– Paige Matthews
At 6 am, my alarm blared, but I was already wide awake. And once again I asked myself that question that had been ping ponging through my mind ever since I’d gone to Expose: What the fuck?
What the actual fuck in the name of all fucks had I done? Had someone roofied my drink? Except I hadn’t had a drink, so I couldn’t blame drugs for my insanity.
I’d allowed a man I’d never met before– a man I didn’t know the first thing about– to spank me and give me not one but two orgasms. And then I’d fled the room like a freaked-out Cinderella. Only instead of leaving my shoe behind, I’d left my fucking phone behind.
I didn’t realize what had happened until I got into the taxi and felt around my back. Next time I needed a phone concealed inside the lining of my dress, I’d go to a seamstress instead of putting faith into my sucky sewing skills.
The phone must have been too heavy for the stitches and busted through the pouch. I also should have bought new thread instead of relying on what I’d found in my grandma’s dusty sewing tin. For all I knew the thread she’d kept was older than she’d been before she passed.
I had considered going back into the club but then thought better of it. The masked man had spanked my ass for being late and for not addressing him correctly. What the heck would he have done if I’d returned to his room and asked for my phone? The phone I wasn’t supposed to have with me.
Losing my phone wouldn’t be too big of an issue had I backed it up in the past year or had the Cloud backup toggled on. Find My Phone would have been another helpful setting to have toggled on. But of course, these things had been on my ever growing “to do one day” list, and I’d never gotten around to doing them.
As soon as I’d gotten home, I’d remotely locked my phone, but most likely by that stage, I was too late to save my ass. I needed the phone back ASAP. Not only because I wanted the video from last night, but also because it held irreplaceable photos of my grandma.
All night, both awake and in my dreams, thoughts of the masked man filled my head. The way his fingers seemed to know my body. Seemed to know everything I wanted and everything I didn’t know I wanted.
Even now, the memory of the deep timbre in his voice puckered my nipples. His room was too dim for me to get a good look at his eyes and face, but his body was to die for.
When he wasn’t calling me mouse— what a ridiculous name— he’d called me sub. He clearly thought I’d belonged at the club, which was a good thing for my own purposes, but also surprised me.
Maybe I truly was a sub. I’d never expected to feel that turned on by a man spanking me or ordering me about, because I prided myself on my independence. It was jarring to think I’d enjoyed it so much that I’d fit right in.
My ass still smarted from where he’d spanked me, and the slight discomfort was a pleasant reminder of what I’d experienced and what I hoped to experience again. I’d never become a member of the club because I’d never earn enough money to cover the membership fees, and I doubted I’d meet someone as hot as him ever again.
From the second I walked into his room, he knew I didn’t belong there. The masked man had played me, and I didn’t mind one single bit.
Vivian– whoever she was– was one lucky woman, and someone I was intensely jealous of. I made a mental note to track down Mike and ask where he’d gotten my invitation from and if he knew anyone called Vivian.
***
Before going into the newsroom, I stopped by Walgreens and picked up a cheap twelve-dollar burner phone. The first thing I did was to call Jessica and explain that I’d lost my own phone. On any given day, we texted one another fifty times or more, and I didn’t want her to worry if she couldn’t reach me.
Then, I hurried to work. As soon as I sat down at my desk, the intercom on my desk crackled to life.
“Paige, can you come into my office?” Henry asked.
“Everything okay, boss?”
“Now, please.”
Henry had never summoned me to his office before, and the walk there felt like a death march. What if the masked man was a friend of Henry’s and he’d told Henry that his advice columnist allowed men she didn’t know to finger her to orgasm?
The office door was open, and I didn’t bother knocking before I went in. I had my go-to everything’s great, nothing to see here smile plastered across my lips.
Henry wasn’t alone. Sitting opposite him was Alec Williams. The pain in the ass features editor who resembled a hard-living Matthew McConaughey.
“Take a seat,” Henry said, gesturing toward the chair beside Alec.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Williams?” I asked, wishing I’d taken a Xanax and washed it down with vodka for breakfast.
Henry leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What do you know about Wyatt Palmer?”
“The billionaire?”
Henry nodded.
“Not much,” I admitted. “He’s an investment mogul who gives motivational speeches. I saw him on TV yesterday morning talking about his latest memoir. Why?”
“You’ve never met him?” Alec asked.
I turned to face him, and if looks could kill, I’d be on the floor in a pool of blood. “Not that I’m aware of.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “You sure you’ve never messaged him, emailed him, or contacted him in any way?”
The venom in his voice was clearly directed towards me, and I was confused as to why.
I rolled my eyes.
“You’ve got me,” I said sarcastically. “The reason I’m working at The Reporter writing the advice column is because I’m in a relationship with a gorgeous billionaire.”
I wanted to add you asshole to the end of my sentence but decided against it. Alec was an asshole, but he was also my superior, and I didn’t want to lose this job. They were still looking at me, obviously deciding my sarcastic explanation wasn’t good enough, so I went back to being genuine.
“I don’t know him. I’ve never met him, and I’ve never talked to him.”
Henry and Alec shot each other a look.
“He seems to know you,” Alec spat. “Because the interview I’ve been waiting to do for months— the one I bent over backwards to arrange— is the interview Wyatt Palmer will cancel if you’re not the one who interviews him.”
I stared at him as if he’d lost his damn mind.
“You’re not serious?” I asked in disbelief. “Is this a joke? Why would someone like Wyatt Palmer want someone like me to interview him?”
Alec frowned. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Maybe he wants some advice on his love life,” I said, attempting to crack a joke.
Henry shrugged, and said, “He mentioned something about giving young journalists a chance. He said you two would have a lot to talk about.”
I snorted. “I doubt that. I know more about the mating habits of albino kangaroos than I do about investment banking. Meaning, zilch.”
“Well,” Alec said, waving a finger at me. “You have three hours to figure it out because he wants you at his apartment by noon. I’ll email you the information and the pre-agreed questions.”
What, really? Someone important wanted me to interview him? I still couldn’t believe my good fortune. But I was also deeply suspicious. What the hell was going on?
“Don’t fuck this up, kid,” Alec added, “because if you do, you’re done.”
Now, in addition to my jumbled emotions of surprise, suspicion and glee, I had anger to add to the mix. I jumped up from my seat and glared at him.
“Are you threatening me?”
Alec dismissed me with a wave of his hand and stormed out of the office.
Henry sighed and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “I’ll talk to him. When he calms down, he’ll apologize. I don’t know what’s going on here, Paige, but take some advice from an old man. Don’t get yourself into anything you can’t get out of.”
“I’m not getting myself into anything. Apart from what I’ve seen on TV and in magazines, I don’t know Wyatt Palmer.”
“This is your chance. Don’t blow it.”
“I won’t,” I told him, my heart beating faster with adrenaline. There was nothing I liked better than a challenge. “I promise.”
***
Back at my desk, I Googled the shit out of Wyatt Palmer. He’d dragged himself up from poverty and made his first billion by the age of twenty-five. Early in his career, he’d pledged to give away at least half of his fortune during his lifetime or when he passed. This year alone he’d given over two billion dollars to philanthropic endeavors.
In his early 40s, he was super hot, with a warm smile and eyes that held a wicked gleam. Anytime I’d watched him on TV, he’d flirted his way through the interviews. If he pulled that crap with me, I would put him in his place and fast.
I could only find a handful of photos of him with women. Maybe he was gay, or maybe he preferred to keep his private life very private. There were a few gossip pieces about a broken engagement. His ex-fiancée was in prison for money laundering. She’d stolen trading information from him and passed it on to her employers. What a bitch.
I studied bio and questions Alec had emailed me for the interview. Wyatt lived near Central Park in an apartment building called The Avalon, and as luck would have it, his apartment building was a few blocks away from the Expose club.
I’d kill two birds with one stone. On the way to his apartment, I would stop by Expose Club and maybe ask if anyone had handed in a phone. No one needed to know I’d been a guest on the third floor. I would play it off as if I was just a regular club goer who’d lost her phone. Going back there was playing with fire, and I hoped I didn’t get my fingers burned.