“Which is?” Noosh tried to stop her voice from croaking with distress but failed, and Allison got up and came to sit on the desk in front of her.
“Noosh…did you actually go to the clubs?”
“Yes, of course,” Noosh said defiantly. Don’t sulk, you’re not a teenager.
Allison smiled. “I mean, at night, as a client?”
Noosh was horrified. “No, of course not.”
“See? How on earth can you expect to convince our listeners you’re an expert on this subject if you yourself have no experience with the places? And Noosh, just so you know, BDSM is no longer a dirty little secret. With safety in mind, it can be a thrilling experience if that’s where your particular peccadillos find their home.” She sat back down behind her desk. “I’m not saying you have to go out and fuck a ton of men or get spanked by them, I’m just saying you should go, sit at the bar, have a drink and see what happens. Watch the interactions between people, talk to them. But don’t tell them you’re a journalist, for fuck’s sake. Pretend you’re the clientele for the night. You might surprise yourself.”
Noosh’s face was burning. “So…”
“So…keep working on it. There’s promise, but it’s not quite there yet.” Allison handed the proposal back to Noosh. “Darling, it’s coming along. I just think you need to go the extra mile. I’m pushing you because I believe in you. I believe you could be a rising star. I just want your debut to be as perfect as it should be.”
Noosh was still thinking about Allison’s words as she took the train home to her studio apartment in Queens. The 7 train was crowded and sweaty, and by the time she opened the door and dropped her bag on her floor, Noosh was exhausted. Coming from London, she was used to the hassle and annoyance of the Tube, so the actual train journey didn’t bother her, just the amount of people. Then why did you move to one of the most crowded cities in the world?
To disappear…
Noosh pushed the thought away and stripped off her clothes. She thanked God she didn’t have to wear a suit to work, that her usual uniform of blue jeans, t-shirt and Chuck Taylor’s was accepted office attire. She didn’t own anything that could be described as formal wear, except for the ruby-red dress she had worn for her graduation. She loved that dress. It had been a gift from her parents – her parents who had loved and supported her throughout her education, cheered her on, and scraped together their money to buy the designer dress for her. Noosh had worked and paid for her degrees with loans and grants – her parents would never have been able to afford to pay for it themselves.
Noosh had been born into a working-class family and had been brought up without wanting anything other than the food they provided and the love that they shared. In a modest two-up, two-down house out in the suburbs, both her parents worked as bank clerks and made sure that, even without the material things some of her classmates had, Noosh wanted for nothing.
To their credit, she had grown up with a strong work ethic, and their pride in their daughter knew no bounds as they watched her graduate with top honors from one of London’s most prestigious universities.
Then it had all come crashing down. Noosh had been targeted by a powerful man who had set out to make her his – whether she wanted him or not. It had almost destroyed her. Now, she could hardly stand to think his name.
Noosh stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, enjoying the feel of the spray cleansing her tired skin. Her whole life now was work. Maybe Allison was right – maybe she should get out there, experience a little more of what this beautiful, vibrant city had to offer.
Supper was a bowl of cereal and then she fell asleep on the couch, not bothering to pull a blanket over herself. It was early fall in New York, still stifling hot on some days and Noosh wriggled uncomfortably in her sleep until she awoke at three a.m., sitting bolt upright. The thin drape at her window was billowing in. She’d left the window open. God, she never did that…ever. Not since…
Noosh skittered over to the window and slammed it shut, forgetting about the hour. She sent a silent apology to her neighbors upstairs. If only this studio weren’t on the first floor, but the rent had been perfect for her budget and beggars couldn’t be choosers. And baking in the heat of the non-air-conditioned apartment was a small price to pay for her safety.
After moving to her bed she found she couldn’t sleep. She tried to read but by four had given up on that and was cleaning the apartment – again. She called it her ‘Monica time’ after the character from Friends – cleaning relaxed her, gave her time to think, to try and order her life a little better.
She thought back to what Allison had said. She should check out one of those clubs. The thought both scared and excited her. Next week, she told herself. Next week, I’ll go and see what gives in those places. She blew out her cheeks. Yep, it would take a week to get her courage up, but she was determined to do it now. Finally, as the city began to wake, she fell asleep again and slept in until mid-morning.
Senator Destry Papps always woke at 5 a.m. sharp to begin his day. A six-mile run was followed by a shower then a breakfast of oatmeal and a protein shake, and then he was down in his office by 7.30 a.m. It had been his routine for at least a decade now, waking up in his Georgetown townhouse, a block from his office.
At fifty-three, Destry, a native of New York, had lived his entire life in politics. Following in his father’s footsteps, he had become the senator for the District at thirty-eight and had remained in office for nearly two decades. He’d carefully planned his ascension through the party ranks and now he was, at last, going for the big job.
There was nothing Destry wanted more than to become President of the United States, and for the last couple of years he had been clearing house, ironing out anything that could stop him from realizing his goal. People were paid off, offered roles in his cabinet. His lovers, of which there had been many, had been vetted, and even his ex-wife, Telly, had been paid off to keep their dirty laundry private. Destry had no doubt that one day Telly would come to him with something more that she wanted from him, and it would be understood that whatever it was, Destry would provide it. But that was fine with him.
He checked his reflection out now. Tall, stately, with dark hair shot through with silver at the temples, he knew his handsome face was his ticket to getting what he wanted and had always used it. His patented ‘aw-shucks’ charm worked on the voting public as well as it did with his bed partners.
There was only one part of his life – as yet, a private part – that he reflected on with anger and resentment. The time in London, the time he’d seen her and felt his whole world shift. That dark, thick wavy hair, those large chocolate-brown eyes, that full mouth. Destry Papps had pursued Anoushka Taylor with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, and even his closest advisors had been scared by his passion for the girl. She was thirty years the Senator’s junior, a grad student, and an unknown quantity.
What Destry knew and no one else did was that Anoushka – his Noosh – had resisted his charms at first, had expressed doubts over their relationship. At least, she did until he wore her down, first by love-bombing her, promising her that he would give it all up for her, and then when she showed signs of independence from him, he’d shown her in an entirely different way that had nothing to do with love.
She’d escaped him, finally, disappearing from London entirely. He’d tracked her down, though, to a cottage in the north of England. Destry had made sure Noosh knew how angry he was.
He thought of her now, how she’d cringed away from his rage, and he smiled. He could still feel her skin under his fingertips, her mouth on his as he took her. He’d told her then, “If you ever leave me again, I’ll kill you.” And he had meant it.
Then Noosh did the unthinkable and tried to commit suicide. Her parents, those seemingly weak fools, had spirited her away from the hospital in the middle of the night, and Noosh had disappeared – for real, this time. But she was there, out in the world somewhere and ready to use his be
havior against him at the most critical moment. That couldn’t be happen, obviously.
Which is why he had sent his best men out to scour the globe for her. There had been sightings – in London, in Mumbai, where her mother hailed from, in Sydney. Destry’s gut instinct told him that she was somewhere in plain sight, but it frustrated him that she was so well hidden.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Destry closed the door to his office and flicked on his computer. He ignored the hundreds of emails and instead clicked on his private folder. Photo after photo of her, always with that haunted look in her eyes. Broken. Beautiful. He traced the outline of her face and sighed. “I can’t let you live, my darling. Not without me. Never without me.” He closed his eyes, imagining his hands around her throat, squeezing, or driving a knife deep into her gut as she begged for her life. His dick hardened, and he wondered if he could risk jerking off before his assistant got into the office. He heard someone moving in the outer office and sighed, closing the folder. “Another time, my love.”
He picked up the phone and called his Head of Security. “Any news?”
“No, Destry. We haven’t found anything on where she might be,”
“Jesus…she’s just one woman, for fuck’s sake. How hard can it be?”
His employee apologized. “I promise we’ll find her, it just may take some time.”
“I’m announcing my candidacy in two weeks. I don’t want anything spoiling that moment. Find her. That’s all I ask of you. When you do, I’ll take care of her.”
“Boss, if I find her, I’ll end her. There’s no need for you…”
“No,” Destry said, interrupting him. “I’ll be the one to kill Anoushka. Me. Just tell me where to find her.”
He hung up the phone and smiled to himself. He could hardly wait.
Chapter Two
Christo pushed his food around his plate, not hungry. He was all too aware of the brooding figure of his father at the end of the dining table. His father’s business associates, some of Christo’s uncles and cousins, and Bertie too, were all there as well, but Christo could feel his father’s scrutiny. He met his father’s gaze with a question in his eyes. Fogliano had been quiet all throughout the meal, but now he tapped his fork on his glass, asking for their attention.
“Friends, family, thank you for coming this evening, on what, to my surprise, is quite an auspicious night.”
Christo’s back stiffened, and Bertie shot him a warning look. Let your father say his piece. Christo sighed. He had no idea what his father would tell the others and so had no defense prepared.
Fogliano smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “My son, my only child, came to me today and told me he didn’t want my business.”
“And here we go,” breathed Bertie under his breath. Christo’s gaze never left his father’s.
“Now,” Fogliano continued, “I have always been proud of my son, proud of what he has achieved, of how much he has given me, and so the fact he wants to make his own way in the world is pleasing to me.”
Christo’s eyes widened slightly, and he relaxed a little. Fogliano smiled a little. “And do you know what my son, my Harvard-educated lawyer son, wants to do with his life now that he no longer wishes to be part of our working life?”
Christo’s hope faded. Nope, this wasn’t going to be a rousing speech singing his praises. He knew the look in his father’s eyes – he was about to be roasted, broiled alive, mocked mercilessly. Well, bring it, Pa. I can handle it.
“He wants to make furniture!” Fogliano spat triumphantly. “Furniture! Like some damn hipster fool in the Village, can you believe it? I’m so glad I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on your education, son, so that you can prance around with your bespoke hand-crafted side tables and rocking chairs. Such a privilege to be able to say that my son, who I raised as my heir to the business I have given my life to create…wants nothing to do with it. How is it I have raised such an ungrateful child?”
The room was silent, the atmosphere thick and unsettling as Fogliano got up and moved down the table to his son. Christo gritted his teeth. This was going to be one of Fogliano’s rants, clearly. I should have known, Christo thought, I should have known he wouldn’t take it well, that he was waiting to humiliate me in front of everyone. He caught Bertie’s eyes. Bertie’s expression was angry but watchful. Christo shook his head – he knew Bertie would stand up to his father in defense of his friend, but Christo felt numb. So be it, he thought, bring it on, Dad. Do your worst.
The anger that had been building inside him for years now was almost at its peak. As Fogliano bore down on his son, Christo got to his feet. “What’s up, Dad? Can’t bear the thought of someone making an honest buck for a change?”
Fogliano stopped. “An honest buck? I’ve had just about enough of your moralizing, boy. My money was good enough to feed you, clothe you, put you through college and now you’re too good for it?”
Christo squared up to his father. “No, Pa. I’m not good. I’ll never be good, but I can try to redress the balance. For Mom, as well as myself.”
He knew mentioning Ornella would set his father off, but Christo didn’t care. He wanted to push Fogliano, wanted that fight to happen so he could feel good about making the break. He didn’t have to wait long. Fogliano cold-cocked him, and he slammed into the table, crashing against the plates and cutlery. The men around the table shot to their feet as Fogliano hauled his son up and hit him again. Bertie lunged forward, but Christo shouted for him to stop. Fogliano beat his son again until Christo’s nose poured with blood. The room was silent as Fogliano let Christo go, his own breath ragged.
“Get out of my house,” he growled, his face a mask of pure rage. Christo got unsteadily to his feet and looked his father in the eyes.
“My fucking pleasure.”
He let Bertie steer him out of the mansion and into Bertie’s car. Christo gazed up at the house as Bertie drove him away from it, knowing he would never see it again. He was free.
“Dude, let’s get to the club,” he said, wiping the blood from his face. “I need a drink…or seven.”
It wasn’t until, very drunk, he went home to his apartment that night, that Christo let himself break.
Two weeks later and Noosh still hadn’t summoned the courage to go to the sex club. She had quietly pushed her story aside and helped out with Allison’s punishing schedule, hoping her boss would simply forget about it, but then, one Thursday night as they shared pizza late in the evening, Allison studied her. “So?”
Noosh feigned ignorance. “So, what?”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Noosh.”
Noosh sighed. “So…it’s on hold.”
“Until?”
“Until I can persuade myself to go to the club. I mean, you’re right. I need to experience it, it’s just…I’m not sure BDSM is my thing.”
“Do you suppose journalists who go to war-torn countries like what they have to see? The story’s the thing, not your personal preferences. Besides, I never said you had to try out any of that stuff.” Allison shoved a piece of pizza into her mouth and studied Noosh. “When was the last time you got laid, anyway?”
Noosh laughed, half-shocked, although it was exactly the kind of thing Allison would come out with. “A while,” Noosh answered honestly, then grinned at her boss. “And you?”
“Last night. A delectable lawyer from mid-town. Nice guy. Big cock.”
Noosh almost spat her soda out, laughing. She shook her head at her boss. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And satisfied. God, Noosh, have you looked in the mirror? You could have any man you wanted, you know that, right?”
Noosh felt the cold hand close over her heart – the way it had ever since him. “I don’t want a man. I’m fine the way I am.”
Allison harrumphed, unconvinced, but was distracted by her phone beeping. “Oh, here we go. Senator Papps has announced. Thought that might be coming.”
Noosh wondered if her shock wa
s visible on her face. “Destry Papps?”
“Yup. Mr. Smooth is running for President, and the way I hear it, he has a pretty good shot.”
Noosh felt sick but covered her distress by tidying up their dinner things. “That’s not something we’ll cover though, right? I mean, politics isn’t really in our remit.”
Allison brushed crumbs off her pants. “Not directly, but Papps is popular with women. Good-looking guy.”
Noosh felt her face burn. “Not my type.”
Allison, missing Noosh’s red face, chuckled. “Well, he’s a bit too polished for my taste too, but each to their own. Hey, are you okay?”
Finally, she had noticed that Noosh was looking sick. Noosh nodded. “Just tired.”
“Well, let’s get you a cab – god, it’s way past eleven, Noosh, why didn’t you say? You must think me a real taskmaster.” She smiled at her young friend. “Sweetheart, take tomorrow off, and Monday. Have a long weekend, and get some rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much work you put in here – it is very much appreciated. I don’t often say this, but these last few months you really have made me excited about this job again.”
As she sat in the backseat of her cab on the way to her apartment, Noosh concentrated on Allison’s compliments. It felt so good to hear her heroine, her idol, her mentor say those things to her, but still, the evening had been tarnished by the thought of Destry.
God…
Noosh felt like throwing up, imagining him as President. Of course, if anyone could stop that, it would be her. She could tell a thousand stories of his hateful, vicious personality. His violence…his threats to kill her.
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