Chapter 3
Seth
I try calling Seraphina for the fifth time this morning. Her appointment is today, and I’ve been anxious all week to see her. My call goes straight to her voicemail again, and I leave a message for the first time.
“Sera, it’s Seth. Um, Mr. Edmonds. I just wanted to confirm our date—appointment today at three p.m. I have news to share with you. See you at three. I look forward to it.” My voice sounds nothing like a polished attorney at the city’s most prestigious law firm. Instead, I resemble a lovesick teenager trying to win a poor girl’s heart.
I end the call and close my eyes. How have I let this beautiful woman get under my skin? Thoughts of her consume me like she’s a drug my body needs to survive. If days go by without contact, I feel antsy and unsettled. My need for her is twisted, but I have no idea how to stop these desires—and I don’t want to. I’ve become addicted to the high she gives when I can gaze at her porcelain skin and captivating eyes. My palms begin to sweat, and a knock at my door draws me back.
“Come in,” I say in response.
The door opens, and my colleague and fellow law partner, Jonathan Moore, walks inside.
“What the hell? Everyone’s already left. I stayed behind to find out what was keeping you.” He shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “It’s Greg’s last hurrah before his wedding tomorrow. Or did you forget?”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I push my chair back from my desk and stand. “Yeah. Too much going on this week.” It’s a lie, but one that will likely pass for the truth.
“What’s gotten into you lately?” Moving forward, he appraises me, eyes full of concern. The anger I sensed from before isn’t present.
I run my fingers through my hair and shrug. “Just busy with a couple cases.”
“It’s the Andrew Bishop case, and his daughter,” Jonathan says in an accusatory tone. “And you’re doing the fucking work pro bono.”
“Let me shut down my computer and I’ll be right with you.” I brush off his comments and look away from his pointed stare, but he’s spot on.
My distraction has everything to do with the Bishops’ beautiful daughter. I feel her burden like it’s my own, because her father left her behind to wrap up pieces of his decimated life.
With a few clicks, I save my work on Seraphina’s case, close out my social media sites, and shut down my computer.
The firm’s chauffeur battles the crowded streets of Manhattan while driving Greg and I down to Wall Street where we’re meeting our colleagues at The Exchange.
Membership at the exclusive club requires twenty thousand dollars and an extensive background check. The price of admittance is steep at this sex-laced establishment where men pretend the classy surroundings hide their base desires.
But in the end, it’s nothing more than a strip club with Baccarat chandeliers and mahogany paneled walls serving a decent steak while topless woman spin around poles. It’s the champagne rooms upstairs where things turn seedy, though. Anything can be bought for a price.
In our firm, it’s a rite of passage to be a member, so I joined three years ago after making partner. Since then, I’ve considered canceling my membership. I hardly walk through the doors, but there are times I need the place for an escape or a five-thousand-dollar private room experience. The women know how to take the edge off—or get me off, depending on my mood.
It’s been months since my last visit. Around the time Andrew Bishop killed himself. The highest priced stripper doesn’t come close to matching Seraphina’s beauty and innocence. I fear my obsession with her will only grow if I don’t figure out a way to tame it.
If she were a few years older, then maybe I would cross the line and pursue her. There’s nothing more I want than to make her mine and protect her from the cruel world. Maybe then she would smile and laugh, like the carefree young woman she once was when I met her three years ago.
“We’re here.” Jonathan hits me in the arm and shakes his head with an added laugh. “Damn, Seth. I’ve never seen you this distracted. You need a private party today.”
I don’t answer him. An expensive, dirty fuck has no appeal to me. Seraphina’s the only one who can take away this fucked up need, and in three hours, she’ll be in my office. The thought calms me for two seconds, until I reach the door of The Exchange.
The seductive music hits me like a harsh wind, waking me up to reality. Regret fills me as I scan the dark interior. In the distance, a woman removes her top, seducing the patrons. A long-legged redhead leads a man up the stairs to a private room. He has his hands on her hips by the second step.
The concierge smiles as we approach her stand. She functions as the gatekeeper. Jonathan gives her our names and the reason we are here: to celebrate Greg’s get-one-last-fuck-in before his trip down the aisle tomorrow. Shaking my head, I scoff, knowing he’ll probably be right back here after his honeymoon. A wedding ring on his finger won’t keep it in his pants.
“For fuck’s sake. Loosen up and try to have a good time,” Jonathan says with a nudge to my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I fire back, a noticeable bite to my tone.
“Private. You won’t regret it. Shit, I’ll even treat you if it will wash that sour look off your face.”
I don’t reply as we follow another woman to an area near the front of the club. The woman’s skirt is so short, I can see the bottom of her ass. Her top consists of lace black ribbons over her nipples that tie in the back. Her toned curves should arouse and tempt me, but her olive skin and dark brown hair isn’t what my fingers crave.
We arrive at a front table, the guys from our group facing a clear glass stage. A red velvet skirting hugs the platform where a topless dancer twirls around a pole. All eyes are on her—even mine. Her talent can’t be denied, and my heart picks up a beat or two, but nothing more.
“Where’s Greg?” Jonathan asks as we settle in. I grab the seat near the middle next to an open chair.
Champagne chills in pure silver containers across the table, and a few empty bottles are scattered about, which is uncommon. Looks like the guys are drinking faster than the topnotch service.
“Greg is upstairs with the virgin stripper. You know, the one with moves that make me want to pop her fucking cherry,” Michael Stanford, another partner with a Harvard pedigree, replies.
“Isn’t she like five thousand for twenty minutes?” Jonathan asks.
I wonder more about the virgin part versus her private fee. There’s no fucking way anyone stripping here is untouched. Seems a sucker is born every minute.
“Yeah, but she has a waiting list out the door. Greg had to book her a month ago. He’s been jacking off about it ever since.” Michael forms his hand into a fist and gives the universal jerk-off motion.
The guys at the table erupt in laughter, and I turn toward Michael, wanting to know more. This so-called virgin wasn’t around when I last visited.
“When did she start working here?” I ask.
“About two months ago. She’s like no other stripper. Believe me, I’ve seen hundreds.” Aside from his fancy degrees, Michael should hang a plaque in his office stating he has a Master’s in womanizing. His monthly alimony payments to two wives are proof enough.
“What makes her so special?” A woman in nearly nothing attempts to fill my empty champagne glass, but I cover it with my hand. “Martini, Grey Goose, and very cold.” She nods her head with a passionate tussle, her fake boobs hardly moving.
I need something stronger than champagne, but I have work to do after this hedonism. So Vodka is my poison, since it goes straight to my nerves—not my brain.
“Just wait until she comes out on stage,” Jonathan answers for Michael. “When you see her for the first time, you’ll be lucky if you can breathe.”
“I highly doubt it,” I scoff, knowing only Seraphina has the power to leave me breathless. “I’ll stay for the performance, but I’m leaving the second it’s over.”
Accepting what I hope will be a short punishment, I sit back in the polished leather chair and sip on my martini. The dancer on stage gives me a hungry look and shimmies her shoulders as she bends forward. I break her stare and run my fingers through my hair, wishing I was back at my office. Preparing for Seraphina’s appointment supersedes getting drunk on champagne and boobs.