by Anna Stone
Being Hers
Anna Stone
© 2018 Anna Stone
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be replicated, reproduced, or redistributed in any form without the prior written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Kasmit Covers
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Afterword
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About the Author
Chapter One
Smooth, bass-heavy pop music pulsed through the room. The patrons drank, danced, and lounged on plush chairs under glittering lights. Gorgeous women adorned in diamonds and designer dresses flirted with rich businessmen in Italian suits. B-list celebrities flaunted their wealth, throwing away wads of cash on two thousand-dollar bottles of champagne.
Mel walked over to a table occupied by a young woman and a man who looked old enough to be her grandfather. She cleared the empty glasses from the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Another bourbon on the rocks,” the man said, not bothering to look up at her. “And another of those fruity things for her.”
“Coming right up.” Luckily for him, Mel remembered what cocktail that ‘fruity thing’ was.
Mel returned to the bar and relayed the drink order to the bartender. She plucked a soggy napkin from the bottom of her shoe. Just another night at The Lounge. Part high-end bar, part nightclub, it was one of the city’s most exclusive night spots. Or so she was told. When she wasn’t working, Mel spent most of her nights at home or at the library, writing papers and combing through law textbooks.
Mel delivered the drinks to the couple on a silver tray, then took another order. She went back and forth, serving drinks and wiping down tables until her feet ached and her muscles burned. Mercifully, by that time her shift was almost over.
“Hey, Mel?” James, her manager, beckoned her over to the bar.
“What’s up, James?” Mel leaned down on the bar, grateful for a moment to catch her breath. She’d spent the whole day in classes and had been on her feet all night.
“Here.” James handed her a large envelope. “It’s your new contract.”
“Does this mean I’m off probation?” Mel flicked through the pages. Everyone who worked at The Lounge started on a probationary period due to the clientele’s high standards. The patrons expected nothing short of the royal treatment, and they did not tolerate mistakes. Mel had never worked at a club before starting at The Lounge, but she was a fast learner.
“Yep. I recommended you for a permanent position weeks ago, but I’ve been waiting for the owner’s approval. He likes to have the final say in everything.”
Mel found that surprising. The identity of The Lounge’s owner was a complete mystery. No one seemed to know who he was, and none of the staff had ever met him. As the manager, James was the exception, but all he would tell anyone was that the owner was an extremely private person.
Mel signed the contract and handed it back to James.
“Congratulations, you’re one of us now,” he said.
“Thanks.” Mel breathed a sigh of relief. A little job security was a huge weight off her shoulders.
“By the way, a few of us are going out for drinks after we close. Want to come?”
“Thanks, but I have a paper to finish.” It was one of her standard answers. A paper to finish, an exam to prepare for, some supplemental reading to do.
“Come on, Mel. You’re always here or at law school. Do you ever do anything fun?”
“I go running sometimes.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“I have a social life. Really.” Mel didn’t mention that her ‘social life’ mostly involved going to law school networking events.
“Okay. But you’re missing out. If you think the crowd at The Lounge is wild, you should see us after a few drinks.”
“Maybe next time,” Mel said.
James grinned. He wasn’t a bad guy. For a manager, he was extremely laid-back. James was in his late twenties, and he treated his staff like friends. This included Mel, despite her constantly knocking back his invitations to come out for drinks. She hoped he didn’t have an ulterior motive. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy didn’t realize that he was barking up the wrong tree.
James pushed a tray toward her. It held a single glass of whiskey. “Can you take this to table six?”
“Sure.” Mel grabbed the tray and edged past the crowd. Table six was at the far corner of the room. As the crowd thinned in front of her, Mel’s heart skipped a beat.
It was her.
She sat alone, upright in her chair as if it were a throne. She wore an ivory silk dress that clung to her slender curves. Her jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose, perfect waves, and her blue eyes were framed by long, dark lashes.
The woman was a regular at The Lounge, coming in around once a week. She always came alone and sat at that table by herself, watching the crowd but never speaking to anyone. Unlike all the other regulars, none of the staff knew anything about her. Not her name, not her job, not how she made her riches. And she had to be rich to afford to come to a place like The Lounge. All that Mel knew about her was that she always drank the same brand of top-shelf whiskey.
As Mel walked toward the woman’s table, she was cut off by a sharply dressed man in a suit. He’d had more than a few drinks. He leaned down toward the woman and flashed her a pearl-white smile, then said something to her that Mel couldn’t make out.
The woman gestured for the man to lean down closer. She whispered something into his ear. Slowly, his face turned redder and redder. Then without another word, he stood up and scurried off.
Mel watched the man depart. What did the woman say to him? When Mel turned back to her table, the woman was staring straight at her.
“Enjoy the show?” the woman asked.
“I…” Mel trailed off, flustered. She had never spoken to the woman before, beyond taking her orders and serving her drinks. “What did you say to him?”
“He tried to impress me with his name and his job. And he had some rather vulgar words for me. I told him my name, and that he should pray that we never cross paths out in the corporate world, because after speaking to me like that, I would make sure that no one does business with him again.”
Who was this woman that she could intimidate a man with nothing more than her name and some harsh words? Mel remembered the tray in her hands. “Your drink.” She placed the glass of whiskey on the table.
“Thank you.” The woman’s velvet voice sent a shiver careening down the back of Mel’s neck.
“Can I get you
anything else?”
The woman didn’t answer immediately. She picked up her drink, swirled it around and took a sip, leaving a red lip print on the rim of the glass. She placed it down on the table before her. “No. Thank you.”
Mel lingered at the table. She was intrigued by this woman. It wasn’t just that Mel found her irresistibly attractive. There was something different about her. On the surface, she undeniably belonged to the elite. From her stylish clothing down to her short, manicured fingernails, everything about her pointed to someone accustomed to a life of luxury. But she made no effort to flaunt her wealth and showed none of the entitlement of the other customers.
“Is there something else?” the woman asked.
Mel paused. She felt compelled to ask the woman something, anything. “Why do you come here?” The words tumbled out of Mel’s mouth. “It’s just that… you’re always by yourself, and you don’t seem to want to talk to anyone.”
The woman leaned back in her chair and studied Mel’s face. “You’ve been watching me.”
Mel’s face grew hot. She tucked a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear.
“I like to watch people too,” the woman said. “That’s why I come here. And to enjoy the fine selection of whiskey that The Lounge has on offer.” Her eyes never leaving Mel’s, she picked up her glass and took another long sip.
Mel stood there, held captive by the woman’s gaze. Her heart raced. There was something in her eyes that Mel couldn’t quite decipher. Flirtation? An invitation?
A command?
A raucous shout from somewhere behind her broke Mel out of her trance. “I should go. Let me know if you need anything else.”
The woman nodded, her expression inscrutable. As Mel walked away, she swore that she could feel the woman’s eyes on her back.
Mel pulled herself together and made her way back to the bar. She was probably imagining things. Mel doubted that the woman even remembered her, considering how many servers worked at The Lounge.
“Mel, can you take these to the VIP section?” James handed Mel a tray holding two bottles of top-shelf champagne and half a dozen crystal flutes.
“Sure.” Mel gritted her teeth. There were two ways that a customer could get into the VIP section. One was fame. That got them in for free. The second was money. So much money that even the regular patrons couldn’t afford it. Serving in the VIP section meant big tips; however, VIPs tended to be far more demanding. Mel had quickly learned how to deal with difficult customers, but that made it no less stressful.
Mel made her way through the crowd, balancing the tray carefully in her hands. The contents were worth more than her entire bank account. She couldn’t help but feel nervous about toting a small fortune in fragile glass in a crowded room.
She climbed the steps up to the VIP area. A group of men were seated around the table. As Mel approached them, one of them let out a drunken cheer. Great, frat bros in suits. As she reached the table, another man stood up and swiveled toward her. His arm hit the tray in Mel’s hands and it fell to the floor with a loud crash, leaving Mel standing in a puddle of champagne and broken glass. She cursed under her breath.
“What the fuck?” The hulking man leapt back.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Mel said as politely as she could manage. He was the one who had knocked everything out of her hands. But she wasn’t about to argue with him. She grabbed the dish towel from her apron and tried in vain to contain the spill.
“Look. Look at my shoes!” The man waved his foot in front of Mel’s face. There was a tiny spot on his suede shoe. It could have been anything. “Do you have any idea how much these cost?” His face was bright red.
Mel stood up. “I’m sorry. Let me go get-”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “Sorry isn’t good enough.”
Mel froze. His clammy hand felt like a vice around her arm. She could smell the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. Before she could react, a voice rang out from behind the man.
“Take your hands off her. Now.”
The man released Mel. She looked over his shoulder. It was the woman in the ivory dress from earlier. She had her hand on the man’s shoulder and a look on her face that sent a chill down Mel’s spine.
“Get out,” the woman said, her voice cold and clear. “And take your friends with you.”
The man looked her up and down. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the owner of this establishment.”
Mel’s eyes widened. She was the owner of The Lounge?
The man scoffed and looked over at his friends. They averted their eyes and shifted in their seats. He looked back at the woman. “You own this place?”
“That’s right. Get out of my club. Now.”
The woman stared at the man, her face set like stone. He stared back at her, eyes narrowed. He was easily twice her size, but she held his stare.
Finally, the man looked away. “Like I’d want to stay in a place like this anyway,” he mumbled. He turned to his friends. “Let’s get out of here.”
He grabbed his jacket and walked off toward the door. The others filed out after him, looking sheepish and apologetic. The woman watched them leave, a dark look on her face. As soon as they were out the door, she turned back to Mel.
“Come with me.”
Chapter Two
The woman placed her hand on Mel’s arm and guided her toward the back of the club. Mel’s head was spinning. All this time, the woman had never given any indication that she was anything but another customer. And Mel wasn’t sure how to feel about being ‘rescued.’ She wasn’t some helpless damsel. Mel could have dealt with the customer herself, yet she couldn’t deny how this woman’s hand on her arm sent her pulse racing.
The woman led Mel into a dark corridor tucked away in the corner. As far as Mel knew, all that was down there was a fire exit. To her surprise, there was another door to the right of them that was barely visible in the dim light. The woman opened the door. Mel followed her up a flight of stairs to another door. The woman typed a code into a keypad and the lock on the door clicked open.
Mel followed her into the room. It resembled a generously-sized hotel room, with a large bed at one end and some seating arranged around a coffee table in the center. With minimalist décor and the clean, sharp angles of the furniture, the space both looked and felt immaculate.
“Sit.” The woman gestured toward a leather couch.
Mel sat down. The woman’s tone made her wonder if she was in trouble. “Is this about the broken bottles? It was an accident, he-”
“I didn’t bring you in here to reprimand you. The loss of a couple of bottles of champagne won’t make the slightest dent in the club’s profits.”
“Oh.” That didn’t make Mel feel any less restless. “Then why did you bring me back here?”
“I want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Mel said. “I could have handled it myself,” she added.
“I’m sure you could have. Show me your arm.”
Mel held her arm out. The woman took Mel’s wrist and pulled it closer to the light. The brush of her fingertips against the inside of Mel’s wrist made the hairs stand up on her skin.
“Does anything hurt?” The woman inspected Mel’s arm.
“No. He didn’t grab me very hard.”
She released Mel’s wrist, apparently satisfied. Her face clouded over. “That man. I’m going to make sure he and his friends never set foot in here again.” The woman clenched her fists. “I should have had him arrested for manhandling you like that.”
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” Mel wondered if the woman had seen the entire incident, or just Mel standing in a pile of alcohol and glass with a large, angry man’s hand around her arm. “He knocked my tray out of my hands by accident and got mad. That’s all. I’m used to dealing with difficult customers.” Mel was supposed to be serving said customers right now. Had anyone cleaned up all that broken glass? She st
ood up. “I should get back to work.”
“You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay, Melanie.”
“I’m fine.”
“Indulge me then.” It was clear that there was no point arguing with her.
Mel sat back down. As she looked around the room, she spotted a few personal items. A silk robe hanging from a hook on the wall. A fluffy white towel on the back of the door to the bathroom. A bottle of whiskey and some glasses on the counter. It was the same whiskey that the woman always ordered downstairs. The space didn’t look lived in enough to be more than an occasional hideout, but it was clearly hers.
Mel’s eyes wandered over to the bed. As she admired the black satin sheets, something caught her eye.
Hanging from the bedpost was a black leather riding crop with a crimson handle.
Heat rose up Mel’s body. For a fleeting moment, an image of the woman wielding the whip played in her mind. She tore her eyes away and pushed the thought out of her head. But she was suddenly hyperaware that she was alone in the room of a domineering woman who she felt an undeniable attraction toward. One who owned a whip.
And that woman was looking straight at Mel.
Mel looked intently down at the hem of her skirt. Had the woman noticed her staring at what was on the bedpost? Mel peeked up at her. Her face gave nothing away.
The woman stood up. “Let me get you a drink.” Without waiting for a response, she walked over to the counter and poured two glasses of whiskey. “Here.”