Red Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 3)

by Linnea May

  There’s something magical about that, something as wonderful as it is confusing. I don’t blame him for the way he responded to my sequence of peculiar questions and my odd assessment when I called him a godsend. It was a weird thing to say, but I meant it.

  “A little late today. You okay?”

  Sybil’s question startles me, pulling me out of my quiet musings and back to the reality of everyday life. A breeze of sadness and disappointment brushes my heart when I realize I have no choice but to face a boring day of dull labor ahead of me.

  No spark, no thrill, no elation.

  No handsome stranger who’ll guide me through a world dipped in hot red, where fiery pain and warm pleasure meet in the most spectacular way.

  “I, um… yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, giving Sybil a reassuring smile. “I’m great.”

  She arches her eyebrows in a telltale way, leaning forward and supporting herself on her elbows while regarding me with a conspiratorial smirk. “Uhhh, who’s the guy?”

  I blush instantly, cursing myself for being so transparent even when I meant to keep my little adventure a secret.

  Little adventure. I wonder what he would think of that choice of words.

  “No one,” I lie, portraying my best cool-as-a-cucumber impression. “I just slept in a little. Does wonders for your mood.”

  “Yeah right!” Sybil laughs, shaking her head while she retreats to her desk. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me. I get it. You’ll tell me eventually, though, right?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  She winks at me and—thank God—turns back to her computer. I try to do the same, applying my best busy look as I stare at my e-mail inbox. But the letters blur while my mind wanders, away from the computer, away from my tasks, away from the present at hand—and back to him.

  It ended so quickly. He told me to get dressed shortly after I promised to not denote him as an experiment, and we went back downstairs. I was hoping we would have another drink and talk a little more, but he headed straight for the door, escorting me out and insisting on bringing me home. I didn’t want to prolong my silly game of keeping my true address a secret from him, so he now knows exactly where to find me.

  It was all so abrupt that I’d doubt it had even happened if it weren’t for the soreness on my ass. The real reason for my tardiness today wasn’t that I slept in, but because I spent too much time turning and twisting in front of my full-length mirror, examining the colors on my butt cheeks.

  It was the weirdest thing. I never thought of a bruise as something pretty, something that adorns you rather than defacing you. But with these it’s different.

  These marks are pretty. They make me proud.

  There’s a small and demented voice inside me that wants to share them with the world, to show them around like a new piece of jewelry. But of course, there’s only one person besides me who should be on the receiving end of that sort of exhibition.

  Him.

  I placed my phone next to my keyboard and find myself glancing at the display again and again, hoping for the little blinking light that informs me of a new message. He texted me right after taking me home, thanking me for the evening—when I was the one who had every reason to be grateful—and telling me good night.

  That was it. We never made plans to see each other again, even though it’s clear that we both want to. I’ve been holding back on texting him more than a response to express how much I enjoyed last night. He said he doesn’t want a girlfriend, and I said I don’t want a boyfriend. But what does that really mean now? Would I seem too eager if I messaged him? Or is he waiting for me to ask for another date? I know very little about the kind of relationship we might be about to start, but I thought there would be rules. Rules he dictates. Isn’t that how it works?

  My heart skips a beat when I see a message pop up on the screen. I try to be nonchalant when I reach for it, then lose another beat when I see it’s from him.

  It’s simple and short, but the words make blush instantly.

  How is your pretty ass?

  I glance around, cowering as if to hide a sense of guilt. The office is full and busy; no one is paying any attention to me, not even Sybil.

  Of course no one’s looking at me. Of course no one cares or suspects a dirty message on my phone. Why would they? I’m Lila, the good girl. The innocent but confused little lady who dumped her long-term fiancé for God knows what reason. Canceling my engagement was the craziest thing I’ve ever done, according to everyone who knows me.

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. The secretive nature of my recent experience only enhances the hot spice it came with.

  Sore and painted with pretty colors. You were right, it’s impossible to forget about last night.

  I stare at the screen for a few seconds, pondering ways to improve my wording. Is it too much? Too naughty? Probably not, not for him. Is it too intimate? Where does he draw the line?

  How the hell am I supposed to know?

  I hit Send and close my eyes, as if I’m bracing for an explosion.

  I should probably put my phone away so I can finally focus on my job. Instead I place it on the desk right next to my computer so I can see the display without having to turn my head. My heart races as I anxiously await a response that could be a long time coming. He’s probably busy, and unlike me, I’m sure he can’t afford to just slack off at his job.

  Of course, I’m just assuming. After all, I have no idea what he even does for a living. It’s kind of embarrassing. We’ve done the most intimate thing on a physical level, but I have no idea what his job is. I can only assume it has to be something big, something important, something that means a lot of money and an equal amount of responsibility. After all, he oozes wealth and status, and he moves among the rich like he belongs.

  It’s almost scary how much he resembles Elene’s husband in that regard.

  My eyes dart back and forth between the computer screen and my phone, a constant battle between reason and curiosity. It’s no surprise that my heart jolts yet again when a new text pops up. I don’t even bother to try being cool about it as I reach for my phone eager to read his reply.

  Show me.

  Just those two words.

  I blush as my fingers fly across the display, typing the obvious response to his request. I can’t. I’m at work.

  This time, only a few seconds pass before another message comes in.

  Yes you can. You have three minutes.

  Or else?

  Do you really want to find out?

  Oh my God. Is he serious? I look up from my phone, my eyes traveling through the room in a hurried daze.

  Two minutes, thirty seconds.

  Shit. He’s really serious about this.

  I jump up from my chair. It’s like my body’s moving on its own, heading for the bathroom and slipping inside, sighing in relief that there’s no one else around. I hide in one of the stalls and pull up my skirt, my fingers shaking as I activate the camera function on my phone.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

  I twist and turn, trying to find an angle that captures the artwork he left on my behind. I’ve never taken a photo of my ass before. I’ve never been asked to do such a thing, and I never thought I’d obey if someone demanded it.

  But here I am, my heart galloping with excitement as I follow his naughty order.

  And I’m loving it. A subtle pulsation throughout my core says more than any amount of words ever could. Once again my body is ahead of my mind, reveling in this unthinkable deed.

  One minute the message on my phone reads when I move it up to my face again.

  Shit. I have to hurry.

  I swipe through the many, many pictures I took, selecting the two I like the best, and send them back to him just after another message pops up.

  Thirty seconds.

  I made it. With time to spare. A proud smile spreads across my face, mixing wi
th the feeble arousal at knowing I’ve pleased him. The certainty embraces me like a warm hug, bringing me unfamiliar joy.

  And that feeling only amplifies when I read his response. Two words, as simple as they come, but so overwhelmingly powerful.

  Good girl.

  I never thought two simple words could taste so sweet.

  Chapter 17

  Kade

  When I was asked to show up at my family’s downtown residence for Sunday dinner, I thought it was just a simple get-together with my parents, who I haven’t seen in weeks. And as nice and homey as that may sound, it’s not. It never is in the Armitage household.

  I was prepared for passive-aggressive comments regarding my recent sale and the idea I’m currently working on. My family doesn’t get me, but they know me well enough to understand that I’m always working on something, always grinding at another project, a new idea that will occupy my head until that first enticing spark has lost its flavor.

  And they always want to know about it, despite their understanding of my nature. I never grow my ideas into the gigantic projects they could become, always selling them long before that happens, giving someone else the chance to grow them to their full potential, much to the dismay of my brother and father.

  I made myself pretty clear the last time I spoke to Greg, but I don’t expect him to leave it at that. He never does. He may be willing to let go of that last business I sold, but I’m sure he’ll try anything within his power to convince me to handle the next one differently. He and my father will both go on and on about it, trying to squeeze every last ounce of information out of me so they can give me unwanted advice on how to proceed with my young project.

  I’m ready. I know it’s coming, and I’m prepared for it.

  That’s why I’m all the more surprised when my father isn’t the one waiting for me in the reception room. My parents don’t actually live in this house—they just use it to entertain guests, even their own sons—but I’ve never been here without either one of them around. Tonight is the first time.

  Instead, I’m welcomed by my brother and a young man’s face that is neither completely unknown nor closely familiar. It takes me a moment or two to place the man, but I realize his identity just before my brother formerly introduces him.

  “You remember Damon Graves,” he says, displaying his most formal and somewhat distant smile.

  “Of course,” I say, gritting my teeth as I shake the man’s hand. “Mr. Graves.”

  “Damon will do,” he responds, his expression equally as tense as mine. “You were a guest at my wedding.”

  It’s not an actual question, but the way he emphasizes his statement makes it clear that he has trouble remembering seeing me that night. It’s apparent that neither of us left a lasting impression on the other.

  “All right, Damon,” I agree as we let go of each other’s hand. “Call me Kade, then.”

  He nods, still lacking a smile on his symmetric face.

  I wonder why he’s looking at me like that. Why is he so tense? Did my brother ambush him with this dinner invitation? What is this even all about? Why is he here?

  “Dad not coming tonight?” I ask, turning to my brother who’s standing next to me, the only person in the room with a smile on his face.

  “No, it’ll be just the three of us tonight.”

  He gestures for us to sit on the sofas next to a well-equipped bar table. Both Damon and I hesitate a moment before we sit across from each other while he pours everyone a bourbon without asking. I don’t wait for the obligatory clink of glasses before taking my first sip. My brother has an agenda, and whatever it is, I’m sure I’m not going to like it.

  “What is this about?”

  My brother shows no reaction to my direct question, displaying a nonchalance that bugs the hell out of me as he sits next to Damon.

  “Not one for beating around the bush, huh?” Damon says, raising his glass before he takes a sip himself.

  “Correct.”

  Greg sighs, adding an exasperated roll of the eyes. “Please excuse my brother, he—”

  “It’s fine. I like to take my time with things and do them properly, see them through until the end. But I understand that you have a rather short-lived attention span, always losing your grip on a project long before it reaches its peak.”

  I frown at him. “That’s not what I would call it, but fine, not everyone gets it.”

  I cast my brother a condescending look, arching an eyebrow to urge him to explain. He raises his hand in a defensive manner, shifting on the sofa and giving the impression that this exchange is making him uncomfortable.

  “Yes, you gentlemen are pretty different in the way you handle your business. Which is exactly why I think we should consider a cooperation,” he says, throwing Damon a look that suggests they talked about this beforehand. It seems like I’m the only one who hasn’t been in the know about the nature of this meeting before showing up.

  “I know you’re already working on your next idea,” my brother continues, casting me a questioning look that receives no response from my side. “And I know you’ll want to give it up long before you should, because you always do. I can’t watch that happen again.”

  I scoff, but he appears unfazed by my interjection.

  “I can’t, and I won’t. But I know I won’t be able to stop you from following that same pattern you’ve been following for the past few years. You’ll never be interested in seeing a project through until the bitter end, at least not on your own.”

  He pauses, catching my gaze while I look back and forth between him and Damon, trying to grasp where he’s going with this.

  “You’ll want to sell, sooner rather than later, and that’s fine,” he adds, raising his hand again when I’m about to interrupt him. “That’s why I’m suggesting you don’t sell to just anybody. Instead you’ll sell to us.”

  I suck in a sharp breath, furrowing my eyebrows in disgust as I try to understand him. “Us?”

  “Me and Damon,” he clarifies, pointing to the stern-looking guy next to him. “We’re working on a merger of two branches in our e-commerce business.”

  “And you’re already talking growth?” I blurt out, shaking my head. “You’re already talking acquisition?”

  They both nod in unison.

  “It’s not like we’re talking tomorrow, this week, or even this month,” Damon elaborates. “If I understand your brother correctly, there should be nothing to acquire from your part. Yet.”

  “No, there isn’t,” I respond. “Did he also tell you that he has no fucking idea what I’m even working on next?”

  “Yes, I did tell him that,” Greg answers on Damon’s behalf. “But I also told him I’m confident that whatever it is, it’ll be interesting to us—and more valuable than you’ll ever want to admit.”

  “Unbelievable!”

  My exclamation is met with the stoic faces of two business professionals who aren’t conscious of having done anything wrong.

  “How often have I told you, and Dad, that I’m not like you! How often have I—”

  “Yes, yes, whatever, Kade!” Greg’s tone is unusually harsh for him. “You keep saying that, and I get it. You want to be the outsider, the black seed or whatever, but you can’t deny who you really are, as much as you want to.”

  He adds a dramatic pause, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at me. “You are working on something new, aren’t you?”

  “Even if I was, that gives you no right to—”

  “Why the fuck are you being so stubborn? You don’t have to do anything. This is merely a proposal.”

  “Fine.”

  I sound like a dogged child, and I hate that he makes me like this, especially in front of someone who’s pretty much a stranger to me.

  Damon looks at me with one eyebrow raised, patient but slightly annoyed, a manner that reminds me of my old man all too much. I fucking hate that. I hate being put in this position.


  In addition, I don’t know how I feel about conducting business with a former client at The Velvet Rooms. A client who married one of the girls who worked there, above all. What does that say about him? That we share a lot more than I’m willing to admit?

  I don’t want to believe that.

  “Shall we eat?” Greg suggests, as if our dispute never happened. “I don’t think we should continue this discussion on an empty stomach.”

  Damon nods in response, his eyes still on me, as if he’s trying to encourage me. As if he knows I’m this close to walking out the door and leaving the two of them to themselves.

  I will not fucking give him that satisfaction.

  A reassured smile emerges on my brother’s face when I get up from my seat and make my way over to the dining room, ready to engage in a conversation I never wanted to have.

  Chapter 18

  Lila

  Not now.

  I frown at my phone, clicking the message away that caused my chagrin. It’s not the first of its kind, but it’s just as unwanted as the other three I received earlier today. And yesterday. And the day before.

  He just can’t let things go.

  Jim has been pestering me for days, as if he knows a new man has shown up in my life. And maybe he does know. Someone from my family could’ve told him. We’d been together for more than two years, and he was pretty close with my parents. They—especially my mother—were pretty upset about my decision to break up with him. For some reason, they still expected me to bring him to Elene’s wedding. “For old time’s sake,” as my mother put it. I bet she was hoping I would just come to my senses, that I would see my mistake and get back together with the man I’d agreed to marry. It’s what was expected of me, after all.

  There’s a chance that she even said something along those lines to Jim. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been talking on the phone without me knowing about it. It would explain why he’s still holding out hope, even now, after weeks of silence between us.