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“Oh really?” I drop the attempts to feign politeness. He’s treading a dangerous line, and I’m more than willing to attack any part of him that strays out of bounds. “How so?”
“Everyone has a small area of weakness upon which one only need apply leverage.” He lets that statement hang in the air, weighed down with a barely concealed threat.
I do my best to shrug it off and turn for the door again, throwing it open. “As I mentioned, I’ve been meaning to cut her loose any day now.”
Maybe it’s the truth, and I’ve had more issues with Evelyn’s work lately than I care to admit. Only god knows why I hear Gloria’s voice echo snidely in my head,Darling, you were the only child I’d ever seen who would rather deny himself what he loves than lose it to someone else.
“Until next time, Bellamy,” Riley says. His final words reach me before I slam the door shut. “Oh, and I had Dahlia show Evelyn to the club. It’s in the basement. I hope you don’t mind.”
His arrogant laugh chases me out into the hall.
CHAPTER8
evie
The one word to describe Adrian Riley’s mysterious secret club isloud. Loud in color. Loud in style. Deafening in elegance. It’s so many facets of charm, sensuality, and fun rolled into one brilliantly presented package—like a diamond dressed in gold and placed beneath a spotlight.
“You’re impressed,” Dahlia declares as she slides a glass of cognac down the counter toward me before taking a sip from the rim of her martini. “The reality is much better than your first impression, right?”
I feel myself nod. Impressed is an understatement. I don’t know where to look first, so my eyes bounce from a smirking Dahlia to the elegant bar behind her. Then the well-dressed patrons spread out amongst leather chaises in dim, multi-colored lighting. Is that the star of the latest blockbuster to hit theaters chatting up a leggy blond in the corner? I can’t be sure before I’m already eyeing the next breathtaking figure. It’s a strange game of visual ping pong, and I feel dizzy when Dahlia finally sets her glass aside, her eyes on me.
“You had questions,” she says, gently returning to the topic of this bizarre conversation.
I wring my fingers together, wrestling with what question to ask next. In the end, I blurt out a barrage of them. “What is this place? Who is Mr. Riley to Mr. Bellamy? Are you an escort?”
Dear god. I blush at that last inquiry though Dahlia laughs warmly, seemingly not insulted.
“I take it he didn’t tell you much?” she asks before sipping her drink.
“No. Not that he should. I mean, we don’t have that kind of working relationship,” I admit.
In essence, I’m more or less a glorified babysitter. Still, I won’t deny that the prospect of him hiding information from me stings. A lot.
“I used to work in corporate before I opened my own law practice,” Dahlia says, fingering the rim of her glass. I can’t deny I’m impressed. I’m guessing she was the McNair in the McNair and Associates law firm where Bellamy’s initial meeting with Riley occurred.
“Is Mr. Riley your client?” I ask, stating the obvious.
She shrugs, her gaze distant. “I don’t work for Adrian, per se, but being within his orbit has its… benefits—” Her voice dips in a sultry way, and I feel my cheeks flush. “So no, I am not an escort. You can consider me a member of the Red Room, like anyone else here.”
Does that include Graeme Bellamy? I’m too chicken to ask. Besides, apart from her beauty, Dahlia isn’t like “anyone else here.” I can sense it in the way her eyes keep returning to the direction of Riley’s office, as if she’s more worried about what’s transpiring in that room than I am.
To stop being nosy, I sample my drink. It’s strong, instantly eating away at some of my nerves. Endowed with newfound courage, I blurt out, “So are you dating him? Mr. Riley?”
Dahlia laughs, her expression the picture of poise—minus the faint flush that barely starts to color her golden cheeks. “No. Merelyacquaintances,” she explains. But if I’m not mistaken, there was a wistful, almost disgruntled note in that last part.
“Did you know Mr. Bellamy before that meeting the other day,” I ask, gently changing the subject while hoping to glean more information about the obvious connection between the two men.
Dahlia shakes her head. “From what I know, Adrian and Graeme were childhood friends,” she says. “At least until a few years ago. Something happened to drive them apart—you know how men are. As for the club, it isn’t as sordid as you think. It’s more like a hive where some of the most elite minds in the world congregate to mingle and relax. It’s all good fun. No orgies here, at least, that’s what we tell the uninitiated.”
She laughs again while I just gape.
“I didn’t even know Mr. Bellamy owned a club.”
Let alone that he even remotely understood the concept of fun.
“As for whyyouare here, I’ll give you a warning.” Dahlia sets her glass aside and leans in, her head cocked conspiratorially. “What’s happening in that room right now isn’t a business transaction as much as it is a game, and you, my dear, are at the center of the gameboard.”
I clear my throat, intrigued by her tone. “I’m guessing that you don’t mean in the business sense.”
