by Linnea May
No, I couldn’t. I had no other choice, but I don’t blame him anymore. If anything, I regret not having done what he asked of me earlier when he was still there to teach me the ropes. Now, he’s trying to as best as he can, but the burden will soon be too much for him.
I have to hurry. I have to make up for all the time I missed, for the time I decided to be a rebellious brat instead of growing into the respectable heir for my family. The stress is choking me. I want to prove myself, but my lack of experience is making it just as hard as the obstacles put in my way—many of them placed there by Dwight, my father’s closest associate. And on top of all the sinister thoughts that still haunt me, ghosts from the past won’t leave me the fuck alone.
I needed a distraction and a way to let loose that wouldn’t put me and my responsibility in any danger. It was obvious to anyone who knows me, anyone who’s working with me. I was still surprised that, of all people, Dwight was the one to set me up with this particular outlet.
That was how I ended up at The Velvet Rooms.
I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself.
I didn’t think I’d meet someone who’d turn out to be so much more than a superficial and short-lived distraction. I wasn’t prepared for her, but when it happened, I was more than ready to give in.
I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since ... I can’t even remember. Even when we started talking at the bar and she was openly flirting with me, I didn’t think the evening would end the way it did.
Of course, I had been told what kind of place The Velvet Rooms was. I came prepared, knowing sin and kink and women who were paid to please in many ways were all around. I knew about all of that, but I didn’t plan on taking advantage of any of those services because I deemed it to be the smarter choice. I could have a drink with them, talk to them, flirt with them—but I could not fuck them. That was my intention when I came here.
And then she happened. It was easy for her to find her way in. We were drawn to each other from the first moment, each of us knowing that we share something unique. She may not be as broken as I am, but something’s off in her world. Something’s damaged inside her, or maybe it was never there in the first place, leaving an aching hole in her existence. To me, it seems as if there could be some truth to both. There must be a reason she shares my odd inclination for tranquility. It’s not a normal trait for a young woman to have, and the way she carried herself in the protective shadows of silence and darkness was not only tantalizing but peculiar in her own way.
There’s something about her, a mystery, something dark and hidden, something she doesn’t share with just anybody. She made me feel special by allowing me to see a side of her that she keeps secret from anybody else.
At least that’s what it felt like.
I may be wrong. I could be seeing things in her that aren’t there. I could be over interpreting because I’m so fucking desperate to feel close to someone, to feel like someone is willing to bear with me, to be close to me without suffocating who I am.
I’m pathetic.
Still, I’m here, stepping into The Velvet Rooms with the same confidence that every man in here tries to display, be it sincere or not. We all look the same in our tailored suits, all of us oozing money and power, yet we barely pay any attention to each other because we’re not here for that. This is not a cigar club or a simple whiskey bar, where wealthy men hang out to network or engage in some kind metaphorical dick-measuring contest. On the contrary, accidental eye contact with someone you know from work is to be avoided by all means. I know that some of my father’s business associates frequent this club, but I can’t say I’d be happy to actually see any of them here. Especially Dwight. I can definitely do without seeing his face around.
Yesterday, I came for dissipation. Today, I’m here because of her.
Melina told me she’d be working tonight as well, her eyes resting on me in question as she waited for my response. She didn’t ask whether I’d come back, and I didn’t tell her. I had offered to take her home, but she refused because she had driven to work in her own car. Telling her goodbye in the parking lot bothered me because it felt undeserving and too soon. But that only shows how big of an idiot I am, how easily a woman can jinx me. I have always been easy to seduce by the fairer sex, but in the past, I opted to show my affection in different ways. Ways that almost always led to fear and despair, to horrified faces and tears running across the girl’s cheeks as she realized what a monster I was.
Melina has been spared from that side of me. So far.
She smiles when she sees me approaching the bar, and the joyful expression appears to be sincere. The same outfit as last night wraps her slim body, but she’s wearing her brown hair down today instead of pulled back in a ponytail.
“Evening, sir,” she says, winking at me as I sit down on one of the high chairs. “A gin and tonic?”
A man sits to my right, who—just like me—stands out for his youthfulness. He’s in the company of an angel, and farther down the bar, I spot another man between two devils. The place is crowded tonight, more so than it was yesterday. It’s annoying, not only because of the extra ruckus and noise brought in by more people but also because it doesn’t allow us the same privacy and time we enjoyed last night.
“I hear you have a unique gin and tonic with a twist here,” I say, watching amusement spread across her pretty face as she listens.
“Coming right up,” she says.
She prepares my drink with the same professionalism I witnessed yesterday, mixing the ingredients without having to measure anything and moving in quick and effortless motions. Her focus never shifts, her gaze concentrating on her hands as she does her magic. Even when she places the drink in front of me, it takes some effort to catch her eyes.
“Hey,” I say, finally drawing her attention to me. “Thank you.”
She smiles at me, coyly turning over her shoulder to see if anybody is watching us, before she leans over the counter, moving her lips to my left ear.
“We can’t do it again,” she says, stabbing a fiery spear through my chest. “Not like yesterday, we can’t.”
She withdraws just enough for our eyes to meet, checking whether I got her. I nod, signaling that her words reached me, but I’m not ready to let her go just like that. Whatever I did wrong, she’ll have to explain.
“May I ask why?”
My question sounds bitter as I utter the words through compressed teeth, and I’m sure the looming flame of anger is already showing on my face.
Keep it together. Keep it fucking together, Rowan.
Melina looks uncomfortable, checking over her shoulder again before she gives me a response.
“I got in trouble with my boss,” she explains. “Security cameras caught us.”
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Don’t worry. You’re good,” she assures, without me having to ask. “I don’t think she even knows that it was you, and she doesn’t go after clients if it’s just a one-time digression. You don’t have to worry.”
I huff. “I’m not worried about that, Melina.”
She tilts her head to the side, looking at me through wide and quizzical eyes.
“Does this mean I can’t see you again?” I probe.
She licks her bottom lip and rubs her forearms as her eyes travel to the ground, fixating on her feet while she says something in response. I can see her lips moving, but the words are muffled, and their meaning remains lost to me.
“Melina,” I urge, raising my voice so much that it draws the attention of the couple sitting closest to us.
She lifts her gaze in an instant, suddenly remembering my damaged hearing. She steps closer, an apologetic smile on her face as she fidgets with her hands.
“We can see each other again,” she says, her cheeks visibly flushed, “but you’d have to bring me as your date.”
15
Melina
I knew I’d be nervous. Who wouldn’t be?
But I didn’t expect it t
o be this bad. I didn’t expect to find myself pacing up and down in front of my closet for an hour, changing in and out of outfits as I tried to find the perfect one. I went back and forth, trying on the exact same thing three times between alternating with other options before time forced me to make a decision.
This wasn’t just any date. It would have been easier if we’d met for dinner and a movie, something innocent that allowed for plenty of choices, including jeans and sneakers.
I wonder if we’ll ever have a date like that.
Would I even want it?
I know I didn’t want something this virtuous for tonight. I don’t want to sit at a dinner table with him, having to behave as we talk—no touching, not doing anything close to what we did yesterday. No. There’s little to no allure in a date like that.
I want what we had last night. I want to submerge with him. Subdued vision, subdued sound—just his hands on me while I sink into his touch. I want to feel like I did last night. I want that and more.
And for that, we need the blue room. The idea of meeting in there again is intoxicating and exciting despite the awkwardness that comes with the fact that my co-workers will see me at the club as a customer’s date. I never thought I’d be on the other side of this. My eyes roam the guest room, watching their flirtatious dance in the shadows, spiced with wealth and bountiful garnish. You have to either be unbelievably rich or a call girl to be allowed to take part in it.
Or invited as someone’s date.
None of the three options ever seemed viable to me. I was curious to see the rooms, but I never imagined any scenario where I’d actually get a chance to visit them.
Even when Rowan invited me without hesitation, I couldn’t quite believe it at first. I don’t know why I doubted him so much, but I never thought he’d find me fit to be his date. I always thought that men like him were used to so much better, being able to spend their time in the presence of the most beautiful—and most expensive—women. Women who possess a class and sex appeal that I lack.
The connection between us was apparent, but I still don’t understand why he’d want to spend his valuable time with me.
He offered to pick me up, but I refused even though it meant I’d have to take a cab here. I don’t want to drive tonight in case I decide to have more than just one drink.
I’m about five minutes early when the cab pulls up in front of the club, but he’s already there, waiting for me. He hurries to open the door for me, looking so dashingly handsome in his navy blue suit. I ended up wearing a classic, a little black dress that I usually deem way too short to wear in public, and I feel unworthy right away. It’s a cocktail dress I bought years ago because it was on sale and made me feel sexy, but I can’t recall the last time I wore it.
My insecurities and doubts are cast away after he helps me out of the car. I step out into the warm summer night, balancing in my heels while his eyes scan me from head to toe. The expression on his face leaves no doubt that he appreciates my choice.
“You render me speechless,” he compliments, pulling me close for a kiss. “Too fucking delicious.”
His words are hissed between our kiss, our lips meeting with heated need, inciting a yearning deep within my chest. A sigh escapes me when he withdraws, ending our kiss way too soon.
“Are you ready?”
I don’t know how to reply to his question; all I can muster is a coy smile, accompanied by a silent nod. His question holds a deeper meaning, reassuring that I’m ready to face not only a kinky evening with him, but also that I’ll be seen by my co-workers. When he asked me last night if I’d feel weird about being a customer at my own work place, let alone this very special workplace, I answered in the negative, playing it cool.
But the truth is that I didn’t want to think about it. Every time the question threatened to push itself to the fore, I made sure to cast it away. I’ve always been good at pushing aside any uncomfortable thoughts, be it future problems or things that happened to me in the past. I’d almost say it’s a talent of mine.
But the lack of reflection also leaves me unprepared when I’m about to put myself in a situation like the one at hand. As Rowan leads me through the front entrance and I’m met with the apathetic look of our doorman, I instantly feel the heat of shame rush to my cheeks. He doesn’t even give any sign of recognizing me, just nods silently as he does with every other customer who enters The Velvet Rooms. It’ll be so much more awkward once we’re inside, and I’m surrounded by the people I work with—the waitresses, the girls, my colleague behind the bar.
It’s as if a clamp closes around my throat, making it hard to breathe and even harder to relax.
“You’ll be fine,” Rowan says next to me. He places his hand on my back, giving me a gentle push as we stride through the open curtain at the main entrance.
“You think too much.”
He regards me with a reassuring smile when I look up at him, my eyebrows creased in question.
“Are you afraid of being judged?” he asks. “In here? By your co-workers?”
I shake my head. “No. Not really.”
“Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t be.”
My eyes follow his as he turns toward the bar, and there’s a moment of horror when I realize that Alex is working tonight, the guy I share most of my shifts with. Of course. I can’t bear the thought of ordering a drink from him, let alone sitting at the bar while trying to have a flirtatious conversation with Rowan.
Luckily, Rowan seems to be aware of my predicament.
“Why don’t you find us a seat over there in the lounge area while I get our drinks,” he suggests, pointing at the dark corner of the main guest room where button-tufted furniture is arranged in intimate seating groups.
“What can I get you?”
I smile at him and give a little wink when I say, “Surprise me.”
16
Rowan
This must have been the first time I felt something like intimidation when ordering a drink for a girl. Women are usually easy when it comes to drinks. I’ve never met one who didn’t like champagne, a glass of wine, or a classic Manhattan, and they never had any particular tastes in regards to the liquor that was used to create their drinks. I’ve never been with a woman whose knowledge exceeds my own in this area. Not only that, but Melina is hard to read in so many ways. She’s more complex, obviously adventurous, and individual. I didn’t want to return to her with something as simple as a glass of champagne.
I want to bring her something special; something that’s bold in character, just like her.
“A Negroni,” she observes when I join her on the button-tufted loveseat in the far corner. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that she opted for the darkest and most tranquil corner of the room.
“Not just any Negroni,” I say as I sit next to her, handing her the drink. “A blood orange Negroni with rosemary.”
Her eyebrows arch with appreciation.
“Impressive,” she says, clinking her glass with mine. “Have you always been this adventurous with drinks, or did I start that with my creation?”
The smile on her face is trying to be cocky, but I can tell she’s glossing over her anxious nerves. It’s endearing to see her like this, especially because she doesn’t seem like the type who is easily intimidated. She couldn’t do her job if she was.
“Nice spot you picked here,” I respond, my gaze browsing the seating area. “Dark, secluded, and quiet. It wouldn’t have anything to do with you trying to hide from anybody?”
She huffs, hiding behind her glass as she takes another sip.
“I thought you like it quiet, too,” she says. “Isn’t that something we have in common? Appreciating silence?”
I nod. “Touché.”
“Has it always been like that for you?” she asks. “Or just since ... your accident?”
My eyes narrow as I formulate my answer. I can’t tell her the truth, not all of it. All the things I could tell her about myself would o
nly scare her for no reason. I don’t think Melina scares easily, but how could I be sure of that. I don’t know her, despite feeling weirdly close to her, because we only met a few days ago. Days that have changed a lot in the way I look at myself and the perception of my future. I thought I had lost certain things forever, things like the ones I did with her. But it looks as if some of it was just altered and not broken. Sometimes, it’s hard to distinguish the two.
“The accident changed me,” I say, remaining vague in my response. “I can tell you that much.”
“You said it was a bomb?” she probes, and I nod, signaling that she’s barking up the wrong tree if she wants me to elaborate on that subject.
But Melina remains unfazed by that.
“And you had to leave the Army because of it?” She broaches the subject again. “Because you got injured?”
Her eyes lock on mine, unwilling to accept the reluctance in my expression.
“I had to leave because of the accident, yes,” I answer truthfully.
She exhales audibly. “I didn’t know they were this strict. I mean, it’s not like you aren’t physically fit or anything ...”
She smirks, her eyes trailing along my chest while her expression is laced with fondness.
“Seems to me like you’re still more than capable of hard work,” she adds.
I lean back against the cushions, resolute to share a little that might change her mind about me.
“It wasn’t my physical fitness that concerned them,” I say. “I didn’t have to leave because I lost my hearing.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she cocks her head to the side, anticipating further explanation from me.
“Ever heard of PTSD?” I ask her.
Understanding spreads across her face.
“Oh, yes, post traumatic ... something,” she utters, touching the back of her neck as she tries to gather the correct term. She’s wearing her hair down tonight, looking magnificent as the shiny brown waves fall over her slim shoulders.