“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, carefully choosing my words, “and I would love to have a drink with you, but it’s Saturday and I have guests?—”
“I know,” she interrupts, setting the bottle on my desk. “But we could have one while you show me what’s going on here? I’ll sign the NDA, and after that, I have a feeling I might need some liquid courage.”
“What?” I drop my feet to the floor, and my bangleschime as I fold my hands on the desk’s surface. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll sign it. I have no choice.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “I’ve been crying for days, and I can’t stand being in that house anymore. I feel like I’m going mad, locked in the prison of my own mind.” Her voice cracks. “You offered an escape, so I’ll take it. I need… I need help. Anything to get me out of this…” She taps her temple.
“Okay. Whatever you want.” I reach into my desk drawer, withdraw an NDA, and slide it across to her. “Tonight?” I ask, watching her carefully.
She nods, opens the last page of the file and signs without reading—an action that would no doubt normally horrify her. But this isn’t a normal situation. As she passes it back, she pulls out her phone, fingers hovering over the screen. “I have permission from my bank to transfer the funds, so?—”
“Forget about the money for now, there’s no rush,” I interrupt, standing. I don’t want to give her time to change her mind because she needs this more than she knows.
Holding out my hand, I shoot her a warm smile. “Come with me. We’ll have that drink downstairs.”
FIFTEEN
RUBY
My hand feels clammy against Athena’s as she leads me through her home. It’s strange to hold a woman’s hand again after Claire—the delicate bones, the smooth skin, so different from the clinical handshakes I exchange in boardrooms.
We enter what appears to be a library, walls lined with leather-bound volumes reaching to the ceiling. The space smells of old books and sandalwood, and it’s illuminated by antique brass sconces. My legal mind kicks in—is this it? Is this what people sign those ridiculous NDAs for? A hundred thousand dollars to access a private library?
“Let me remind you,” Athena says. “We’re entering a circle of trust. You’ll meet likeminded women. Some may be useful in your career, some may become close friends…” She pauses, dark eyes holding mine. “Some may become lovers.”
“Lovers?” The word catches in my throat.
She winks and gestures to a security guard I hadn’t noticed lurking in the shadows. He approaches a particular bookcase and reaches behind a row of books. The entireunit swings silently outward, revealing a staircase descending into warm light, pulsing with music.
“What is this place?” I whisper, dumbfounded.
“I refer to it as Hedonism,” Athena says simply, tightening her grip on my hand. The stairs curve downward, each step bringing stronger beats of music and the murmur of voices.
The space that opens makes me pause. The lounge is vast, with high walls and ceilings painted a deep red. Plush velvet sofas and intimate seating areas are arranged throughout, occupied by perhaps thirty women.
Some are gathered around a bar, others recline on chaise longues, smoking cigars or what smells distinctly like high-grade marijuana. A few dance together, bodies moving sensuously to the music. On a small stage, a belly dancer performs, her costume a masterpiece of dark-blue silk and silver coins that catch the light with each undulation of her hips. Her bare midriff gleams with oil, muscles rippling as she moves in ways that make me blush.
“Is this a brothel?” I whisper. “An illegal gambling operation?”
Athena laughs. “No. There’s no gambling and no paid sex here. In fact, there’s no exchange of money whatsoever. Everything is free—you can help yourself behind the bar or ask the waiter.” Her hand slips to my lower back, guiding me deeper into the room. “But if you want sex, you can indulge. There are also rooms where you can watch if you prefer.” Her lips brush my ear as she adds, “You like to watch, don’t you?”
Heat floods my face and I can’t form a response.
Athena steers me toward the bar and orders two Scotch. "Wait," she says to the bartender, "she's new."
The bartender nods and slides over a small crystal dish that contains glistening ruby-red pomegranate seeds, jewel-like under the bar lights. "A little initiation ritual," she explains, lifting the dish. "In Greek mythology, Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds in the underworld, binding her to Hades for six months of every year." Her dark eyes hold mine as she offers me the dish. "Think of it as crossing a threshold. Once you taste the fruit of this world, you're connected to it."
I'm too disoriented by the sensory overload of this place to question anything, so I take a seed, then another.They burst between my teeth, sweet and tart.
Athena watches as I swallow. "Perfect," she murmurs. "Now you truly belong here."
She hands me my Scotch, and I take a long sip while I scan the room, trying to process everything I’m seeing. I gasp when my eyes land on a familiar face.
“Is that Justice Donovan?” I whisper to Athena. “I once argued a case before her.” The woman in question is dancing while sipping a martini and laughing at something another woman is saying. She’s wearing a slinky red dress instead of her usual judicial robes, her silver hair loose around her shoulders.
“You make it sound like she’s doing something wrong,” Athena says, amused. “But she’s not. Donna—that’s what we call her here—just wants to have a good time. She likes her martinis with a menthol cigarette, loves to dance…” Athena’s smile widens. “And she particularly enjoys flirting with beautiful women.”
“She’s gay?” I glance between the dancing justice and Athena.
