Dirty Bad Secrets

by West, Jade

  “Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together.” I kept my smile bright as I perched tentatively on a stool. I’m sure my cheeks were still flushed, my ass too. “Andy and I think it’s a good idea that I learn the place from the ground up... just until I find my feet again.”

  “If Mr Morgan thinks so.” She pinned the sheet on the noticeboard with the others. “It’s not rocket science.”

  “I’m sure you’re being modest.”

  “Cocktails are the only things that get complicated.” She dug through drawers until she presented me with an ingredients list. “Self-explanatory, really.”

  I watched her clatter about, stacking glasses and wiping down already clean sides. Topaz was a pretty thing. She had her hair in pigtails, tied tight with navy ribbon. Egyptian eyes, thickly lined with kohl, a stud in her bottom lip, much more subtle than the ring in her nose. Her black cami was tight and low, the curve of her left breast decorated with the colourful tail of some beast or another. She had a winged scarab for a necklace, its silver wings highlighting the definition of her collar bones. She was shorter than me by quite some way, a bright little pixie from ancient Egypt.

  “You’re here a lot, aren’t you?”

  “I get the bar ready, tidy up, draw up stock lists...” she said. Her eyes met mine for one pointed moment. “... I look after Mr Morgan.”

  “I’m sure you do a great job.”

  Her eyes were guarded. “I love being here. I love my job.”

  “And you don’t want me here, I can understand that.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t need to say it.” I pushed the cocktail instructions to the side. “I’m not your enemy, but I am your boss and I am planning on sticking around. Andy and I go back a long way, and our relationship is... complicated.” I fixed her firmly in my stare. “I’m not here to piss on your parade, Topaz. I don’t want to tread on any toes. Except maybe his. Sometimes.”

  She sighed. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me... there’s nothing going on... between Mr Morgan and me, I mean.” Embarrassment turned her cheeks rosy. “He doesn’t even know I exist. I just make his coffee and clean the bar.”

  “You like him,” I said. “He probably doesn’t have a clue, by the way. He’s got his face glued so tight to his paperwork I’m surprised he even remembers to take a shit.”

  She scrubbed the bar until it squeaked. “It’s just a crush. Boss thing, you know? I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

  “I’ve been around a bit. My female instincts are finely tuned...” I paused until I had her eye. “Is this going to cause a problem?”

  She didn’t even flinch. “I’m a big girl, I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “Not that big. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three,” she said. “Old enough to know the difference between fantasy and real life.”

  “Doesn’t make jealousy sting any less.”

  “It’s just a silly crush. I’ll survive.” She looked beyond me towards the playrooms. “I walked past earlier. Coffee run. Tell me it’s none of my business if you want.”

  “We were just working things out, Explicit style. Things escalated quickly.” I got down from the stool and grabbed myself a vodka Coke. “I could do with a drink, I don’t know about you.”

  She joined me and grabbed herself an alcopop. Popped a neon blue straw in the top. “Is that why you came back from Italy? To work things out with Mr Morgan?”

  “I came back for the club. I belong here. At least, I thought I did.” I resumed my seat and winced at the sting. “I’ve been gone a long time, I don’t have many friends here.”

  “You’ll make friends,” she said. “They’re a good crowd.”

  “And what about you? Are you part of the crowd?”

  She slurped on her straw. “I’m just a barmaid, I’m always working.”

  “Every single night? Are you not a member?”

  She shook her head. “I was shy when I joined, and now I’m just part of the furniture. I never get noticed.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Would you want to be?”

  “Maybe sometimes.” Her smile was nervous, tentative. Something brewing under the surface. “I came here for research, though, primarily. I want to be a writer.”

  “A writer?” A shiver crawled up my spine.

  “Erotica. BDSM erotica.” Her eyes met mine, held firm. “I love reading. It’s all I do when I’m not at work or writing. I’ve read so many books, EL James, Sylvia Day, all the big names... Vincent Blackthorne... he’s my favourite...”

  My breath hitched, and she was watching me, eyes like a hawk. “Then I guess you must have questions...”

  “I don’t want to pry.” Her words were hollow, she edged around the bar, took a seat to my left. “But I heard, about Italy... I wasn’t going to ask, but is it true? That you met Vincent? That you lived with him?”

  I downed my drink, fought the urge to grab another. “I didn’t live with him. I lived on his property. He has two houses, I lived in the guest house.”

  Her eyes glazed. Starstruck. A look I was familiar with.

  “I love Vincent Blackthorne’s books. I have all of them... Venice in Chains... Master Mine... To kneel and obey... and his Magpie series... Pretty Bird, Caged and Beautiful and Broken Wings...”

  “He’s very good.”

  “Mr Morgan would fire me if he knew I’d asked.” She smiled, anyway. “What’s Vincent like? In real life? His author blurb says he’s authentic, that he has a dungeon in the Veneto mountains. Sometimes he talks about it on Facebook.”

  My stomach churned. He’s twisted, and manipulative, and vile, and a liar. He’s a liar. A dirty, filthy, twisted liar. “Vincent is a serious man, brooding. A creative type. Troubled. Smart.”

  That glazed look again. “Did you get to read his books? As he was writing them?”

  You could say that. I nodded. “Perk of the location.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes twinkled. “His next comes out next month, have you read it already?”

  “Some of it.” Vodka was calling, vodka and my hotel room. Fuck this place, fuck all of it. Fuck Vincent, fuck Andy. Thoughts of Andy’s mouth on mine came back unbidden. The memory tangled with flashes of Venice, making me heady and queasy all in one.

  Topaz was still talking. “...I can’t wait to hear what happens to Magpie. Does Master Blake get with her? For real this time? Please tell me he does.” She shook her head. “No, wait. No spoilers. Don’t tell me.”

  No, he doesn’t. He fucking doesn’t. He fucks her up and betrays her, and she runs, far away. On a fucking plane with her middle finger high in the fucking air. “It was a work in progress. I didn’t read the whole manuscript.”

  “I bet you can’t wait, either.”

  My subject change had the finesse of a rhino in a ballet shoes, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Have you published anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still writing my novel.”

  “What’s its working title?”

  “Explicit Love,” she grinned. “It’s not based on here, though, not really...”

  My breathing calmed as she rattled off details. A trick of the trade I’d learned by heart; there’s nothing a writer loves more than to talk about their own work. That knowledge had salvaged many an awkward moment for me, not least this one. I smiled and listened, nodding my head at the twists and turns of her Explicit heroine: Ruby Reynolds, the shy nerdy girl at a sex club who’s ravished by her boss, in definitely not anything like real life circumstances.

  “So, you are curious. You could take some nights off, you know, become a member.”

  She waved it aside like the idea was ridiculous. “Ruby Reynolds is so much braver than I am, I’m nothing like her.”

  I didn’t push. “Maybe I could take a look at your novel some time? I have some experience with beta reading, obviously...”

  Her face fell in a heartbeat. “I don’t think Mr Morgan woul
d like that.”

  “Mr Morgan can go fuck himself. He’d have fired you long ago if you weren’t excellent at your job, don’t let him intimidate you.”

  “He threatened to fire me every single day for at least six months after I started.”

  “Initiation by fire,” I said. “He’s always been like that. He’d fire me in a heartbeat if he could.”

  “Maybe.” Her eyes sparkled as she finished up her drink. “Or maybe not.”

  I checked my phone to find the time was running away. “So, where are we at, Topaz? Are you going to show me how to run this bar, or am I still learning from the instruction manual?”

  She smiled. “Let’s get to it, boss.”

  ***

  Andy

  The security cam feed flicked back to the bar. Cosy, cosy, fucking cosy. Faye was always good at that, getting her feet under the table. So much for staff fucking loyalty.

  They’d been chatting away all fucking afternoon, gesturing and gossiping. About me, probably. Or about him. Italy. Vincent fucking Blackthorne.

  I turned my attention back to the online ordering system, keying in figures for spirits and coasters and all the other shit on the replenishment list. I shifted in my chair, the sore ridge of my ass pulsing as I moved. It shouldn’t feel as good as it did. A mistake. She’d slipped under my skin again.

  And now she was slipping under the bar staff’s too.

  I pressed confirm on the order and waited for the acknowledgement. It pinged through to my email and I scanned it along with the other fresh items. Nothing important.

  Idly, I pressed the search icon. Faye. The most recent email was two years previous. A simple thanks with three kisses in response to my dividend report. She hadn’t given a shit. Not about the club, and not about me.

  She had never been coming back, fuck what she claimed.

  I pulled open my top drawer, checked the flip file was still undisturbed. No regrets. None.

  Only now she was back, drinking at the bar like a cackling witch with Topaz. I buried the file under other paperwork and took out her address before I locked the drawer up tight.

  City Inn, West Street, W1.

  I looked it up on Google. An inoffensive Georgian terrace, nothing grand. I’d have expected more opulence from her. I dialled their number.

  “I’m trying to get hold of Faye Devere, I have a parcel for delivery to her next week. Is she in?”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid Ms Devere is not here at the moment.”

  “Can you check something for me, please?” I cast an eye to the camera feed. It showed them still happily dicking about with cocktails. “I know she’s on a tight schedule. Will she still be in residence next Thursday?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, sir.”

  “Please, throw me a line here.” I put on my most charming voice. “I don’t want to delay her parcel, and the schedule is going out any minute.”

  I heard the tapping of a keyboard. “No, sir. Ms Devere won’t be in residence next Thursday.”

  “How about Wednesday?”

  I heard a sigh, “She checks out on Monday, sir.”

  “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

  My common sense threatened to bail on me for the second time in one day. It could mean anything. She could simply extend her stay, find somewhere else, be looking to rent a place. I tapped my pen against the desk. It didn’t mean anything. What was I expecting to hear, anyway? Oh yes, sir, she checked in for the next six months, paid upfront, no cancellation option.

  I clicked through old files. Photos. Explicit. Faye. A directory I knew better than I should.

  I flicked through the images on screen, of us on opening night, drinking champagne with linked arms, her big smile as we took a stint behind the bar, and then later, to drunkenness. Faye sprawled, laughing, across a flogging bench, looking up at me as I brandished a riding crop. But I hadn’t played with her. Never.

  Business only.

  Until this morning.

  My cock was hard, aching for more, just like that. One fuck down and already fucking craving. Her mouth against mine, those dark eyes wanting me. Her bruised tits, so soft under my palms.

  I tensed in my seat to feel the pain, the burn of muscle where she’d hit me, and my fingers were at my belt, snaking inside, jerking my prick as I pictured her perky ass in my face. Fuck you, Faye, I’ll fuck an apology out of you. A decent fucking apology.

  I closed my eyes, sinking into the fantasy. The fantasy of her at my feet, tear-streaked as she begged to stay, begged for forgiveness, promising to do whatever I asked, without question. I’ll be your slave, Andy, I swear. Use me. Punish me. Make me pay for what I did to you. I deserve it. Please... oh, please, Andy. Please...

  Yes. My fingers in her hair, angling her face up to mine. Show me how fucking sorry you are.

  I’d hoist her by her wrists, leave her dangling in mid-air, gagged and bound, and nervous. She’d cry as I slapped her pussy, jerking and wriggling like a fish on a fucking line.

  Think of him now, Faye. This is for every time he fucked you. Every time you laughed at leaving me behind. Every time you ignored my fucking emails, Faye, you ignorant fucking bitch. Thought you could just walk back in, did you? That Andy fucking Morgan would welcome you home like a wet fucking pussy? No fucking way, Faye, you’ll earn it. You’ll fucking earn it.

  My grip tightened around my dick, faster, faster.

  I could still smell her on me, still smell the sex. She’d asked for it, she’d fucking asked me.

  The sting on my back from the flogger, the pink of her skin... fuck...

  “Twice in one day. Jesus, Andy, they got you wrong.” Faye’s smile was smug, bold in the doorway. She breezed in like she owned the place, cool and collected, as if she hadn’t just washed up like trash on a beach.

  I shoved my dick away. “You fucking knock from now on, understand? You work the fucking bar. You don’t just walk in here.”

  She ignored me, walking around the desk with the same sly smile. “What are you watching? Masque re-runs? Quite a beast, isn’t he? Do you like him? I’d love to see that.”

  Frantic fingers closed the directory, just in time. “What do you want? Had enough of real work already?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. I’m enjoying it.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “I am, actually. Topaz is nice.” She scanned my screen before I could stop her. “Why are you Googling my hotel?”

  “No reason.”

  “Planning a late night visit?” she smirked. She sat on the edge of my desk, and the flicker of pain across her eyes was captivating.

  “Don’t count on it,” I said. “That little thing earlier was most definitely a one-off.”

  “That little thing? We had sex, Andy. We fucked. You fucked me.”

  “I know what we did, Faye.”

  “I enjoyed it.” Her eyes flicked to my crotch. “So did you.”

  “I enjoy a lot of things that are hazardous to my wellbeing. Doesn’t mean I’m in the habit of indulging them.”

  “If that’s what you want.” She folded her arms.

  “We should talk. Practicalities. Are you on the pill?”

  Her answer was instant. “Yes.”

  “Thank fuck for that.” I met her eyes. “Anything I should know? Are the itchy and scratchies going to turn up for me? Is my dick going to grow another head? Shrivel up and drop off?” My laugh was dry and humourless.

  She rolled her eyes. “I got tested in Italy.”

  “You needed to, then? Fuck your way through Venice, did you?”

  Her gaze was piercing. Steady. “I was clean.”

  “Was. We’d better hope Sergeant Dumb-fuck Sin keeps his filthy fucking cock clean.”

  “He used a rubber, had it on the whole time we were on stage. I’m not a total fucking numbskull.” She gestured to the door. “I’m going to head out, get something to eat before we open. You could come, or we could order a pizza and
compare bruises.” She laughed. “Your cock just actually twitched, do you know that?”

  “No, it fucking didn’t. You’re a prick, Faye.” Her laugh was contagious. I had to fight back the urge to smile. “Fuck off and get some dinner.”

  “Yes, sir.” She mock saluted. “Topaz and I are heading over to the grill around the corner if you change your mind.”

  “Topaz and you? Bosom fucking buddies now, are you?”

  “She’s nice, like I said.”

  “Nice and fired if she doesn’t watch herself.”

  Big brown eyes challenged me. “You wouldn’t fire her. She’s too good.”

  “I’d fire anyone with questionable loyalty. No second chances.”

  “I get it. You’re still angry. No need to rub it in my face every five seconds.” She stood to leave.

  Her comment pricked harder than it should have. I felt it flare in my gut. “You have no idea how fucking angry I am.”

  “Keep me on bar for the next ten years if your stupid little power trip makes you feel better, it won’t make any difference.” She smoothed down her skirt. Deliberately. Spreading her thighs at just the right angle for me to see her bruises. “It’s a good job I came back. You keep good staff unmotivated, that’s going to change.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What shit are you talking now?”

  “Topaz. The pretty green-haired girl who brings you coffee. Seems you don’t even acknowledge she exists. That’s not a good management style, Andy.”

  “Here we go.” I felt my heartbeat in my temples. “And what the fuck do you know about management style?”

  Arms folded, smug smile. “I’ll bet you don’t even know her name. Her real name. When was the last time you spoke to her, properly?”

  “Topaz told you all this crap, did she?”

  “No,” she said. “I just know you.” She stalked to the door, swinging her hips in triumph.

  “Emily Alice Gladwin. Her birthday is on June 22nd, a Cancerian, I believe. She’s twenty-three, lives in Elephant and Castle with her mum and stepfather, the same stepfather she’s had since she was a toddler. She has two younger sisters, half-sisters. Phoebe and Kate. They have hamsters, a cat too, Pickles. She’s been working here two years and three months. This is her first main job, before this she worked part-time in the same shop as her mum.” I watched Faye’s eyes widen. “Oh, and she wants to be a writer. I’m sure she told you that already during your cosy little heart to heart. Maybe you can give her some tips? Call up good old Vincent for some writing advice? I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear from you. Did you actually manage to say goodbye, or did you bail on him in the middle of the night, too?”