“It is very important that you remember exactly who you are tonight, Annelise,” I tell her, my voice low.
“Is there a reason you won’t call me Ellie?” she asks.
“Because it’s not your name,” I tell her. But there’s a flicker of something vaguely familiar when she says the name.
“But it’s what I go by,” she says flatly.
“Not when you’re with me. And you are always with me,” I tell her.
“Mr. Graves, I have your things ready.” The woman walks over with multiple ribboned boxes.
“Charge it to my account,” I tell her. “And don’t forget this one,” I run my fingertips down Annelise’s arms, feeling the trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Yes, sir,” she says, and I take the boxes as we make our way out the door. Annelise is trailing slightly behind, probably still in shock about, well, all of it.
“Next to me, not behind me,” I remind her, and her heels click on the floor as she shuffles next to me.
Preston is waiting for us outside with the trunk of the car open. He takes the boxes from me, and I open the door for Annelise. Once we start driving again, she rubs her hands together.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“Cold,” she answers. We both know it’s both.
“You have nothing to be nervous about. As long as you do exactly what I’ve taught you.”
“And if I forget?” she asks.
“I’ll remind you,” I tell her.
A few minutes later we pull up to the Opal Room. It’s a revamped historic building, both timeless and modern. Preston gets out and opens my door for me. I step out and tug on my black tuxedo jacket before sauntering over to her side of the car. I open the door and hold out a hand. She grabs her jacket, but I shake my head slowly.
“No jacket,” I tell her.
“At all? What if I get cold?” she asks.
“You won’t,” I tell her, and she takes in a breath and lets it out again before taking my hand. As she steps out of the car in her sheer, black dress, hair cascading down her back, doe eyes dark and wide, lips full and red, for the first time maybe ever, I feel electric about the woman I am taking with me into the Opal Room.
Chapter 10
Ellie
“Remember what I said,” Damien whispers gruffly as we make our way inside the building.
“I know,” I tell him as I snake a hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’m with you.”
“You belong to me,” he corrects me, emphasizing the obvious word. A chill runs up my spine, and it isn’t from the cold. As soon as we walk inside the building, I realize he was right. I’m not going to need a jacket. The warm, humid air hits me, musky both with the scent of hot bodies and what I think is patchouli. It’s obvious that he keeps the thermostat at seventy degrees to keep the guys sweating and frustrated while also making sure that no woman is tempted to cover up. If anything, with a little booze, they’ll just keep taking layers off until they are in, well, close to nothing.
“Good evening, Mr. Graves,” a woman at the front podium says. Right inside the door is this woman, a little stand where she is clicking away on an iPad, a security guard, and a red door.
“Liza,” he says, and the guard wordlessly opens the door. We walk through and it’s obvious that the dark wall must be soundproof because inside is swanky, bass-heavy music. In the middle of the room is a circular stage where girls in lingerieare doing an aerial show with silks. It’s like pole dancing but hotter. Honestly, it’s a little mesmerizing. I can’t even blame the men sitting at the high-top tables surrounding the stage. But we aren’t here for the show.
Damien stops and locks his eyes on mine before leading me towards a dark purple door in the back. This one is blocked by two security guards, one on each side.
“Gentlemen,” Damien says, and they both move aside. We walk through and it leads us into a dark hall, lit every few feet with perched candles.
“Now remember the rules,” he says as we make our way to the other end.
“No more than an arm’s reach. No eye contact with other men. Sultry, but never approachable,” I recite.
