* * *

The sound of keys clicking on keyboards fills the stale office space until the air conditioner, which is directly over my cubicle, kicks on. I lean back in my chair, cracking my neck and trying to stretch my sore shoulders. A spreadsheet stares back at me full of billing figures from the hospital’s clients. Thanks to a massive system crash, we’re having to re-enter the last two years of data. Manually.

Today is the fourth day we’ve been on what Steve, my manager, likes to call “Defcon Four.” Apparently, Defcon Four means he can force us all to work overtime without paying us overtime. I’m still trying to figure that one out, but not too hard, because I’m sure the answer is something along the lines of “because you all need this job too badly to do anything about it”.

Unfortunately, that’s very true.

Melina scoots her chair over from the cubicle beside mine, bumping playfully into me. She waggles her eyebrows. “Steve had Indian for lunch. And he just went to the bathroom across the hall.”

I roll my eyes and grin, even though it’s hard to feel anything but bitterness right now. The bathroom across the hall is the one Steve goes to when he needs some privacy for an extended bathroom stay. As gross as it sounds, we all keep an eye out for his daily visit, because it means we get thirty minutes to slack off in what is normally a day of micromanaging and whip-cracking.

But when he has Indian food, it’s practically a day off.

“How’s your work coming?” I ask.

She blows out a dismissive puff of air. “You know? Sometimes I think pretending to work is harder than the real thing.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You’re unbelievable. You know we’re all stuck here until this data gets in the system, right? What is it you’re doing that’s so important you want to keep us in ‘Defcon Four’ status any longer than we have to be?”

“Roll on over,” she says, yanking my chair over to her cubicle by force. She switches to a tab on her internet browser with search results for masquerade style costumes. “I need help picking.”

“For what? Are you filming your own version of Eyes Wide Shut or something?”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “No. I’m going to a fancy shmancy party tonight because Alec is taking me.”

Alec is her latest boyfriend. Like every guy she dates, he’s obnoxiously wealthy and handsome. I still haven’t quite figured out what bootleg version of Tinder she has where all the guys have six figure incomes, but she must have some secret beyond big boobs and a pretty face.

I raise my hands, shaking them around and making a “wooOoOo” noise.

She slaps at me. “You’re just jealous. But you shouldn’t be, because I’m bringing you as our plus one.”

“Unless it’s a plus one and a half, you had better find someone else. My sitter can’t watch Dean tonight.”

“Already taken care of. Alec arranged for a professional nanny to come watch him. Any other excuses? Go ahead, try me. I’ve covered all the usual bases, Kylie. You’re not weaseling your way out of this one.”

“I need sleep,” I say. “This schedule is killing me, and Dean is waking up all hours of the night lately--”

“Alec got the nanny through the whole week. She’ll be at your disposal for the next seven days. That’s seven days of as much nappage and sleeping in as you can handle. Only if you go with me tonight, though,” she adds with a wicked little smile.

“Tonight? Seriously? What do you plan to do, get four hour shipping on your order?” I ask, nodding to the screen.

“Nope,” she says. “In-store pickup, smartass. And if you don’t pick something out for yourself, I’m going to pick for you. And it’s going to be slutty as hell if you let me pick.”

I give her a long, scathing look, in some ways hoping she’ll relent, but she’s not budging. I can see it from the stubborn set of her jaw. “Why me?” I groan, reaching for the mouse to click through the masks, dresses, and heels.

“Because you need some social interaction. I know you’re a single mom and it’s not easy to get out, but I’m taking that out of the equation this time. You’re too young to swear off men. I don’t care what Dean’s dad did to you. You need a rebound fuck, because God knows you haven’t touched a man in years.”

“Says who?” I ask, more than a little defensively. I’ve also never talked to her about Dean’s father. I haven’t talked to anyone about him. Just the thought of it brings up the memory of Damian’s piercing blue eyes and the way he touched me, the sounds of my moans cutting through the quiet conference room.

It’s a memory that still fills me with the darkest, most shameful kind of arousal there is, because if I ever see Damian again, I think I’ll throw something at him. Something heavy.

She gives me her best side eyes.

I sigh. “Even if that’s true, do you really expect me to go to this party and just… fuck some stranger?” Been there, done that, I think with more than a little bitterness. It has been years since I let Damian take me in that conference room and knock me up. Years since the painful realization that he was just taking advantage of me. But the wound still feels as fresh as if it were yesterday. Time has done nothing to dull the pain. If anything, I feel more angry now than I was back then.

As much as I hate Damian for the way he used me, at least I got my baby boy out of it. When I found out I was pregnant, it felt like the end of the world. A stranger’s baby was in my belly, and I knew I’d never tell him, not in a million years, not that I even knew how to contact him. Maybe that was selfish of me. I don’t know anymore, but before long the baby didn’t feel like it was his to know about. He was mine. Little Dean was mine. I carried him in my belly all those months. I gave birth all by myself in the hospital and suffered the concerned looks of the nurses and doctors. I endured the judgmental looks from people in the lobby when they wheeled me out alone with my baby boy. And I’ve been raising him by myself since the day he was born and we are doing just fine.

Would Damian have helped if he knew? Maybe. I can’t fault him for not helping when he doesn’t even know about Dean, but I couldn’t risk it. If he was anything like Faleena said, there was the very real possibility he’d somehow decide to start a legal battle and steal Dean from me. No matter how small the risk might have been, I couldn’t take that kind of chance.

“Earth to Kylie,” says Melina. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just pick out this stupid dress so I can get tonight over with.”

She claps her hands together and smiles. “That’s the spirit!”

I sit in the back of Alec’s car wearing the lacy white dress and extravagant mask I picked out. I have to admit, it was fun getting dressed up for this, even if I think I’ll probably end up standing in a corner somewhere. But there’s something about having a mask covering most of my face that gives me a thrilling sense of anonymity, like I could leave the real Kylie behind just for tonight and be someone else, someone who isn’t damaged goods carrying around luggage to spare.

Melina’s dress and mask are black, while Alec wears a perfectly fitted suit and a simple black mask to cover his face.

“Thank you, by the way,” I say to Alec. “It was really nice of you to pay for Dean’s sitter.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t even mention it. No offense, but I’d do anything to make my little minx happy,” he says, gripping Melina’s knee.

We join a small convoy of ridiculously expensive looking cars--all glossy and cleaned to perfection. We drive through a wrought iron gate with an embellished “P” in the center. The path leading to the house is a winding trail that cuts through tall bushes and eventually weaves through a green, pristine field lit by so many floodlights that I can’t even see the stars overhead.

The house itself is bigger than a hotel. Countless windows twinkle across the slopes and curves of its exterior. Beautifully crafted balconies and trellises adorn the upper floors of the house, giving it an almost medieval look that makes me feel like I’m about to step into a castle.

A valet takes Alec’s keys admiring the car. Alec is kind enough to help me from the car once Melina is out and straightening her dress.

“Thank you,” I mutter distractedly as I take in the house and the crowd of black-clad party goers making their way inside, many of whom are openly staring at my white costume. Everybody is wearing black. From a single glance, it’s painfully clear this party was supposed to be a black masquerade party, and my sweet, infuriating friend failed to mention that to me.

“You didn’t tell me to pick something black,” I hiss to Melina.

She winces. “Sorry! I skimmed the invitation. I didn’t know either. I just happened to pick black.”

I cross my arms, looking toward the car, wondering if it’s too late to escape. Showing up to a stranger’s party is bad enough, but being the only one wearing white? They’ll be offering my body up to science so they can study the first recorded case of death by embarrassment. “I can’t,” I say.

“It’s fine,” says Alec. “It’s just a theme. There will probably be others who didn’t read the rules or who outright ignored them.”

“Yeah. Besides, I can totally find someone your size and drug her. We can steal her dress and stuff her in a closet somewhere.”

“Charming,” says Alec dryly.

She shoots him a look full of daggers. “If I want to drug someone and steal their clothes to help my friend, I will.”

Alec seems to already know better than to make a point of arguing with Melina, because he takes her by the arm and motions toward the front entrance. “Shall we?”

I follow beside Melina, giving myself an endless inner pep-talk about how it doesn’t matter if people are looking at me like I’m an attention-seeker. I’ll probably never see them again anyway, so who cares what they think. Right?

Once we’re inside, I’m distracted by the scale of the house. Two winding staircases lead to an upper level that overlooks the grand entrance. Men and women are already mingling upstairs, while even more are moving through the huge space downstairs. Waiters and waitresses circulate the room with platters of drinks and hors d’oeuvres. A deep, pulsing music plays throughout the room from unseen speakers, and in a few spaces I see women dancing against men and even a pair who are making out at the far end of what might be the living room.

I take in a sharp breath, feeling even more out of place than I did when I realized I got the dress code wrong. “What do I do?” I ask Melina.

“Mingle!” She says cheerily. “You’ve got a mask on, girl. Reinvent yourself for the night. Go wild. No consequences. Just enjoy it.”

And like a true friend, Melina strolls off with Alec, leaving me cluelessly looking around the room. It’s not long before a tall man with narrow shoulders and a cleft chin approaches me. “Beautiful,” he says.

I smile self-consciously, tucking a hair behind my ear. I can’t see much of him except that he has short, somewhat curly hair and nice teeth. “Thank you, I--”

“Leave,” says a man with a simple black mask and tailored suit, who is a few inches taller and much broader in the shoulders than the man I was talking to.

It looks like there’s about to be an altercation, but the first man backs away with a sour expression when he sees how much bigger the other man is.

I look up at the stranger, feeling the oddest tingle of recognition, but I can’t place it. “That was rude,” I say.

I realize his chest is heaving with heavy breaths. He breathes deeply through his nose before he speaks. “Come with me.”

“I probably shouldn’t--I’m here with a friend. She’ll be--”

“I won’t ask again,” he says.

Something in his tone stops me short. I swallow hard, feeling the familiarity grow even more now. No man has talked to me like this before, except once... Even though my brain is telling me to leave, to just walk outside and never look back, my body moves to follow him.

He takes me past the main section of the party, back through hallways that grow less and less crowded with every step we take. We eventually reach a thick wooden door at the bottom of a short staircase. He turns the knob and opens the door to reveal a completely separate party area, except everyone here wears red. Even the walls are a deep, blood red with dark wood paneling. The music is slower, but with a more pulsating beat that feels sensual and mysterious.

I nearly fall backwards when a woman passes us wearing nothing but a red thong and mask. Her impressive breasts bounce with each step, and she takes her time slowing in front of my mysterious stranger, pouting a little when he doesn’t seem to return her interest.

“Where are we?” I ask.

He turns suddenly, pressing me to the wall with a firm hand so I’m forced to look into his startling blue eyes. “If you trust me, I’ll open up a world you’ve never known, a hunger you didn’t know you had.”

I open my mouth to speak but can’t seem to find words that make sense. “Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.” Or do I? Every second I spend in his presence makes the strange feeling of recognition grow stronger and stronger until I feel like realization is on the tip of my tongue.

“You could leave, but then you’d wonder what you walked away from,” he says smoothly.

It’s impossible not to feel drunk on the air in this place, like the throbbing beat is pushing its way into my lungs and making my pulse match the slow rhythm, like I can’t breathe anything but his enticing scent, which is also oddly familiar.

“Do I know you?” I ask again.

“I could tell you, but that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know if fun is the word I’d--” I yelp as he sweeps me away from the wall by my waist, gripping me and parading me through the crowded space like I’m his property.

Melina’s words echo in my mind, reminding me to just let go, to enjoy this. Nothing bad is going to happen to me with so many people around. Probably. I follow him deeper into the room as we wind through an impossibly large space full of candlelit alcoves, dark rooms lit by black lights where half-naked men and women gyrate, and past what even looks like a full-blown torture chamber.

He finally opens a door at the end of a dimly lit hallway with an old-fashioned brass key. Inside, the music is nothing but a dull thumping I can only hear if I strain. The relative quiet is shocking--unnerving, even.

He reaches up to remove his mask. It feels like an ice-cold fist clutches my heart, squeezing until my arms and legs are tingling.

Damian.

“No,” I say. “No. No fucking way,” I turn to the door, trying to pull it open.

He plants a hand on the door, keeping it shut. “Kylie,” he says softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to find you.”

“Yeah? You look like you’re trying real hard while you were playing dress-up here.”

His jaw flexes. “Kylie… I need you to hear me out. If you still want to leave once I’ve said what I need to say, you can.”

“I can leave now if I want to,” I growl stupidly, yanking on the door but I can’t even make it budge.

“I know Faleena talked to you on the plane that day. She was lying. Everything she said was bullshit.”

I shake my head, laughing humorlessly. “That’s convenient, because it seemed like your hot little flight attendant recognized her well enough. But you’re telling me she was lying about being your girlfriend?”

His knuckles turn white as he presses harder into the door, eyes blazing with anger. “I dated her once. But I cut things off with her months before she talked to you. She was jealous of you. She said anything she could to get you to leave.”

My eyes well with tears, and I don’t know if it’s from anger, sadness, embarrassment, or maybe some combination of the three. “Can I go now?”

He hesitates a long time, watching me with eyes that don’t look cold or disinterested. They look as possessive and hungry as the last time I saw him. I’m worried if I stand here too long I’ll fall under his spell again, that I’ll believe this mountain of a man really wants me--cares for me, even.

“For now,” he says. “But if you think you’re coming here was a coincidence, you’re mistaken. We’ll talk again, Kylie. Soon.”