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“I’m not upset anymore. I’m angry.”
“Boy fucked up.”
Yes, he did.
“I think I’m going to work from home for a few days. If either Samantha or Shawn come looking for me, tell them I’m out of town. And whatever you do, under no circumstances, give out my new address.”
* * *
“What do you think, Toby?” I ask, as he stares wide-eyed from his comfy pillow on the bed. I study my reflection, happy with what I’ve been able to throw together at short notice since I decided only hours ago to make tonight the night I attend the secret society. Wearing a black off-the-shoulder Prada dress with an intricate lace trim around the neckline and arms, I top off the look with diamond earrings and red lipstick. Confident I’ll fit in with the crowd, I pull Toby into a cuddle and feel an immediate wave of guilt.
“I’m sorry for leaving. I won’t be gone long, I promise,” I say, kissing his head before taking him to the living room where I’ve made a bed for him next to his bowl and wee-pad. With pleading eyes watching my every move, I close the door behind me and feel a pull on my heartstrings. How could I love him with all my heart so soon? Kane knew exactly what I needed, and that little ball of fur was already on his way to mending my broken heart.
Glancing at my watch, I make a promise to myself to be home by eleven because Tobs and I have a date with Grey’s Anatomy.
* * *
The confidence I possessed earlier has well and truly left, flipping the bird on its way out. Standing outside the red door on Charlotte Street, I watch a couple walk up marble steps and knock. They wait as Samantha does every time she arrives until the brass flap opens and they speak quietly to whoever’s on the other side. The door opens moments later but no light shines through, offering zero indication of what to expect once I cross the threshold.
The street around me buzzes, but not the type of buzz you get typically in the clubbing district. There’s an air of wealth that wafts through this place. Money, sex, and most of all, secrets.
Inhaling sharply, I build the courage and step forward, my invitation in hand as I knock on the heavily lacquered red door. I wait, longer than I expect, and a voice in my head tells me to run while I still have the chance.
“Name?” an accented male voice asks as the brass flap opens. I squint, looking closer to see who I’m talking with, but all I see is a black void.
“Blythe Blakely.” I nervously wring my fingers as silence greets me from the other side.
“Watchword?” he finally asks.
“Ah… Prospero.”
The flap abruptly closes, and again I’m left standing on the marble step. Finally the door opens and I’m greeted with darkness. Tentatively, I step over the threshold but stop when I can’t see anything in front of me. A hand rests on my lower back and a voice murmurs close by, “Give it a few moments. Your eyes will adjust.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. It’s the only thing I can hear, no other noise giving anything away. I feel the man brush past me, and then see a small circle glow of an elevator button light up.
My eyes finally adjust, and I turn to the man trapped in the tight space with me. He’s tall and large, everything I’d expect a man guarding the front door to be. “My name is Nicholas,” he says. “I control who comes in and who goes out. You’re a guest here, Blythe Cooper, and we have rules we expect to be followed. Failure to do so will have you removed from the premises without explanation. I expect you’ve read them prior to arrival?”
“Yes.”
“Any questions?”
“No.”
“I need to search your purse.”
I pause for a moment before handing over my clutch. Nicholas takes it, and with a flashlight, searches through the contents. He retrieves my cell and slides it into his jacket pocket.
“Photography and communication to the outside world is strictly forbidden whilst inside, so you get this back when you leave. It’s not just you, it applies to everyone.”
“O-Okay,” I stammer, starting to feel overwhelmed and slightly embarrassed because the no cell rule was number one on the list. Reading the rules may have been an exaggeration—skimming is a more appropriate description.
The lift dings, a vintage green light signaling its arrival. Nicholas pulls open the ornate filigree elevator door and once again places his hand at the small of my back, ushering me forward.
“This is you,” he encourages. I step in and turn to face him. He notices my trepidation and his eyes soften. “This is your first time,” he cautions. “It’s an assault on the senses but don’t ever feel pressured.”
