My throat tightens up and becomes so parched that it feels like I haven’t had a drop to drink in days.
“What do you think about that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to keep my composure. “What’s in it for me?”
“Well, besides the fact that I would pay you handsomely, you’d have the time of your life.”
I don’t want to be so crude, but I do want to know the amount. Little does he know, however, that I want him so much that I would probably do it for free.
“How does three hundred thousand sound?” he asks. “I know that I paid a quarter million for the night, but those were extenuating circumstances, weren’t they?”
I feel the power dynamic between us shifting. He wants me. A lot.
“How about $500,000? That is still quite a discount given how much you paid just for one night.”
“Wow, Ellie.” Mr. Black seems to be taken quite aback by my negotiation skills. “I honestly didn’t expect that. But, you know what? Why not? It’s just money, right?”
I guess, I want to say.
“Okay, then. It’s a deal. Half a million dollars. I’ll pay you half now and half in a week.”
“Sounds good.”
“Now you know, I’m going to have to punish you a little for setting such a high price, right?”
“I’d expect nothing less,” I say with a coy smile. His eyes roll to the back of his head with pleasure. My confidence is blowing his mind. Of course, it’s easier for me to be this confident, outgoing person over video. He’s not in the room with me. He’s not making me wet and making my whole body shudder with just one glance. Let’s see if he will be so impressed when we’re back together again in the same room.
Chapter 5 - Ellie
When I go out with my friend…
Mr. Black transfers a quarter of a million dollars into my bank account within a few hours of our call. Now, I have half a million dollars in there. The amount seems mind-boggling and it doesn’t feel real at all. As for when the week actually starts, Mr. Black wants that to be a surprise. My job is to go on with my days, doing whatever I was going to do and he is going to surprise me. He’s going to call me and ask me to meet him somewhere and I have to comply immediately.
The idea of him calling on me, requiring me to be somewhere, is a huge turn-on. Of course, I would never put up with something like this in a real relationship. But this isn’t what this is. This is a game. He wants me on certain terms, and I give myself up to him on certain terms.
As soon as Caroline gets home, she is already planning her night. It’s a long process that involves an hour long shower and a careful pairing of outfits and shoes. She usually blasts the music and goes through ten outfits and calling me over and telling me that she has nothing to wear in her whole walk-in closet before deciding on the first dress that she tried on.
“Please, come out today. Pretty please?” Caroline pleads.
“Seriously?” I laugh. “I haven’t heard that expression since the nineties.”
“Well, you know me, I like to roll old school,” she says, taking off a perfectly fine red dress and changing her bra and panties before trying on the next outfit. “But, seriously, just come out tonight. It will be so fun!”
After a few moments of debate, I finally cave. I haven’t been out to a proper club in a long time. Caroline goes all the time, but I’m more of a homebody. That’s probably because her night doesn’t even begin until eleven at night, and I’m usually in bed with a steamy romance on my Kindle by then.
“Yes!” Caroline jumps up and down and gives me a big hug. “I just met these girls today. They came into the gallery and bought a hundred thousand dollar painting for their new apartment on Park Avenue. They’re loaded, of course.”
Despite how much money Caroline has, she is still properly impressed when other people have money. Seriously, I thought she would be used to it by now.
I head to my own room and rifle through my less than lavish wardrobe to find something suitable to wear. Unfortunately, I only have two pairs of club-appropriate shoes and two dresses. I guess I could go for a pair of tight jeans, but the weather is still relatively warm and I want to soak up as much of the warmth as is still available to me before the cold, dark winter descends on Manhattan. While looking through my clothes, something occurs to me. I could have actually bought that painting from Caroline as well. Not that I would spend that much on a painting. In some parts of the country, a hundred grand buys a nice two bedroom house, but it is still an interesting thought to consider. Wow. Me. Imagine that!
Around ten thirty, Caroline is finally ready. Waiting for her all evening, I managed to read half of a new hot romance that’s burning up the charts on Amazon. As an English major, romances are my guilty pleasure. I love to get lost in the complexity of the relationships and the steamy sex scenes don’t hurt much either. Caroline doesn’t really get them. She thinks they’re trash and limits her reading to what the traditional publishers like to refer to as literary fiction. The only problem with that is that she barely reads at all while I manage to read a few books a week.
We meet Caroline’s new friends at the end of the long line full of hopeful girls dressed in their Saturday night’s best. They are both blonde and bubbly and masters at walking on four-inch stiletto heels. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m going to fall over at any moment. The line is long, but it seems to move swiftly. The bouncers make their judgments quickly and anyone who isn’t the right size or isn’t dressed well doesn’t get in. Single men have basically no hope at all. Personally, I doubt that they’d even let me in if I wasn’t with such a hot crowd.
The music inside the club is pumping, and the room is sweaty and hot. The thing about clubbing in New York is that you can never bring a jacket or a coat with you, even when it’s ten degrees outside, because no places have any coat checks and it’s too hot inside to keep it on and too annoying to carry around with you. Luckily, the nights are still warm enough this early in the fall that it’s not much of a consideration.
Caroline and the girls expertly position themselves at the bar and wait for some unsuspecting male to buy them a drink. I’m about to get my own when Caroline stops me.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” she asks. “The cocktails here are fifteen bucks.”
That’s definitely not cheap, but at this point, I don't really know if I care to make conversation with some guy in exchange for the drink. My bank account is loaded, and my mind is occupied entirely by Mr. Black. It has been more than a few hours since I made the agreement to be his for a week, and I don’t know exactly when the week will officially begin. To say that I’m waiting with anticipation would be an understatement.
“It’s fine, honestly,” I say. “Can I get an Old Fashioned, please?”
That’s kind of a man’s drink, but the taste of bitter orange is enticing.
Caroline and her friends just shake their heads. It doesn’t matter that they are wealthy all on their own; they are not the type to ever volunteer to pay for something when a man can do it for them.
When my drink arrives and Caroline is chatting up a hot investment banker type at the bar, my phone vibrates against my thigh. I glance at the screen. It’s Mr. Black.The text says, meet me at Avenue A and East Second Street. In 10 minutes.
My heart skips a beat. I don’t know what’s there, so I look up the location on my phone. But nothing really shows up. Odd. The only thing I know about that place is that the Upright Citizen’s Brigade is right around the corner and I’ve been to that comedy club a number of times and always had a really good time.
I tap Caroline on the shoulder and tell her that I have go.
“Oh, no, why?”
“I have to see Mr. Black,” I whisper into her ear.
“Really? Mr. Black?” Her eyes grow wide and a big smile comes on her face. Clearly, my attempt to keep this info under wraps was not successful.
“Who’s Mr. Black?” The girls lean
over inquisitively.
“I’ll tell you later,” Caroline says.
“No, you won’t. Because you promised, remember?” I say admonishingly. “He’s just a friend of mine.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t say anything.” Caroline waves her hand. I don’t really believe her, but I let it go.
“Have fun!” the girls squeal with excitement. I roll my eyes.
I decide to walk over to Avenue A and East Second Street instead of calling a cab or using Uber. It’s an unseasonably warm night and New York is at its finest. Within a few blocks, my feet start to pinch as I wobble along in my stilettos, but at this point, I’m too close to the place to bother with getting a cab.
Mr. Black is standing at the intersection, facing away from me. My eyes land on his perfectly pert ass. When he turns around, I see that his gorgeous body is dressed in an expertly tailored three-piece suit. Watching me approach, his icy cold gaze melts and a small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. I feel a crackling in the air that forms as I get closer and closer to him. It’s almost as if our bodies are putting off electricity. The sense of anticipation is deafening. When I am within an arm’s reach of him, we take a moment to examine each other. The man who is staring back at me is dark and dangerous and mine for the whole week.
I look up at his face and lose myself as if I’m in a trance. His cheekbones look like they’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo, and his dark eyebrows make a perfect frame for his thickly lashed eyes. His nose is prominent and strong to match his jaw and that mouth. My knees grow weak at the memories of what they did to me last weekend.
Mr. Black takes me by the shoulders and pulls me closer to him. When he presses his lips to mine, my whole body burns for him.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he whispers. Lots of men use that phrase, but in their mouths it sounds trite and boring. And like a lie. But when Mr. Black says those words to me, I know that he’s telling the truth.
“Are you ready for tonight?”
“That depends. What do you have planned?” I ask.
“Something very exciting,” he says slowly and deliberately. The tone of his voice sends shivers through my body. I’m not a big fan of surprises, but so far Mr. Black has gone far and above in giving me only the most pleasurable surprises.
He stares at me with such intensity that I start to feel faint. I’m not yet used to the power of his gaze. It’s both distant, cold, and absolutely scorching hot.
Mr. Black takes my hand and leads me into a nondescript doorway, which looks like it leads to a small apartment building. We ride the service elevator all the way to the top and when we get off, a substantial man with a clipboard meets us. He asks for our names and Mr. Black gives him his and says I’m his date. The man smiles approvingly, checks him off, and points us to the door behind him.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“It’s a private club.”
Chapter 6 - Ellie
When things go too far…
I walk in holding Mr. Black’s hand. My own hand is clearly sweaty and I feel a little bit self-conscious about it. But as much as I try to squirm away from him, he keeps a firm grip on me.
The room that we walk into is romantically lit. The walls are padded and red, and the large chandeliers that descend from the ceiling put out a smooth, sensual light that reminds me of thousands of candles. The people in this room are dressed pretty much like the people at the club. Women are in high heels and short dresses, tossing their hair with extensions from one side to the other. The men are dressed in tailored suits and look like they just walked out of the boardroom. No one looks older than forty-five. At the far corner of the room is the bar and Mr. Black takes me straight there. He orders a glass of the top-shelf whiskey for himself and a Cosmopolitan for me. The light pink drink in the elegant martini glass makes me feel elegant and sophisticated. Walking in on the arm of Mr. Black doesn’t hurt things either.
“So, what’s so special about this private club?” I ask, taking a sip and looking around. I’ve heard of private clubs before. Caroline, for instance, is dying to get into the SoHo House. Besides the exclusive people who are in there and the pool you can use on hot New York summer days, I’m not really sure what value it really offers.
Mr. Black winks at me, but doesn’t answer.
“Is it one of those stuffy country clubs?” I ask. “Like they have in the Hamptons? I’ve been there and they’re not amazing.”
He shakes his head and smiles.
“It has something of a different vibe,” Mr. Black says, squeezing my hand. My heart skips a beat. “Follow me.”
Grabbing my drink, I follow him into another room. And that’s when I come face-to-face with another world. There are people having sex everywhere. On the couches, on the desks, on the bar. Some are in couples, but most are in groups of three. I glance at Mr. Black with a horrified look on my face, but he meets my look with a smile and a shrug.
“It’s a sex club,” he whispers. “We don't have to participate necessarily, but it would be more fun.”
I drop his hand. Suddenly, the person that I thought I knew dissipates and I stand face-to-face with a stranger.
Without a word, I turn around and run out. Mr. Black follows me. I don’t stop at the bar; instead, I go all the way outside before he manages to grab my hand and swing me around.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. His eyes are wide and perplexed. He actually has no idea that he’s done anything wrong bringing me there.
“What did you think was going to happen in there?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I thought we would have some fun.”
“Well, that’s not my idea of fun.”
“I don’t understand,” Mr. Black says, shaking his head. I can see it in his eyes that he’s actually at a loss. But I don't care. I’m angry.
“I have to go,” I say.
“But what about our agreement?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You can have the money back. I don't care. You had no right to ask me to go there.”
“How’s this any different than the show we watched on the yacht?”
“It’s completely different…We weren’t right there, for one,” I say. I search my mind for more differences, but besides the fact that there was a glass, I have trouble coming up with any. Shit.
“I don’t know,” I add. “It just is.”
I want to cry. It takes all of my energy to keep my true feelings to myself. I flag down a cab and get in without saying another word. As soon as the cab pulls away, I burst out in tears. I don't know what has come over me, but for some reason this whole experience feels completely different than what happened at the yacht.
I’m still crying when the cab pulls up to my apartment. I hand the driver my credit card and barely see what I’m writing when I sign my name.
This was not how the night was supposed to go. There was supposed to be more to this. As I wash my face and wipe the eyeliner and mascara off my eyes, it finally hits me. The real reason why I got so upset was that I was expecting so much more. I didn’t even know it, but I had actually developed feelings for Mr. Black. No, I shouldn’t even call him that. His real name is Aiden. I mean, I actually thought that because he shared his real name with me, and he wanted to see me again, that meant that he was actually into me. How stupid is that?
I feel like such a fool. I walk around my apartment, lost in thought. I turn on the television so I don’t feel so alone, but I still can’t keep all of these thoughts from swirling around in my head.
I keep thinking back to last weekend. He toyed with me and pleasured me in a way that I’d never experienced before. He put off his pleasure to please me. He punished me for orgasming first and I liked that. I wanted all that again. And again. I’ve never met a man like him before. It’s not just that he’s rich. He’s also mysterious and in control. He embodies power and there’s something intoxicating about that.
I sit down at my laptop and try to relive what happened on the y
acht. In the story, I’m about ten thousand words in and I’m just about to be auctioned off. I sit staring at the screen for a long time, but no words come. Unlike in the beginning, when the words just poured out of me, this time, nothing comes. When I think back to the auction, I am no longer excited. Instead, I’m disappointed and angry. I’m angry at what just happened and that my expectations of Aiden didn’t conform to reality.
I slam my laptop screen shut and go to the kitchen. In the fridge, I find a brand new, unopened pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Cherry Garcia. It’s my absolute favorite. I’m actually surprised that it’s not half gone since it’s Caroline’s favorite, too. I climb into bed with the pint and a spoon. The tension in the back of my neck doesn't let up until the first drop lands on my tongue. A few spoonfuls later, the tears finally stop flowing.
I flip on the television in my room and focus my attention on The Real Housewives of New York City. This show and all of its spinoffs have been my guilty pleasure for as long as I can remember. There is something mind-numbing and saccharine about it that it makes me feel like no matter how shitty my life is at least I don't have their problems. Sometime in the middle of the episode, when I’m nearly halfway through my pint of ice cream, I hear Caroline come home. She’s talking loudly and laughing and clearly pretty intoxicated. I’m about to go out to say hi when I hear a male voice.
I turn down the television, but I still can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but I can hear them laughing. One of them flips off the television in the living room and then they start to make out. The sounds of kissing quickly morph into the sounds of lovemaking as Caroline starts to moan loudly while she’s being slammed against what sounds like the kitchen island.
None of this is new to me. I’m used to this, of course. We have known each other since Yale and she has been quite open about her sex life for many years. Some people, who I would never associate with, would call her a slut. But I hate that word. It’s sexist because it only applies to women who have a lot of sex. A man in her position is just a man who likes sex. A single man in his early twenties. What else does the world expect him to do? That’s what I think of Caroline’s sex life as well. She’s an empowered modern woman who has sex whenever, and with whomever, she pleases.
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