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“Chicago,” the voice responds quickly. “Inside that box is everything you need to begin work at Club Sin tonight. Your shift starts at six.”
Chicago.There’s the connection. Willa has lived in Chicago since she moved out of our foster home a couple of years ago. She could’ve easily gotten mixed up with the wrong people. People that’ll kidnap and hold someone hostage to get information on the mob.What have you gotten me into, Willa?
“Questions?”
“Would you answer them if I asked?”
I shake my head, knowing how stupid it was to ask. Of course, they’re only going to give me the information they believe I need.
“What’s Club Sin?”
I reach into the box and grab a small information packet. A gorgeous building is on the cover, like the one in the background of Salvatore’s photo. It looks like a smaller version of that hotel in the movieMaid in Manhattan,the Waldorf, or something. Flipping through the pamphlet, I come across general information about the club and a list of rules.
Upon entering Club Sin, you are consenting to the following…My eyes widen further with each new rule I come across.
“In short, it’s a sex club for the rich and powerful. A place where they’re able to let their personal desires run free without fear of repercussion.”
A sex club? Me? Working at a sex club. If I wasn’t in shock, I’d be laughing my ass off. There’s no way they can seriously believe that I can work at a sex club, let alone get close to the three most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life.
“And what will I be doing at this club?”
The thought of selling my body for information turns my stomach. I’m a virgin, plain and simple. The most experience I have with the opposite sex is talking to my married fifty-five-year-old political science professor. Couple that with my preference for fictional love stories over living out my own, and I’m fucked.
“Anything necessary to get the information we need, but you’ll be a waitress to fill in a recent vacancy.”
Vacancy? Is this the amazing job Willa snagged before moving to Chicago? Is this how she got mixed up with the men that kidnapped her? More fucking questions and no answers.
“Remember, we’re watching your every move, Celia. Take one step out of line and it will cost your sister her life.”
As if I could forget.
When the voice doesn’t say another word, I assume I’m alone. Well, as alone as I can be with cameras hidden around the apartment and strange men watching my every move. Pushing to my feet, I grab the box from the table and head into the bedroom.
I need to learn everything I can about my new job and identity. I need to make sure I have this perfect because there’s no room for error. It won’t be easy, but I need to become the perfect woman—strong, confident, sexy, and whatever else will grab the Genovese brothers’ and their bodyguard’s attention. I need to become Celia Johnson every time I step out this door because my sister’s life depends on it.
CHAPTERFIVE
ONE MONTH LATER
CELIA
“Can I get a gin and tonic for table three?” I grumble before laying my tray on the marble bar top and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
The pictures in the brochure of this place don’t hold a candle to the real thing. The entire club oozes power and sophistication. It’s very similar to the Waldorf Astoria, as I originally surmised, but it has a more modern feel. The entire bottom floor consists of a small reception area, a large lounge space, and the bar. I spend most of my time moving among these three spaces, but being in the bar is my favorite.
The bar is tucked back into the corner of the lower floor, a large glass wall separating it from the rest of the lower level. It’s staged like a galley-style kitchen; a long walkway runs down the center of the room. The bar runs along the entire right side of the room, golden leather high-back chairs run the entire length of the marble bar top, and bottles of high-priced liquors line all the shelves. The entire place screams money.
“Coming right up, CeCe.” The bartender smiles before turning to make the drink I requested.
I’ve worked at Club Sin for about a month now, and I’m not any closer to completing my mission. Ha, the wordmissionimplies that this is a noble cause. Something I’m doing for the greater good, but I’m not. Thankfully, pretending to be someone I’m not comes naturally. Who knew my attachment issues would come in handy?
After a few days of working at the club, Celia “CeCe” Johnson was born. She’s from all over the country, having been in foster care her entire life, and just recently ended up in Chicago. She has an older sister but no other family. She keeps her head down when around customers, minding her own business, just as the owner of the club requested. She forgets anything she sees or hears while working the moment she walks out of the door. The perfect employee and the exact opposite of me in every way possible.
I’m not sure if that was the best idea, letting my real life bleed into this fake persona I created, but it’s easier to remember. Sticking as close to the truth as possible makes it easier for me to maintain this personality. It also helps that I only give people enough details to get by, letting them fill in the rest. There isn’t one person who truly knows me, and I plan on keeping it that way.
“Here you go, sweetie.” She places the glass on the counter before motioning toward the back end of the bar. “Table five requested you specifically.”
I didn’t need to turn my head to know Mr. Black was sitting there. Although, I don’t know his real name or who sent him, but I needed to call him something. Once every three days, Mr. Black shows up, wanting an update. He always sits at the same table, tucked into a dark corner near the back of the bar. It’s the perfect hiding place for our meetings. Just far enough away from the bar that we won’t be interrupted, and there’s little light, making it almost impossible for me to discern any identifying details about him. He has dark hair, a well-trimmed and maintained beard, and wears a dark-colored suit.
