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Which is crazy, because no one ever actuallysleepson these beds.
I slowly lower myself down, my head hitting the pillow while keeping my sneakers away from the white silk. I let my eyes fall closed and spread my arms out to take the whole thing in and inhale deeply.
I don’t know how much people pay to join, but I am sure it’s a lot.
Like more than my rent and school tuition combined, several times over.
And at that moment, Room 21’s door flies open.
Oh god oh god oh god.
I’m fucked. Completely and totally fucked.
Sure, there are other cleaning jobs around, but this is the only one that pays slightly over minimum wage and gives me time to study. Am I about to be out on the street?
One little mistake, one lapse in judgement to serve my insatiable curiosity, and it’s all over. I’ve just messed up and will have to move back home. Forget bookkeeping and forget the club.
Bracing myself for a scolding and worse, I bolt upright, but before I can get to my feet, the man entering the room gestures for me to lie back down.
What?
And as if that’s not bad enough, he just so happens to be the incredibly handsome man I saw arrive earlier, when I was waiting out on the street, hiding like a stalker. It’s the man who walks like a real master of the universe, and for whom the waters probably part anytime he requests it.
He is also the sort of man I’m generally invisible to, but not right now. No, he’s looking right at me. I am no longer unseen. This is a mistake. A bad one. People like him don’t look at people like me.
Disregarding his gesture to stay where I am, I jump to my feet. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry—”
But he stops me. Not with his words or gestures, but because he’s loosening his tie.
He’s not even waiting for me to leave the room?
“Gwen told me she’d send me someone very special today. She really delivered,” he says with a flash of a smile and dimple that makes my knees knock.
Gwen? Someone special? She delivered? I don’t get it.
“I… well, I…”
I want to tell him I’m just the maid but the words aren’t coming. It’s like he cast a spell over me. Or maybe I’m just an idiot transfixed by a handsome man.
Who maybe thinks I’m someone other than who I really am.
“As always, she’s outdone herself,” he continues, either ignoring or not noticing my silence. “My name is Max, by the way. Go ahead and relax. You can sit back on the bed. We can start out any way you want, Izzy.”
Huh? He thinks I’mIzzy?
But I’mLuci. Luci Braxton.
Yes. That’s what this is. He thinks I am Izzy, the woman he has a date with today, in this room, right now, according to my Timex.
Where the hell is she? And why does he think I’m her? I look at the door. I can make a break for it. Not that he’d try to stop me. It’s just that if I don’t run, fast, I might change my mind about leaving.
“How’d you like to get started, Izzy? Shall we just dive right in?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I’m so dry I clamp it shut before I look like a fish gasping for air.
The room, which only minutes ago I imagined was my magic fairyland, is suddenly stifling hot, and I can swear the walls are closing in, getting closer and closer, while the fabric billows like long fingers reaching for my neck.
Get a grip.
