But to be honest, the demands come more from me than them. The need to be equal runs deep.
Growing up with an emotionally unavailable patriarch and three brothers would do that to you.
I’m twenty-seven and confident in my abilities.While I’m not seeking approval anymore, being equal is still important.
And finally, in my professional life, I’m closing the gap. Not all the way yet, but getting my foot in the door.
Even if that means a visit to a sex club. Hopefully my first and last one, because my commitment to gender fairness doesn’t run this far.
But equality apparently comes with stilettos, sequins, and me pretending I know how to breathe in a place like this.
“You fidget, and this is your fourth drink in twenty minutes. I figured you’re either severely dehydrated or slightly uncomfortable.”
So, not the third drink? Fantastic. Let’s hope it’s the last one before this turns into a night I’d rather forget.
She gives me a warm smile, and it might be the vodka talking, but I feel a connection with her.
“Slightly uncomfortable is a very mild way to put it, but thank you for that kindness.”
I wasn’t sure what I would find here. Besides Norbert Pascal. My boss wants the jeweler to design a piece for his wife, Saar.
I’m not here because I like Saar. Though I do like her.
I’m not here because I run Cormac Quinn’s errands. I never do. He would think twice before asking me.
I’m here because I need to kiss his ass. Not proud of it. If business maneuvering came with airline miles, I’d make Platinum tonight.
But if I had known how uncomfortable this would be, I might have revisited my motivation for coming here.
Argh, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t. Pushing my comfort zone is important.
Hence the stupid dress.
The ridiculous heels that almost killed me.
And the mask? I wasn’t prepared for that, but at least the club provides them. Okay, anonymity is welcome, but I keep grimacing. Who knew silk could feel so irritating?
I take another generous gulp of my drink as I scan the room. I should pace myself. The last thing I need is to find Pascal and slur. The thought makes me giggle.
Okay, I guess the first three drinks are already taking their toll.
The place isn’t as seedy as I expected. It’s like someone remodeled a large living room. I would go so far as to say that its secluded areas and dimly lit sofas create an intimate, luxuriously seductive environment.
Unexpected shivers run down my spine, and I clench my thighs, the throb between them distracting me. Goddammit.
I expected all sorts of challenges tonight, but my libido being tested? My sex drive really couldn’t have picked a better moment.
People are making out everywhere in the background of the moans on the stage, and my body reacts as if I were here to have fun.
I try to ignore the distracting displays of pleasure and search for Pascal.
A staircase leads to the upper level.
I down my vodka soda and order another one, perching my ass on the bar stool. A good vantage point for my frantic observations.
Fuck the comfort zone. This is torture. And what was I thinking? That I would seduce the sixty-year-old jeweler?
Sure, Roxy. Because nothing says “professional advancement” like seducing Santa’s kinky older cousin.
