by Cynthia Dane
“Yes. I’m sure you heard what happened to the second son he had with his ex-wife.”
“Hm. Yes.” Natsuko briefly glanced at Sarah before gazing out the window again. “I’ve heard a few things about his potential offspring.”
Sarah quickly left after that. She knows? Who else knew?
She still wasn’t over it when she returned to the office an hour later.
The floor was quiet, as usual for three in the afternoon. Most of the staff were either out running last minute errands before the weekend commenced, or they were pounding away at their keyboards for the same insufferable reason. Usually Sarah found comfort in it. Anything she could finish that afternoon meant less for her to do over the weekend. Also assuming she wasn’t working overtime at any of her boss’s numerous events and meetings.
She missed having Nigel by her side.
Any solace she used to feel was gone now. Sarah couldn’t come back from the Estate and not want to smash her face through her computer monitor.
So after she dumped the reports on her boss’s desk, she went straight to the employee bathroom, where she could hyperventilate in peace.
Remember how he used to touch you? Like you should be so grateful that anyone wanted you. You knew he didn’t really want you. You knew he was using you because he could, because you let him. Remember how he made you feel so happy and secure after you got pregnant? Remember when you were stupid enough to toast to your baby together? Remember waking up wanting to die?
Remember the hospital?
Remember the ultrasound that said your baby wasn’t there anymore?
Remember all the blood?
Remember the endless days in your mother’s house, wanting to die?
Remember wanting to die?
Sarah splashed cold water on her face and tried not to cry. No point in crying when she had work to do. Work was good. It distracted her from the hell she lived in.
“I know you’re at work right now,” she texted her brother. “But I need you.” She couldn’t believe it. She needed the man willing to cause pain to other women?
For her safety?
Even though Nigel was at work, he was quick to respond. Did he simply know when his sister contacted him when stressed out of her mind?
“I love you.”
Sarah had to put her phone away before she started crying. If I cry, he’ll cry. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened when they were on opposite ends of the earth, let alone the city.
Too late.
The first sob was the hardest, of course.
No, no, no! It wasn’t Sunday. What was she doing? She needed to bottle this up until it was appropriate to let it go.
What was wrong with her! What had happened to compartmentalizing?
Someone knocked on the restroom door. “Everything all right in there?”
Lucas! What the fuck!
“Fine!” She blew her nose in her handkerchief. “Everything’s fine! Thank you!”
A pause. “All right. Just checking. Thought I heard something.”
Sarah had to get her shit together. She’d start by washing up and marching to her desk to get her work done, before…
Ah, fuck. Before her boss demanded her evening time as well.
“Ms. Clayborn.” The man was already standing by her desk, waiting for her to return. “We’re going to The Dark Hour tonight. I take it that won’t be a problem for you?”
God, what was it now? Another meeting? Reconnaissance? Torture?
“It’s not a problem.”
“You’ll be paid overtime, of course.”
Sarah forced a professional smile. “Then it definitely won’t be a problem, sir.”
Damon spared her one last look before walking away.
And Sarah spared herself one last sigh of misery before shoving it all aside. She had a job to do.
Chapter 6
The dark hour had acquired its prestigious reputation as the pinnacle of rich-man’s sexual playground for a reason. Mr. Monroe considered himself a Dom, surrounded himself with men who were of a similar persuasion, and had a knack for putting together a great beacon of hospitality. His numerous cafés, restaurants, and beds & breakfasts were mere stepping stones on the way to creating one of America’s hardest nightclubs to get a membership at.
You needed to be filthy rich to afford a normal membership. Barring that, you had to offer something that the club needed. Like the place up in New York City, The Dark Hour was always on the lookout for young, submissive types who knew how to play their role. They were often given incredibly reduced membership fees to encourage them to show up and entertain the rich. In return, they had fun, and sometimes came out with a new long-term partner.
Most people, however, came to play with their already established partners or to hang out with their kink-loving friends. Sarah wasn’t in the least bit surprised when Damon Monroe took his old friend Lucas Blackbourne to The Dark Hour for drinks at the end of a hectic week.
The drinks cost more than Sarah’s weekly salary. The smokes were gifts from Lucas. He brought two King of Denmark cigars for him and his friend (and new business partner) to enjoy as a subtle nod to someone’s origins.
Mr. Monroe rarely took off his suit jacket in public. But once the liquor flowed and the cigars were lit, he relaxed in the Diamond VIP Lounge with his jacket off and top three buttons undone. The missus was spending the evening with a friend elsewhere. Something Lucas chastised him over when he came back from the bathroom and saw his married friend flirting with their personal server for the evening.
“It’s not flirting if you’re telling her what to do.”
Lucas sat down on a luxurious leather stool across from him. The smoke of his cigar wrapped languidly around the blacklights shining upon them. Sarah had to look away. Her job was to stay in the shadows, anyway. Mr. Monroe was off the clock for the rest of the evening, but someone was needed to check up on the staff of the club and to process any appointment requests that came Damon’s way while surrounded by millionaires and their billionaire kings. As much business as pleasure was conducted in The Dark Hour.
She glanced at the two bodyguards standing near the entrance of the VIP room. They nodded back at her.
“For you,” Lucas continued, ignoring the help lining the perimeter of the room, “telling a woman what to do is flirting.”
Damon grinned back at him, cigar clenched between his teeth. He withdrew a pack of playing cards from a drawer in the nearest table. As he shuffled, he said, “I met my wife in this room. You better watch it. This is a sacred space.”
“Well, I met no wives in this room, so I call ‘em like I see ‘em.” Lucas raised his glass. “To your beautiful marriage and the even more beautiful baby sure to be on the way.”
Damon toasted to that. “Keep that up,” he said, placing the empty shot glass on the table between him and Lucas, “and we’ll have to find you a lady for the night around here.”
“I hear this is a good place to do it.”
“You would know. You’re the one who gave me the idea to open it.”
Sarah bristled where she stood. Good thing it was so dark in there that her black pantsuit melded seamlessly into the shadows.
“What better way to meet your future wife? I’m psychic.”
“You’ve already made me a billion dollars. At this rate you’re going to become my daughter’s godfather.”
“I’ll settle for you naming her after me. Lucia has a nice ring to it. I’ll even settle for the time-honored Lucille.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve already settled on a full name. I’ll keep that in mind for the next one, though.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Lucas picked up his playing cards. “How can you say that to the man who made you a billion dollars and helped you meet your wife – without even knowing it? At least you didn’t help me meet mine. Bless you for staying out of that mess.”
Damon pulled out his cigar and laughed. “Remember at your wedding, when your mot
her screamed at Jill for wearing off-white instead of white?”
“Trust me, man, there was nothing pure about Jill when I put a ring on her.”
“I made the same observation about my wife when I married Alice.”
“You kept your wedding classy.”
“Justice of the Peace?”
“Justice of the Peace. That’s the way to do it.”
Sarah didn’t want to think about any of this. Not the quickie City Hall marriage she helped her boss arrange the previous summer, or the fact this married man she screwed bragged about it.
“What if I told you,” Lucas began, playing a card on the table, “that I’m still pretty satisfied from this woman I met in New York last week?”
Damon’s eyebrows shot up. Sarah’s wanted to crash down her face. You’re kidding me. Fucking. Kidding me. He really hadn’t recognized her, had he?
“Tell me more. I live vicariously through you now that I’m a slave to monogamy.”
Even though Lucas lowered his voice, Sarah was still tortured by the words coming out of his mouth. “One of the most forward little vixens I have met in months, honestly. Came right up to me and practically grabbed my balls through my pants.”
“You have that magnetic attraction to you, clearly.”
“God is real, my friend.”
Damon fanned out his cards in his hand, studying each one before playing the best one in his possession. “He sent you an angel, huh?”
Lucas stiffened. So did Sarah behind him. “You could certainly say that. Blonde, busty, beautiful, and ready to bone.”
“Which you did, of course.”
“Of course. Couldn’t let a fine young woman looking for my dick walk away without getting to know it.”
Sarah wanted to be sick. Because Lucas talking about this wasn’t bad enough, he had to talk about it with her boss?
She was saved when her work phone rang.
Alice Monroe’s name and picture flashed on the screen. Sarah excused herself, although the only people who noticed were the two stoic bodyguards. They didn’t give a shit what she did.
“Yes, ma’am?” Sarah hoped her other boss couldn’t hear the disdain in her voice.
“Status report, please.”
Sarah glanced at the two old friends smoking, drinking, and playing cards while a half-naked party went on downstairs. “Nothing of real note to report. Mr. Monroe and Mr. Blackbourne are enjoying themselves.”
“Is he smoking?”
“Mr. Monroe?”
“Yes, my husband.”
“He is, ma’am.”
Alice sighed.
“If it’s any consolation, this is not a normal occurrence.” Mr. Monroe was not a regular smoker. The only times Sarah ever saw her male boss smoke was during situations like these, when presented with a nice cigar to enjoy.
“That does help, yes. Still doesn’t save me from the foul smell when he gets home later tonight.” Alice paused. “Is he having a good time?”
Nothing about her tone implied that she thought her husband was up to no good. More like “My husband has such a stick up his ass that I would love to see him cut loose.”
“He seems to be enjoying himself, yes, ma’am.”
“Good, good. Give me a heads up when he comes home. Just in case he doesn’t.”
“I will. Anything else you need?”
“No. I’m sorry for taking up your time. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed tomorrow so you can have some time off.”
Sarah sighed. “Appreciated, ma’am.”
Alice hung up. Sarah likewise pocketed her phone and returned to the VIP area, where Lucas was leaning back in a different chair, his tie loosened and his legs spread open enough to taunt any woman into fantasies of getting in his lap – with her thighs or her face.
She hated how she was stopped in her tracks. Hated that her thoughts instantly went back to last Saturday night, when Lucas not only fucked her to orgasm and beyond in a club much like this one. And then? She dared to blow him to another orgasm. Dared to imagine doing it again.
He had been a delight in many ways. A frustration in many others.
Mr. Monroe checked a text from his wife on his phone – Sarah knew it was from Mrs. Monroe because Damon only made that face when dealing with his wife, the magnanimous woman who had turned his whole world and family upside down.
Sarah didn’t care about the faces he made. She only cared about the calming countenance on Mr. Blackbourne’s.
Stop it. Stop looking at him. He’s a cretin. They all are. She wasn’t sure if she lumped Mr. Monroe in there. The man had never made a pass at her, but his father… guilty by association in his case.
She couldn’t stop looking at him. At Lucas.
It took her a moment to realize he was gazing back at her, his head thrown back against the back of the seat and occasionally puffing on his cigar. But those blue eyes were definitely – absolutely, certainly – pointed in her direction. She nonchalantly took up her post again and gave him only a cursory look before glancing away again.
His gaze continued to penetrate her.
He’s not good looking at all. That’s what she told herself, even though she knew it was a brutal falsehood. Lucas Blackbourne was as hot as the lights beating upon them. There was a reason half the men in the room had taken off their jackets, loosened their ties, and rolled up their sleeves. Even in that dim room, Sarah could see the black hairs sweeping up and down Lucas’s arms.
She remembered the hints of hair on his chest when she unbuttoned his shirt. Recalled the scent of his body as it overcame her. The strength rumbling beneath his skin. The hot musk of his cock when it entered her mouth more than once. How he made her shudder with only a few touches of his hand…
“Ms. Clayborn.”
She jerked at the sound of her boss’s voice. Mr. Monroe motioned for her to come over, his stony face implying he had called for her more than once.
Sarah approached, careful to not make eye contact with Lucas. “Yes, sir?”
“Check in on management for me. Then you may do as you please.” That was his way of releasing her from her services that weekend. “Have a good one.”
“Yes, sir.” She briefly looked in Lucas’s direction. “Mr. Blackbourne.”
He raised his cigar in her direction.
Sarah went downstairs, stealing breaths whenever she had the chance. At least in the back halls, where management dwelled, she didn’t have to listen to sensual music or smell the sex everyone but her was having that night. Mr. Monroe would probably go home to an even more relaxing evening with his wife. Mr. Blackbourne? He could have any woman he wanted. Sarah preferred to not be around to watch him cheat on his wife again.
After speaking with the manager, Sarah accepted that she was no longer on the clock. She texted her brother that she would be heading home in a few minutes. First, she wanted to go to the bathroom – where she found a lesbian couple doing very non-platonic things on the damn sink – and get a drink. A stiff one. The kind she couldn’t get at home because it was that strong.
She stood at the secondary bar in the main room. The line here was shorter, and the bartender knew her well enough to know to leave the lime out. All of the sweaty bodies around her, regardless of how drenched in expensive cologne and perfume they were, drove her to take off her jacket before downing her drink.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
Sarah nearly choked on the last of the liquid shooting down her throat. She put her glass down in time to see Lucas sidle up to the bar and lean both muscular arms against it. His chin was propped on his hand as he stared at her.
“Mr. Blackbourne,” she calmly said. “Can I help you? Afraid I’m off the clock now, but if there’s something you really need…”
Lucas accepted the glass sliding into his hand. “I need to know why you were crying.”
She couldn’t breathe, swallow, or think. “Excuse me? What a personal question.”
“Do
es your boss know you cry in the women’s restroom?”
“Mr. Blackbourne,” Sarah growled. “I would rather not.”
He sipped his drink, unlike Sarah who had inhaled it. “Fine, then. Let’s talk about something else, Ms. Clayborn.”
“I’m afraid I must get going. I’m expected at home.”
“Oh? Husband?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
She glared at him. “My brother.”
“I see.” Would his happy-go-lucky smile go away? “Not even a dance?”
She said nothing as she backed away from the bar and took herself home.
***
Why did I have that drink? Why did I eat that pizza?
More importantly, why was she now drinking a latte?
Because PMS was a bitch and made her imbibe things that would make her PMS bloat five times worse. The screwed up thing was how much it felt like a self-inflicted punishment. Like she deserved to no longer fit in her jeans because she dared to bleed every month.
One thing her brother never had to deal with. Bastard.
Sarah didn’t often give herself this kind of breathing room on her weekends, but the apartment was too claustrophobic, and she had no desire to go out shopping or meet up with supposed friends. Across the street from her apartment building was a quaint, well-lit coffee shop that saw an equal amount of friends and solo techies setting up their laptops to work. Sarah belonged to neither group. She had brought her cell phone and a book to keep her occupied for a couple of hours.
The book wasn’t that great. The cell phone was full of dating apps she used purely for hooking up with men. She hadn’t peeked at it in a while, since the kind of guy she liked to screw wasn’t often found on there.
No, the kind of guy she liked to screw was coming in through the front door.
Since his eyes instantly settled on her by the far wall, Sarah had no choice but to assume the man was stalking her. There was no other reason for Lucas Blackbourne to walk into that café – alone.
Nor did he have any right to wear those tight jeans and that fitted black T-shirt that outlined his torso and biceps like they were part of the most delectable buffet Sarah could ask to smash her face into.