving a vague message for my newest and most irresponsible assistant as I passed her.
“I'm leaving. Don't call me for anything whatsoever, and don't touch my desk,” I said, pointing at her as she stood up.
She was about to say something, but I turned my back and rushed to the elevator, pressing the button to call it up to the executive floor.
Seconds later, the doors opened; I stepped in and pressed the parking garage button.
I just wanted to leave and wait out the hours until I saw her, in the comfort of my apartment near the financial district.
I confess I thought I'd feel better being at home, but wherever I looked, I saw her barefoot, wearing one of my shirts, the scent of our lovemaking still lingering.
I smiled at that insane thought, but that's what we did most when we were together.
I admit it was the best sex of my life; everything with her was wonderful.
Chloe came across as a very responsible and pure woman, despite her age, but after I saw the video of her dancing nearly naked and connected the dots, I realized she'd started at the club before she was of legal age.
That disappointed me greatly. Not that I was puritanical; on the contrary, I'd been with many women and had sex with more than one in the same day, but I was never in a committed relationship or involved with anyone.
Besides dancing for money, she'd hidden it from me, and there I was, innocent, wanting to commit to a relationship. I let out a long sigh and got up from the sofa where I'd been sitting since the moment I walked in, whiskey glass in hand. I went straight to my room to take a shower and get ready.
I arrived half an hour early, sat down at the bar on the first available stool, and ordered another whiskey from the waitress, letting her know I was waiting to be called. She just nodded, handed me my drink, and walked away.
With exactly ten minutes to go, a man who appeared to be security called me over. I followed him down a dark hallway until we stopped in front of a door, and he opened it. I expected to come face to face with Chloe, but she wasn't there. Then he explained everything:
“Please have a seat, sir.” I sat in an armchair—very comfortable, actually.
He continued: “I'll go over some house rules.
You must remain seated throughout the entire show.
You cannot touch the dancer, stand up, or film.
Whatever drink you'd like will be served right here, so you can place your order now with Cristina, who will bring it shortly.”
“I only have one request: can you keep the room as dark as possible? I don't want to be seen.”
“Yes, sir, you can specify how you'd like things. Cristina will be responsible for adjusting everything to your liking.”
I gave my drink order to the young woman in the room, and she left immediately. The big guy stayed by my side until she returned and arranged everything as I'd requested.
“Is everything to your liking, sir? If you need anything else, just take the phone off the hook and press 'zero,' and I'll come right away to assist you.”
“Yes, everything's perfect. I don't think I'll need anything else, thank you!”
“I'll call the dancer.”
At that moment, I felt my hands trembling, as if my nerves were begging for mercy.
Part of me didn't want to see her, but I was there for exactly that; I needed this moment.
If she'd never told me about this job and I had to find out another way, then I wanted to see everything with my own eyes.
I hoped someone else would walk through that door, but when it opened, it was her.
Chloe walked in without looking at me and went straight to the sound system at the back of the room. She pressed a button, and music began to play: sad and calm. I listened to the lyrics and recognized the melody, sung by Sia.
“Hoping for a miracle
I'm not equipped for this, but I can't move until I choose
I need a crystal ball
I'm falling apart and I can't take anymore
Standing at the crossroads
There's no right answer, no one's brain to pick
Under the spy
There's no escaping, I'm a deer caught in headlights
I am hoping for a sign”
Sia ? Deer in Headlights[5]
She begins her performance. I watch her closely—she's stunning in a red dress similar to the one from the video I watched, but this one leaves her breasts bare.
On her feet, red sandals with straps laced up her legs, thin stiletto heels impossibly high.
And of course, the mask—the one accessory she'd never go without.
I'll admit, once I saw her, my anger grew with every passing second.
Each time she spun on that pole, hanging upside down, her dress revealed everything.
My hands could barely grip the glass, my breathing turning heavy.
Every minute that passed, all I wanted was to drag her out of there—but I couldn't.
She moves to the music and starts to climb, reaching the top of the pole.
On a single beat, she slides down, plummeting toward the floor.
The drop is terrifying, but before I can jump up and rush to her, I remember she doesn't know I'm here.
I force myself to stay calm, to not do anything reckless—after all, I'm close to her, just like I always wanted.
A new song starts, but I stay seated, restless, my hands still trembling slightly from that sudden drop.
I can't watch her anymore. I stand up. She stops mid-movement, suspended halfway up the metal pole.
Then she descends, planting her feet—those towering sandals—firmly on the floor.
She stares at me, her expression a mix of fear and surprise, because she still doesn't know it's me.
I decide to break the tension. I step out of the shadows, move forward, and say:
“I'm not going to touch you. Relax.”
At that moment, the big guy enters the room, and she stops him with a shake of her head.
He leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving us alone.
She approaches me cautiously. I get the feeling she was already expecting me.
But I'm so furious with her that I back away as far as I can.
She removes the mask, revealing her face—deep dark circles visible even in the dim light, even beneath her makeup.
But it doesn't soften me. I can't be weak, and I won't be.