Chapter 5
Joy
“What do you think?” I ask Bobby as I step into my kitchen.
Bobby looks up from his seat at the breakfast bar where he’s been studying another script. I don’t think he’s taken a day off in years. He’s always working on his next project. “You look nice.”
“Pretty enough for a club?” I ask as I twirl around in the red sleeveless halter top dress with the sweetheart neckline.
The gold-sequined sash tied on my side makes me feel extra cute.
If there’s one advantage of my mom owning a movie company, it’s that I can borrow cute dresses from the wardrobe department anytime.
I’ve spent the past week eating too much ice cream and crying over Ford. I gave myself the time I needed to grieve, and now I’m trying to move on.
I’ve finally acknowledged that we’re never going to be together. He’s tattooed on my soul, and I know there’s no way I’m ever fully going to get rid of him. But I have to try for my sanity’s sake.
“What’s the game plan again?” I ask Bobby.
“I’m going to pick you up at midnight,” he says. A funny expression crosses his face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
If it were anyone else, I would think Bobby were interested in me. But I know he sees me as a little kid sister. Tonight, I don’t want to be anyone’s kid sister. I don’t want to be an employee or an assistant. I just want to be seen as a beautiful, sensual woman.
Still, I can’t help chuckling at the idea of Bobby coming along with me. “Your parents would be furious if you were caught in this club.”
“My father would probably have a stroke,” he agrees.
“Why do you always do what they want?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t pry, but I can’t help wondering what Bobby’s deal is.
He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. “You don’t understand my family.”
“I know that families are complicated. I hope you know that if you need to talk about yours, I’m here for you,” I answer, surprised at how much more I like Bobby now that I know he’s not going to marry my sister. They never would have worked together.
“There’s nothing to say. No deep, dark family secret or tabloid fodder. Just boring family drama, but thanks.” He stands from the kitchen stool and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close for an unexpected hug.
I hug him back, swallowing a lump in my throat.
It’s dark by the time that Bobby drops me off outside of the club. It’s not a seedy little building like I had imagined. No, this looks like a regular office building from the outside. It’s all sleek lines of chrome and glass.
I can see a large foyer through the double doors that’s filled with dining tables and servers wandering around with trays of filled flutes and various fruits. To the casual observer, it almost looks like there’s a business party going on. But only a few people know the full truth.
Before I can step inside, a large man in a suit with a bald head approaches me. He holds out a hand as he looks me up and down, taking in my red dress and sash that shimmers underneath the streetlamp.
“Invitation,” he demands in a thick Irish brogue.
With shaking hands, I tug the invitation out of the clutch purse that matches my sash and the mask that’s partially obscuring my face.
It’s my second invitation. I must have left my first one at the hospital because I lost it.
Fortunately, Marsha was generous enough to give me another one.
She even seemed kind of excited about the possibility of me using it.
I half expect the bouncer to deny me entry, to tell me that the universe is playing a cruel joke on me.
But he looks over the paper and quickly hands it back to me before shoving another thicker piece of paper in my hands.
I glance down at the embossed paper that’s the same black color as my invitation. One word glitters at the top. Menu.
Before I can read the menu, the man opens the door and tells me to have a good night.
Just like that, I’m walking into an adults-only club. What would the tabloids print if they knew that Joy Jolly of the Jolly Family Media Company were here tonight? I can almost see the headline now: “The truth exposed: Joy gets her jollies by visiting adult clubs!”
I shake my head to dismiss those thoughts. Marsha reassured me over the phone that this club is known for its discretion. It has to be if this is where the billionaires come to play.
I step inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpeting. I accept the first champagne flute that I’m offered by a waiter and guzzle half of it in an instant. It does nothing to calm my nerves like I’d hoped.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched, but that’s crazy. No one knows I’m here tonight other than Bobby, and I’m certain that he’s already on his way back to his apartment.
I try to scope out the room, but it’s hard. Everyone is in masks. I’m not sure who it is that’s staring at me.
My palms are sweaty, so I lift the menu and browse it. I quickly realize it isn’t a food menu at all. It’s more of a directory, detailing which rooms to visit depending on your tastes. There’s even a live show happening in a few minutes.
My cheeks heat as I imagine not just watching but starring in one of these shows. What would that be like, to feel an audience watch me in the throes of passion?
A flash of something black and metallic glitters from my peripheral, interrupting my thoughts. I turn in time to see a man in a gleaming mask stride through the crowd. The crowd parts for him, and it’s little wonder with his large shoulders and hulking frame.
While the room might be filled with billionaires, they don’t hold a candle to the power and confidence this man carries. He moves easily on his feet, a man perfectly comfortable in his place in the world.
As I take in the way his tuxedo stretches across his body, I can’t help but be reminded of the way Ford moves. He has the same level of confidence.
But when I raise my gaze higher to the stranger’s face, I’m disappointed to discover it’s not Ford.
It can’t be him. This man has a beard that’s neatly trimmed with light, silvery threads in it that can only be seen when they catch in the light.
His hair is also too short to possibly be Ford.
I think of Ford’s long hair that dusts his shoulders, luscious locks that I’ve often fantasized about running my fingers through.
No, my mountain man looks rough and unkempt while the stranger before me is polished and sophisticated.
He comes to stand in front of me, and I wait for him to say a word. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets his gaze travel the length of my body, from the top of my head to my toes. There’s not an inch of my skin that his gaze isn’t caressing. The room suddenly feels hotter, and my throat is parched.
Any minute now, he’s going to speak. When a full moment of silence has lapsed between us, I finally decide he must be nervous. I start the conversation, “Is it your first time here?”
He still says nothing. But his gaze is all over me, like I’m his personal playground and he can’t decide what he wants to touch first.
“It’s my first time here too.” I take a sip of my remaining champagne.
There’s something about being near this stranger.
He makes me more aware of my body than I’ve ever been.
Suddenly, I feel every breath in my lungs, every nerve firing underneath my skin, and the very insistent press of my nipples against my bra.
I’ve never had them bead up like this, at least, not in front of anyone that wasn’t Ford.
Finally, he speaks. His voice is rough, like an uncut diamond. “You’re breathtaking.”
I blush and quickly realize that I’m in trouble. “My dress–”
His stern look makes my knees go weak. My insides feel squirmy in a way that I can’t explain.
“The dress doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it. You’d look just as stunning out of it. No, this is one hundred percent you.” I love the way he speaks with such confidence, a man fully certain of what he knows.
I throw back the last of my champagne, passing the flute to a nearby waiter. “Do you want to dance?”
In the room across from the big foyer, couples are slow dancing to a live band playing classical music.
To anyone that glanced in the room, it would look like a perfectly nice, upscale New Year’s Eve celebration. Only those in attendance know what’s really happening. How filthy and depraved most of these guests truly are.
I wonder if this hulking giant in a tuxedo is like the rest of them. I hope so. Because I desperately need to know what it feels like to be in this man’s arms.
This man who’s staring at me with such primal hunger and need in his gaze. His aura is powerful, and for the first time tonight, I don’t think that maybe coming here was a terrible idea.
He holds out a hand. The smile he gives me is wolfish and filled with promises of what’s to come. “We’ll start with a dance.”
I put my hand in his, feeling the tingles race all the way up my arm and down my spine. I’ve never had this reaction to any other man, except for Ford.
He pulls me onto the dance floor, and I go willingly into his arms. Instantly, his hands settle on my hips.
Peace and contentment thrum through my body.
This is where I’m meant to be, in this handsome stranger’s arms. Ford’s scowling expression floats into my mind, and I push it away. He didn’t want me.
“You’re the most beautiful woman here.” His voice rings with sincerity, making it obvious he really does believe the words.
His words thrill me even if they’re not true. “You haven’t seen all the women here.”
“I don’t have to have seen all of the women here to know that I’m dancing with the most beautiful one.”
I smile because even though I know I’m not the prettiest woman in the room, the fact that this handsome stranger thinks I am has me floating.
The giddy feeling stays with me as we dance across the floor. He twirls and dips me, moving my body easily. The entire time he makes soft growls, anytime another couple gets too close. I love how possessive he is and how much control he exudes.
“You’re quite the charming ladies’ man,” I tell him as the next song begins.
“There’s only ever been one woman for me, and I’ve always been faithful to her.” The way he says it makes me think there’s more to the story, and I can’t help the curiosity bubbling up. Who wouldn’t want this handsome man?
“But you’re not together?” I probably shouldn’t pry with my question, but there’s something about the stranger that makes me want to know everything about him.
“No.”
“So, tonight is about loneliness,” I answer for him.
I’m not judging. I’m just as lonely as he is.
My heart aches at the thought of Ford, of wondering what he’s doing tonight.
I push the pain down, refusing to dwell on it.
I’ll learn how to function without him. But it’s like trying to function without my right hand. I know it’s possible, but it’s so hard.
“Tonight is about reaching for a miracle.”
I want to ask him about that. I want to know more about the miracle. But before I can continue our conversation, the song ends and the band begins breaking down.
I’m not ready to say goodbye to the stranger, and I suddenly remember the menu I saw earlier. “I was going to catch one of the shows. Do you want to see it with me?”
He threads his fingers through mine, his rough palm an odd contrast to his polished exterior. I thought rich men had soft hands, but I decide that it doesn’t matter tonight.
“Lead the way,” his voice rumbles as he follows me to the show.