by Stasia Black
I close my eyes for a moment and feel the light breeze on my skin. It can’t be cooler than seventy degrees even though it’s mid-October.
Time to reclaim the day. I take in a deep, cleansing breath. Then wrinkle my nose at the odor of garbage—and… is that… urine?—in the air.
So deep breathing might not be the best idea while right in the middle of the city. Downtown San Jose isn’t exactly the loveliest part of the Bay Area. You need to head a little south, or west, or well, a bunch north around the other side of the bay to where the nice neighborhoods are. Aka, to where the rich people live.
I sigh. Well, now I’ve gone and depressed myself even more. Maybe today is just fucked all the way around.
New plan: Home. Wine. Bed. Try again tomorrow.
So what if that’s become my go to mantra lately? Try Again Tomorrow seems like a perfectly good motto for life.
I hike my purse up on my shoulder and start to head in the direction of the light rail when a double beeping honk makes me look to the street.
Where I see Jackson’s town car waiting, his driver in the front seat. Jackson pushes the back door open and steps out. He waves me over.
Childishly, I want to scurry in the other direction and ignore him. Except I’ve obviously noticed him and running would look exactly like what it is—me being a coward.
I lift my chin even as my jaw clenches. I walked toward him, but if he thinks he’s going to draw me into conversation about what happened this morning, he’s shit out of luck.
As soon as I’m close enough to be within hearing distance, I start talking. I’m going to be the one to control this interaction. “Kissing you this morning was a mistake and I don’t want to talk about the other—”
“I don’t want to talk about that either. Now get in.”
With that, he smoothly moves over on the backseat and gestures for me to join him inside.
I glare at him. What? He thinks he can just snap his fingers and order me around? Of all the arrogant, high-handed, asinine—
“Please, Callie.” His features soften. “I think you’ll find the place I want to take you very… enlightening.” At the last word, his lips quirk up at the edges.
“Where?” Damn my curiosity.
One of his eyebrows rises. “It’s a surprise.”
I let out an unimpressed huff of air and glance up at the sidewalk that will take me to the nearest light rail station.
“I promise, Callie. Come with me just this once.” His face is so open, his usually cool demeanor nowhere in sight. “If you don’t like it, we’ll go back to the way we were.”
This earns him another glare. “What, with you stalking me?”
He holds up his hands. “With you never seeing my face.”
“And the guy you have following me?”
He gives a small shrug. “We can discuss the security detail.”
“There’s no discussion. It stops. Immediately.” Even the thought of some guy following me around all the time without me knowing sends a shudder down my spine.
I notice Jackson’s hand twitch. “I’m not comfortable leaving you unguarded while your ex has some sleazy barely licensed P.I. following you around, trying to catch you in compromising photos.”
I lean against the car, feeling suddenly winded. Shit. David still has some fucker following me? But—
I turn to Jackson again. “I thought the lawyers got a restraining order against their PI.” I’ve been less paranoid about making sure I’m not followed when I go to clubs because I thought it was handled. Still, I mean, I’ve been careful. Wearing wigs. I even watched web videos on how to use heavy makeup to contour and slightly alter my features.
But still, if David’s lawyers managed to get a photo of me doing some of the things I’ve been doing in the last few weeks…
Oh shit. Oh God. Oh shit shit shit. But no, I’m right about the restraining order.
Jackson comes out of the car to join me where I’m standing since I’m not bending over to hear him anymore. He doesn’t get too close, though, keeping about two feet of space between us. Smart boy. “They just hired a different P.I. and once or twice even used lower associates within the law firm. As soon as we slap a restraining order on whoever they hire, they’re onto someone else. Even a restraining order only restricts them to a distance of a hundred yards from you. That’s nothing for a telephoto lens.”
Oh God. Does that mean—? I put a hand to my stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up again.”
If there’s even one picture of me in public with any of those men— How could I have been so reckless? No high or stress relief is worth doing anything that could compromise my chances of getting Charlie back. Here I am, fucking up again by making the stupidest decisions possible.
“No,” Jackson shakes his head vehemently. “The security guards have made sure none of them have even gotten close to you. If you enter an establishment, my guys pick them out of the crowd and they don’t follow you in. You’ve been safe.”
“Are you sure?”
He must hear the panic in my voice because he nods emphatically. “I promise. No one got past my guys.”
Annnnnnnnd there goes my sense of comfort. Guys? As in, plural? When he mentioned it a second ago, he’d made it sound like it was just one person. But what, he has a whole team of people following me around? The fuck?
Jackson tries to move toward me but I step away, shaking my head. “I guess in some messed up way, I appreciate what you’ve done?” I can’t help it coming out half as a question. Yes, what he did violated my privacy but it also might have saved me from my own stupidity. Apparently there’s been all kinds of fucking espionage going on with David’s people trying to follow me and Jackson’s people countering and thwarting them—all of which will allow me to get my son back in spite of myself. So in the end, I guess I can’t resent it...
Still. I shudder. That doesn’t mean it gets to continue. All those people watching me and I didn’t have a fucking clue.
“But no more.” I meet Jackson’s gaze straight on. “I refuse to have men I don’t know following me around.” The shiver that goes through me this time is visible.
Jackson nods. “I completely understand.”
I breathe out audibly. “So you’ll cancel the service.”
“No.”
I tense up and glare at him. “What?”
“I won’t cancel the service,” he says calmly. “Earlier today I requested a change in your detail so that you’ll only have female bodyguards from now on. You can meet them and have as much contact with them as you like so you’re comfortable with the situation.”
My mouth gapes open and then closes. I open it to say something else and then close it again. I— He—
“Excellent. Now that that’s settled to your satisfaction, shall we go?” He holds out a hand in the direction of the town car’s open door. He moves aside so that I can step in.
I should really say something. I’m being fucking handled. Calliope fucking Cruise does not let herself be handled by anyone. Not anymore. I ought to tell him to go fuck himself.
But as much as I might not like how he went about doing what he did… Damn him, he was looking out for me. And it might have just saved my ass.
I purse my lips and give him my sharpest glare. Pointing a finger right in his face, I say, “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. Stalker.”
Then I squeeze past him and slide into the car.
I ignore his chuckle. “Anything you say. Anything you say.”
* * *
Classical music plays quietly through the speakers. Chopin, if I’m not mistaken. One of his brooding nocturnes.
Jackson doesn’t say anything. I feel like he’s waiting for me to start the conversation and when I don’t, he’s comfortable with the silence between us.
And you know what? I actually like that. Unlike most people, it doesn’t feel awkward. Just riding in the car with him, listening to music, and not saying a
nything. It’s peaceful even. I’m curious about where we’re going, sure, but I doubt he would tell me even if I pressed.
So instead, I lean my head back on the seat rest and relax as I watch the city pass by. I can tell we’re heading north on the 101 toward San Francisco.
It’s over an hour and a half later when we get to downtown. I ended up falling asleep for most of the drive. When I wake up and look around, I see the traffic is pretty insane. A glance down at my phone shows why. It’s rush hour. We’re on a busy strip but Jackson’s driver weaves expertly in and out of traffic until we pull into a small semicircle in front of a tall brick building with a red awning. There aren’t any identifying markers on the building. Just where exactly has Jackson brought me?
A valet quickly appears as Jackson’s driver gets out and hurries around the front of the car. A moment later, Jackson’s door is opened and the driver hands over a small black duffel bag. Jackson steps out and shoulders the bag, then holds out a hand for me.
I roll my eyes, open my own door and step out. Seriously. These guys. Jackson walks around the back of the car to meet me.
“Is it really necessary that you have your own driver?” I ask as he takes my arm and we head toward the front doors.
He smiles, seeming genuinely amused. He leans into me and speaks low in my ear. “If you saw my driving, believe me, you’d know the driver is necessary.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “Really? The famous Jackson Vale, admitting to a flaw?”
He smiles and his dimple appears. “I didn’t get my license until I was eighteen and the first year I had it, I got in three car accidents. Then when I was twenty-four and made my first ten million, I totaled a Bugatti.”
“Shut up.” I grab his sleeve right as he’s reaching for the door to the building. “You did not.”
Jackson chuckles, then inclines his head. “I’m afraid so.”
“But don’t those cars cost, like, two million dollars?” I don’t realize I’m whispering until Jackson leans in and whispers back.
“Two point four million, actually.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head. “Fucking rich people.” Then I look up at him. “But you had it insured, right?”
He looks at me ruefully. “I was in a bad spot in my life.” He shrugs. “Not really one for thinking things all the way through at the time. The dealer tried to insist I set up insurance before I drove it off the lot but I assumed he was just trying to sell me a bunch of extra crap I didn’t need. I knew I had liability and I could set the rest up myself.” He pauses. “And then I just kept meaning to get around to it…”
“Stop talking.” I start to put my hands over my ears. “This is literally the most painful conversation I’ve ever had in my life. Two point four million, you said?”
He laughs again and it really is too lovely a sound for a man who just revealed he pissed away over two million dollars because he wasn’t paying enough attention to update his insurance. Who does that?
“I survived the accident, thank you for caring so much about my welfare,” he teases.
I wave a hand as if it’s unimportant. And internally, I ignore how much the thought of something happening to him bothers me. If I’m being honest, my heart did jolt a little when he said accident and totaled a car, even though he’s standing in front of me as proof that he survived it.
He gives a half roll of his eyes before continuing. “So you can see now why I use the services of a driver from time to time. Besides, this city is full of crazy motorists. Did you see those streets?” He gestures behind us and I remember the drive here. “I prefer to have an expert at the wheel if I can afford it.”
“And obviously you can,” I cross my arms with my eyebrows raised. “There are less pretentious ways to get around, you know. The light rail and the bus suit the rest of us just fine.”
“I never said I’m a revolutionary. I can afford the creature comforts.” He comes so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “So why not indulge?”
With that, he pulls open the door, puts his hand to the small of my back, and urges me inside.
* * *
It’s a club, that’s clear enough from the slow thudding beat that rumbles from far away but can still be felt in the dark entrance area. But that’s as much as I can guess. Usually clubs open up pretty quickly into the main area of the dance floor or bar.
Here, all I see when we get inside is a small room portioned off by floor to ceiling black velvet curtains. A woman with a leather bustier and siren-red lips stands beside what looks like a hostess station. She’s not wearing any earrings but a stunning gold choker circles her neck.
Her eyes light up when she sees Jackson and I’m annoyed at the leap of jealousy in my stomach. “Jackson.” Her voice is full of pleasure. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you.”
“Martin thought it would be amusing to make me work up here for several hours,” she lowers her head but flutters her lashes up at him, “but I’ll be free later and I’m sure Martin would be happy to invite you to join. Just like old times.” She does the fluttery-blink thing a few more times like she’s trying out for the fuckin’ role of Bambi.
I step in front of Jackson. “You got something in your eye?” I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t know what the fuck this chick is going on about, or who the hell Martin is, but it’s clear she’s hitting on Jackson. Which makes her a rude bitch because I’m obviously here with him.
“What?” She looks over at me, finally deigning to acknowledge my existence.
“Your eyes,” I say with obnoxious emphasis, pointing in the general area of my own eyes. “You just keep blinking them so fast. Seems like there’s some kind of problem there.” I scrunch my face in pretend sympathy. “Maybe you’re starting to develop a pink eye situation.”
She makes an offended noise and looks like she’s about to start saying something, but Jackson only starts chuckling. “Stop being a brat, Ceci. Martin might put up with it, but I never did. I’m not about to start now.”
Ceci shivers, but it’s easy to see that it’s not with fear. Jackson’s turning her on big time. Seriously, what the fuck?
Why would he bring me to a place where we could run into old flings of his? It’s clear he has no interest in Ceci now, but from the way she was looking at him and what she said, I bet fifty bucks they’ve slept together before. So yeah, what the fuck?
But all Jackson says is, “Follow me,” as he pushes through one of the curtains and heads down a narrow hallway, the walls also painted black. Red bulbs mounted on the wall give the hallway an otherworldly glow.
Part of me wants to shout fuck you, turn around and demand his driver take me home. I’m not an idiot. From the look of everything, I’m starting to put two and two together about what kind of place this is. But goddammit, it’s Jackson. And goddamn my curiosity.
I follow him. Just for a little longer down the rabbit hole, anyway.
Doors line the black hallway and a little way down, Jackson stops and opens one. My heart is in my throat and I hold my breath as I follow him into the room. What the hell am I going to find?
The door opens further and…
It’s completely anticlimactic.
Just a small empty room. Empty, that is, except for a large black wardrobe with rounded silver stud ornamentation and hinges.
“We’ll both need to change clothes. There is a certain…” Jackson waves his hand in a so-so gesture, “…dress code that’s generally expected in this club.”
I go for the opening when it’s presented. “And exactly what kind of club is this?”
He smirks at me. “Haven’t you guessed?”
“How about you spell it out for me?” I put my hands on my hips.
I’m still standing by the door. In two strides, Jackson’s beside me, his big warm body so near that his scent envelops me. “I told you I could introduce you to a safe way of playing out your desires. This is the first step.” He holds out his arms t
o gesture around him. “This place. It’s a safe space. There are extensive background checks on all members and beyond that, I have my security monitoring everyone who comes in and out.”
That’s all just a lot of words. “So this is a sex club?” I cut to the chase.
He meets my gaze with laser-like focus. “A social space for like-minded people.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “A sex club.”
He smiles wide, dimple appearing. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
But my head’s shaking firmly back and forth. “Any dude tries to put a collar on me, I’ll fucking castrate him.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “Even you.”
He looks at me dead in the eye and I’m glad he’s not treating this like a joke anymore. “No, Callie.” His voice is solemn. “I don’t think that’s what you need at all. That’s not why I brought you here.”
“Then why did you bring me?”
“It’s easier if I show you,” he says. “But first we need to change.” He walks to the bag I only noticed him bring in from the car.
He pulls out a bunch of what looks like black leather and holds it up… What the fuck? Is that a catsuit?
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“What you wear gives certain signals to the other patrons. No one will ever touch you here without your consent,” he hurries to assure me, “and tonight, no one should approach you since you are with me. But first impressions are always important. This outfit sends the message that no one should fuck with you.”
It’s still startles me whenever Jackson actually uses a curse word. I eye the garment in his hand for another moment before taking it from him. I hold it by the shoulders and let it unfold. Yep. That’s a catsuit.
“And what exactly are you wearing?”
He smiles and pulls something else out of his bag. He shakes a pair of leather pants out that match my suit. I gotta say, I love the fabric in between my fingers. It’s not latex or anything crazy like that. When I test it out by sticking my arm in a sleeve, the fabric gives a little. So it must not be genuine leather, either. It still has a good look and feel to it, though. Not cheap.