Tonight.
What would it be like?
What would they expect?
What would I do when I got there?
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I obsessed. I’d signed up for this, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. And yet, I refused to be controlled by the anxiety I combatted daily.
By mid-afternoon, I gave up pretending that I could focus on anything else and started getting ready. I wasn’t even sure I could call it that. My entire closet ended up on my bed. Nothing looked right. It was either too casual or too formal—too much or not enough. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear for something like this. What did you wear when you were walking into a fantasy someone else had built for you?
Eventually, I gave up and went shopping. I told myself that it was the practical thing to do. I ended up with a new navy sweater and a pair of fitted jeans. It was simple but well put together. It felt like the smart and safe choice. At least, I hoped it would be.
At seven, a sleek town car rolled up in front of my apartment. My stomach tightened anxiously. This was it.
The driver stepped out and met me at the back door with a polite, almost knowing smile.
“There is chilled champagne waiting for you, Mr. Baker,” he said softly as he held the door open for me. “The Conductor invites you to enjoy a drink to ease your nerves on the drive over.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I mumbled and climbed inside. As the driver shut the door, I added, “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Baker.”
The door clicked shut, and I was left alone on my side of a partition. The space was quiet and clean. Soft instrumental music filled the car—something piano-heavy and slow. It was the kind of music I listened to every day because I loved piano music. Was that something the Conductor had learned about me? Or was it purely coincidental? Some twisted part of me hoped for the first.
As promised, a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice beside me, condensation beading along the glass. A single flute waited next to it. The label was unmistakable and expensive. It was the kind of drink I’d only ever seen poured at Mr. and Mrs. Jennings’s social events. It was the kind I could never afford.
I poured a generous amount and downed it all too fast, barely tasting it as it burned a warm path down my throat. I didn’t pace myself or even savor it. I just needed something to ease the tightness in my chest.
It didn’t.
If anything, it only amplified it all. The quiet. The music. The fact that I couldn’t see the driver. That I didn’t know where we were going. It was all a lot to process.
I shifted in my seat and glanced out the window while the city passed by in a blur of lights, my leg bouncing of its own accord.I pressed my hand down against it like it’d help. It wouldn’t. My anxiety was a little too rampant for that.
I could still tell the driver to turn around. I could knock on the partition and tell him that I’d changed my mind. That this was a mistake. No one would blame me. No one would even have to know.
Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to do it because, beneath all the nerves and never-ending questions, I wanted this. It wasn’t a mistake or a poor choice. It was just an unknown variable that I had to work through. It’d get easier once I was in the moment and not stuck in my head. That was all.
The car slowed to a crawl and then a complete stop, and I rubbed my palms on my thighs. I could do this. The engine idled a heartbeat longer than necessary, like it was giving me a second to catch up or maybe giving me one last chance to change my mind. I forced myself to wait until the door opened for me instead of rushing out like an eager child.
When the door finally opened, I stepped out without hesitation. Cool air slid across my skin as I stood on the sidewalk and sent a shiver down my spine. A tall building loomed overhead, its dark glass reflecting the glimmering city lights. The foundation of its design was beautiful, albeit intimidating.
“Have a good night, Mr. Baker,” the driver said quietly as he shut the door. I nodded slightly in his direction, only vaguely aware of the words he’d said.
A gorgeous woman smiled the moment I walked inside. The warm lighting in the foyer played up the pink tones in her strawberry-blonde hair and brought out the haunting hues in her pale green eyes. A black pencil skirt hugged her curves while her emerald blouse and heels tied the whole outfit together. I stopped and stared at her. I couldn’t help it.
Was she the Conductor? While I was bisexual without a preference, I’d built this image in my head about the Conductor, and she wasn’t it, starting with the fact that she wasn’t a man.
“Mr. Baker,” she greeted cheerfully. She walked toward me, her heels clicking on the pristine marble beneath us. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Elena.”
“Are you … the Conductor?” Saying the words out loud sounded ridiculous. Justthe Conductor. Nothing else.
“Oh, no.” She let out a small laugh. “I’m your handler.”
“My what?”
“The Black Silk Society always assigns a handler to applicants for the fantasy fulfillment program,” Elena explained. “My job is to assist your transition into your fantasy environment. In your case, we have a beautiful penthouse upstairs set up for tonight. You’ll be spending the entire night with the Conductor and his guest, and you’re welcome to take your time in leaving tomorrow morning.”
