Chapter 3 #2
A man entered the hall from a door to our right, carrying a glass of water. “Is there anything else I can get for you, ma’am?”
Ma’am? I was a twenty-five-year-old in a strawberry dress, not a middle-aged head of state.
I took the glass of water and shook my head. “No, thank you.”
“Name please?” the woman asked.
“Nova.” She stared at me expectantly, and I blew out a breath. “Nova Harding.” The water was crisp, tasting faintly of lemon and mint.
When the man bowed his head and disappeared like a Victorian servant, I leaned over the desk. The woman slowly lifted her gaze from the laptop in front of her to me, arching a finely manicured auburn brow.
“I also wanted to know if you’d seen a woman my age, blonde hair, Old Hollywood aesthetic, lots of, um, zest for life. Her name is Lorelei.” The words tumbled out awkwardly, not remotely how I’d planned them in my head.
She blinked at me. “We take doxxing incredibly seriously here, so I’m afraid I cannot disclose potential or current members’ statuses or identities.”
I frowned. “That’s not what I’m asking. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“If you don’t know this individual well enough to ask her yourself, I’m afraid I cannot help you. We want everyone who enters our sanctuary to trust their personal information is kept safe.”
I bristled, fighting the urge to tell her just how well I knew Lorelei, but I couldn’t antagonize anyone and give them a reason to kick me out.
“If this is a matter that should involve the police, we would be more than willing to cooperate with the proper authorities."
This bitch. I forced a laugh and shook my head. “Oh, sorry, no—it’s not that serious. It’s no worries. I completely understand where you’re coming from. She wasn’t doing well the last we spoke is all.”
The woman’s sharp gaze refused to soften. “And how did you find us?”
“Through your PicWave ads.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly, as if this answer soothed her. “Great, thank you. Just a few more—”
The sound of doors closing made me jump, which brought back the blush that had only recently dissipated.
I slowly glanced over my shoulder.
My tattooed humiliator strolled right in, his eyes dancing with humor. All his other features were rigid, smooth, and revealed absolutely nothing.
The receptionist cleared her throat softly, clearly as unimmune to the man’s looks as I was. “Hello, welcome.”
The waterboy returned.
“Are you here for orientation?” she asked the man, seeming to forget about me altogether.
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“Wes.”
The woman stared at him the way she had with me, but instead of caving and giving her his last name, Wes stared right back.
“Just Wes,” he said.
She exhaled and started typing on her laptop again.
“Damn, I didn’t realize that was an option,” I mumbled.
Wes chuckled, and the sound of it was so warm compared to his intimidating appearance, it startled me. It made me want to hear it again.
He was standing next to me now, close enough to touch. “You can take a do-over with me, if you want. I only need your first name.”
“Need is a strong word.”
I could feel his gaze hot on my cheek, so consuming I nearly forgot the context of where we were and why we were here.
Slowly, I met his intense hazel green eyes. My voice dried up, my stomach plummeting. I was disoriented when he finally spoke again.
“Please,” he added, low, taunting.
“Ma—” my heart skipped a beat, realizing what I’d almost said. I course-corrected in a split second. “Nova.”
“Manova?” he repeated slowly, and the receptionist lazily covered her laugh with a cunty cough.
“Nova. Just Nova.”
“Just Wes and Just Nova, if I could have your attention for a moment longer, I will take you to the others,” the woman said, her clipped tone indicating she had been set free from Wes’s spell.
Wes seemed reluctant to shift his attention from me back to her, but I was grateful for the release from his intensity. I couldn’t let some random man distract me, not when I was only here for Lorelei, and he must’ve been here for… his perverse sexual appetites.
The realization sobered me, and I quickly looked back to the receptionist.
“In this space, yes means yes, no means no, and maybe means?” she asked.
“No,” Wes answered for us.
I lamely echoed his answer with a nod. Okay, so he knew the bare minimum concept of consent. That meant absolutely nothing. He was one of them. Or, at least, he wanted to be.
The woman rattled off a similar speech as the one listed on the website, talking about The Circle as a sanctuary for bold seekers, people who wanted to live authentically without fear, suck the marrow out of life, fuck a bunch of random people and call it sex positivity, blah, blah, blah.
Okay, she didn’t say that last bit, but I picked up on it via context clues.
When I realized Wes was watching my face again instead of paying attention to the woman’s impassioned cult intro, I glared up at him.
“Quit that.”
“Quit what?”
“Staring at me like a creep. I do not consent.”
The fine lines around his eyes crinkled. “My apologies, miss.”
The receptionist gave up, turning on her heel and finally leading us through the next set of doors.
The hallway we passed down exposed absolutely nothing in the way of exclusive sex club.
I wanted to hate these people, but, I had to admit, I respected them for retaining the old gothic charm of the space.
Everything around us oozed wealth, esotericism, and secrets.
The vaulted ceilings and subtle religious iconography were soothing in a way I hadn’t been anticipating, and I realized that, for some godforsaken reason, Wes’s presence had completely distracted me from all my previous anxiety.
He is not an ally, I reminded myself. He is the enemy.
There was one question Wes hadn’t answered that I had. “How did you find this place?”
For the first time, his face drained of all humor, his pace momentarily slowing before he regained composure. “A friend.”
“Oh,” I said. “Gotcha.”
We took a creaky wooden staircase in silence.
In other words, a woman had likely told him about the super cool sex cult she was a part of, and here he was, eager to see it for himself. Maybe he had to go through whatever initiation they had planned for us before he could join her in kinky bliss.
Our handler paused before another door. Voices, soft music, and laughter floated from the other side.
“I forgot to collect this information downstairs,” she said, “but if you want to expedite the vetting process for potential ascension to active member status, I’ll need your social media handles.”
I waited for Wes to go first.
“Nah,” he said.
I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped my lips.
The woman frowned.
“Guess folks will just have to get to know me through what our ancestors called speaking to each other like human beings.” He tilted his head slightly. “Besides, didn’t you just say The Circle prioritizes real connection over the facade of our screen-selves?”
The woman’s smile was tight. “I didn’t realize you were listening. Have a nice evening, Nova and Wes.”
She stalked off, and I hated that he’d made me laugh at a time like this. Wes, on the other hand, was staring at my lips as if captivated.
I looked away, my smile fading as I remembered my mission. I walked past him to push through the door, meet my fate, and enter The Circle.