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22
EMME
Like some lame, long-lost cousin, I ran open-armed at Charity. “You came!”
We hit in a soft confusion of hugs and laughs.
“Of course! Why would I not?”
Arm in arm, we entered the Saucy Sally—a laid-back pub where steak, chips, and peas, was the commonest meal. It had few standards except that you leave without throwing up on anything.
“Great place,” I said, looking about at the mix of couples and groups celebrating something or other. Most would move on to a club afterward, I guessed.
The bar was stuffed with polished timber ornamental bits and a very long line of alcoholic beverages.
“It’s okay. You said you wanted unfancy?”
“I did. I just want to eat and vent, again.” I grinned, and she rocked back in her chair, laughing.
“Oh my god. I don’t mind at all, Emme. Go forth and vent, I say. Not that guy again? The Dom?”
Sheepishly, I shrugged. “I have to apologize to you. I lied.” I lightly headdesked the table, careful not to break anything.
“Ah-huh. I thought so. It was pretty obvious to me. We will educate you one day, girl, on the perils of men. Get a good vibrator instead.”
“Yeah. Cheaper and less traumatizing.” The server was heading our way, so I pulled the laminated menu closer and started to read.
“Broken heart?”
“No. I wish. A broken pussy was all I was hoping for.”
At the choked sound, I spotted the waiter, a girl of about twenty, looking half shocked, half gleeful. She gathered herself. “Are you ready to order yet?”
We waved her off.
Charity straightened her dress—it was pretty with a daisy-covered blue bodice that emphasized her cleavage. She nodded at me. “You can spill it all after we order, and have a drink or two before us. Beer? This place says beer. Order me the steak, blue, with chips and that salad.” She tapped the menu.
“Champagne, please. I want to pretend I’m celebrating a break-up.” Which I was, and since Grayson was paying my rent, I had enough to spare for this. “I want to get slightly shit-faced in an upper-class sort of way.”
Charity eyerolled and headed to the bar, her long black hair swinging like a mane across her backless dress. She drew admiring looks from several men with her pert ass swaying below the hair. I grinned ruefully to myself. If only it was that easy for me. My standards were either way too high, or way too low for most guys.
The food and drinks arrived, and Charity interrogated me. Nicely though. She was well aware that I wanted to spill everything.
“So.” She waved a chip at me. “The kinky bitch in front of me is complaining that two hot, rich men flew her to Germany and set up this big party just to try to cater to her kinks? Yeah, that sounds terrible. How dare they?”
“Said that way…” I twisted my mouth and forked a piece of carrot. “Yes. He probably spent thousands.”
“Fuck. I mean it would have freaked me out. He, I mean they, are rich as fuck, and you managed to piss them off. I would have run away long before, though.”
I swallowed, drank the last of my champagne, and eyed the empty bottle. “Another?”
“Sure. I’m not drinking any more, though. My car needs me to take her home.”
A second bottle arrived, the room began to swim a little, and my tongue loosened.
“Come on,” Charity whispered, clandestinely, leaning in. “Was it that bad?”
The chair squeaked as my back thumped into it. “Ummm. I should find the ladies. I need to pee.”
