“Change ofheart?”
She flashed the Silver Towers card. “Francois must have forgotten toactivate.”
“Allow me.” He pressed his card to the sensor. The light turned green, the elevator doors opened and, with a grand sweep of his hand, the man gestured for her to step inside. “Age beforebeauty.”
She stepped in, her polite chuckle filling the awkward silence. He held his card against the inside sensor, the light turned green, the doors closed, and they ascended to the twelfthfloor.
“The name’s Dracule.” With a grin, he extended his hand. “What can I say? I have a thing forbiting.”
Alexandra didn’t screw older men, but this one had such a charming personality. Handsome, too, with graying hair and a matching goatee. “I’m Electra.” She shook his hand. “Thanks for thelift.”
“A southern belle with a spicy name. How delightful! And with a name like that, you must really love yourdaddy.”
Alexandra’s chest ached at the mention of her dotingfather.
The doors slid open and they entered a swanky reception area. In addition to the elegant ambiance, the toasty temperature warmed her icy fingers and chilled cheeks. Unlike the West Coast club where an enthusiastic hostess greeted members, here they waitedalone.
Dracule wedged himself between two black pillows on the horseshoe-shaped red sofa. “I’m here forrejuvenation.”
“Aren’t weall?”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. “True, true.” Then, something dark flashed in his eyes and he stiffened. “Aren’t you the club’s newhostess?”
“No, I’m consideringmembership.”
“My mistake. Someone will be out shortly.” His terse tone and abrupt change in body language didn’t jibe with the relaxed charm he’d displayed when he thought she was anemployee.
She leaned against the reception counter where three tablets were affixed to the marble surface, their screens dark. Two oil paintings of nudes—one man and one woman—hung on the walls above the couch, each basking in the soft glow from the overhead art lights. Holiday decorations included a row of mistletoe dangling from the arched doorframe that opened into the hallway, and an elaborate swag that draped the reception counter. The simplicity worked. She wasn’t there to be infused with the holidayspirit.
Across the hall in the bar-restaurant, two unmasked staffers in severe black stood behind a spit-shine bar, drying glasses and chatting. Black linen-covered tables and cozy horseshoe booths filled the room while more framed paintings of naked men and women in artful poses adorned the walls. The club appeared tasteful without beingoverdone.
First impressions were favorable. Alexandra liked being greeted by no one. Blending into the background while she slipped in and out was more her style. Here, she was nobody in particular, or anyone she desired. Fantasy role-playing came at a high price, but was worth everypenny.
A small, balding man waltzed around the corner wearing a pinstripe suit, but no mask. He smiled at Dracule, then flicked his gaze to Alexandra. “Bonsoir,mademoiselle.”
She hoped her southern accent sounded more genuine than his French one, but she gave him props fortrying.
Dracule rose. “This is Miss Electra. I mistook her for the club’s newhostess.”
“MonsieurDracule, these tablets were installed this week. They replace the host staff for check-in and suite reservation. We sent out several messages to clubmembers.”
“Good to know,” saidDracule.
The employee addressed Alexandra. “How may weassist?”
“I’m from Provocateur,” she replied. “Are youFrancois?”
The man’s cheeks flamed bright red. “Oui, Oui.A thousand apologies, Ms. Electra. I’ll be right with you. Have a glass of wine on the house.” He pivoted toward the bar across the deserted hallway and snapped his fingers at the wait staff. Both shot toattention.
Dracule extended his hand. “I hope our paths cross again, lovely lady.” When she placed hers in his, he pecked it, and left withFrancois.
As she slinked out of reception, she glanced down the sconce-filled hallway. Both men entered a suite and shut the door.That’s odd.While Provocateur’s hostess did escort members to their suite, she never entered the room.Different club. Differentrules.
The bartender poured her a glass of Pinot Grigio. Other than a few cozy couples, the bar and restaurant werequiet.
Five minutes later, the small man bounded in and slapped on a smile. “Mademoiselle, welcome to Incognito.Mes excusesfor my mistake.S'il vous plait, let’s start over, shallwe?”
Alexandra offered her practiced-to-perfection movie star smile. “Bonjour.J’accepte vos excuses. Apology accepted.” She extended herhand.
