Without another word, I make my way past her and the desk and step through a set of long, velvet curtains hiding the entrance to a wide hallway. There are doors on either side of the hall, all private rooms for other members looking to blow off steam of their own. My room is located at the end of the hall and I use my keycard once again to open the door.
Every room in this club is different, designed to the specifications of the elite members who reserve them. My room has plush carpeting and a king-size bed with black sheets and no pillows. There are several other pieces of furniture, including a curved chaise with bondage adapters, a leather-padded sawhorse with leg rests, a lounge chair, and even a sex swing.
I cross the room to a black wardrobe and open it to reveal a variety of sex toys and bondage equipment, but I ignore those and instead reach for a set of silk ropes and a blindfold.
At that moment, the room’s door opens and Vivian walks inside. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement as I turn to her.
“Undress,” I order.
She begins stripping without hesitation, slipping out of her skirt and shrugging off her little vest. Her body is slender and smooth. Elegant.
My cock grows harder imagining her smooth skin marked with indents from the ropes in my hands.
“Get on the bed. On your knees.”
She hurries to obey. Once she’s in position, I make my way to the bed and slip the blindfold over her eyes.
“Hold out your wrists.”
She does, and I begin to slowly wrap the ropes around them. I’m intentional with my movements, taking my time and savoring her surrender as I bind her.
Ryan might be willing to mix business and pleasure and fuck where he works – and he has, many, many times – but I know better. That only leads to trouble. I will never mix the two.
For me, sex is about control. I derive pleasure from the total trust and surrender of my partner. Things stay neat and clean that way. I don’t do messy, and I don’t let unnecessary feelings get in the way.
I know what I like, and I know how to get it, and if that doesn’t make me an ideal CEO, I don’t know what will.
CHAPTER THREE: RICH PEOPLE SHIT
SUTTON
The fundraising galais being held in a massive ballroom, packed with the rich and influential of Silicon Valley and beyond. Multi-millionaires and billionaires mingle with glasses of expensive champagne, the diamond jewelry most of the women are wearing glinting under the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A string quartet is playing on one end of the hall, and waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and black pants move among the crowd, offering canapes to the guests. A dance floor in the middle of the ballroom is full of couples moving together, smiling and laughing in polite, sometimes cool tones.
Having grown up in this world, I’m used to the opulence and extravagance.
But I don’t love it. It always strikes me as just a bit unnecessary.
I’ve had way more fun closing down dive bars with cheap beer and slightly burnt frozen pizza with my girls than I have at any of these kinds of events. This is business, however, and if I’m going to prove myself to my parents, I need to show I can work a room just like this one. So I sip my glass of champagne as I observe the room, my floor length blue Dior gown swishingaround my legs when I move, my sparkling silver Jimmy Choo pumps clicking against the floor. I brush a hand carefully over my hair, making sure it’s falling down my back and not revealing the teal underneath it.
My eyes suddenly settle on Mom and Dad, who are busy talking to business associates and current clients, along with dad’s brother, Uncle Kevin. Mom gives me a small smile, but also an arched brow — I’m standing alone near the ballroom’s wall, and her gesture is a reminder that I should be networking right now. That’s what they expect of me. It’s why I’m here.
Giving her a small wave and nervous grin, I sip my champagne and make my way into the crowd to try and drum up new business with some person-to-person conversations. I’m good at those. Talking to groups? Not so much. Way more stressful. Public speaking is my nightmare. But I can sellanybodyif I get them one-on-one. Besides what better way to show my parents that I have what it takes to run things than bringing in fresh streams of income?
In fact, being able to talk business and pitch Holloway to individuals helps make me feel a lot less overlooked. Mom and Dad may doubt my abilities, but when I’m charming potential clients, I’m cool, calm, and I know my shit. So I slap on my best smile as I hunt down familiar faces to try and pitch them the benefits of working with Holloway Architecture.
Almost immediately, I spot a middle-aged man in a gray suit, slick-backed brown hair, and fashionable black rimmed glasses. He’s standing alone, drinking a glass of some amber liquid. I recognize him as the CEO of GreenWiz Solutions, an environmentally-conscious startup. Raising my chin, I walk straight up to him.
“Mr. Walters?” I ask, giving him a bright smile.
He blinks at me and slowly nods. “Oh, hello. Yes, I am.”
I offer him my hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sutton Holloway of Holloway Architecture.”
His brows shoot up. “Ah! It’s good to meet you, Miss Holloway.”
“I know we’re at a party, but I just wanted to talk to you about our dedication to using recycled and renewable materials, which has cut our carbon footprint to nearly half that of our competitors,” I tell him.
“Oh, really?” His eyes light up with interest.
