-33-
Tara
Monday morning, I had the worst hangover of my life. I’d committed the cardinal sin of “beer before liquor” and therefore, had never been sicker. I spent a good portion of the morning in bed, and the remainder of the day I continued to wallow.
It was strange how fast Grant had become a fixture in my life, and then disappeared. I’d cut him off just as quickly as I’d let him in.
On Tuesday, there was coupon in my mailbox for the pizza place he liked, and I went to hang it on my fridge, only to remember I didn’t like it enough to order a large pizza for myself.
Wednesday, flowers arrived. Classic red roses with baby’s breath and greenery, in a tall square vase. The card simply said, I’m sorry. I was still angry enough with him that I considered tossing all of it in the garbage, but it had been forever since I’d had fresh flowers in my place, and the arrangement was gorgeous.
I didn’t want to admit to myself the real reason I kept them. I was a sucker for a romantic gesture. Come on, Tara. Apology flowers from boys were cliché, and I was a twenty-eight-year-old woman. Hadn’t I outgrown that shit by now?
I sipped my coffee as I stared at the velvety red roses. Apparently not.
A package was delivered on Thursday from the Law Offices of Sterns and Clifford. More paperwork from Dance Dreams? I’d already signed my life away, what was left to do? It was odd, though, that the address was on Wacker Drive here in Chicago, and not from New York. I tore open the end of the thick mailer and dumped the contents on my coffee table.
It was a cover sheet and a thin book, covered in black cardstock and bound with brass brads. There wasn’t a title on it. I picked up the sheet and read.
I know you don’t want to hear from me. I will do my best to honor that after this letter.
I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. On Sunday, I sat down at my computer to organize my thoughts and try to explain why I did it. I could give you an excuse how I’d only intended to read the entry about our night, but then I was too fucking curious to stop, and was riveted by your words from start to finish.
But there’s no excuse. I did it because I wanted to know more about you, even the parts you chose not to share with me yet. I violated your trust and am ashamed I couldn’t be patient enough to let you make that decision.
I sat down at my computer and intended to write this letter, but something else came out. I went to the club looking for a story, and on Sunday night, I found it. It just wasn’t the one I was expecting.
Enclosed you will find the first three chapters.
Shove it in a drawer. Set it on fire. Rewrite it. Or publish it. It’s yours to do whatever you’d like. I haven’t and won’t share it with anyone else. It’s not my story—it’s yours.
If you’d like me to continue or have notes, I am here for whatever you need.
-Grant
P.S. I’m sorry for using one of Ruby’s envelopes, but I wanted to make sure you read this.
I dropped the letter, letting it flutter to the table, and snatched up the book, flipping to the title page. It was written in simple, unassuming font.
The Blindfold Club
by Tara Vannett
Intrigued, I turned to the first page and began reading.
Usually when I arrived at the club, I went to the lounge, changed into my robe, and chatted with the other girls about how their week had gone, but tonight I went into Julius’s office.
He was sitting at his desk, and the wall of monitors behind him was dark since the club wasn’t open yet. When he saw me, he motioned for me to have a seat. “Shut the door.”
Julius’s door was always open. Was he firing me?
I pulled it closed but refused to sit. Just like everyone else, he’d been lying to me. I’d texted him a week ago from the back of my cab after leaving Regan’s apartment, tears stinging my eyes. I’d asked if he knew who she really worked for, and he’d answered by telling me it was complicated.
Which meant yes.
“How did you find out?” he asked softly.
“Her boyfriend slipped.”
He steepled his fingers together, his elbows on the desktop. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. Nobody knows, and I’m not supposed to talk about it.” His expression was reassuring. “You’re safe. They do their thing and we do ours, and everyone stays happy.” He eyed the black book I had clutched in my hands. “What’s that?”
I dropped it on his desk with a thud. “The first three chapters of the book I’m thinking about publishing.”
He leaned forward, picked it up, and opened to the first page, only to pull back like the book had burned his fingers. His stunned gaze snapped to meet mine.
“Read it,” I said. “Change what you need to, so you’re covered.”
“They won’t let you publish it.”
An evil smile curled on my lips. “Unless you tell them, I don’t know how they can stop me.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I turned, tugged open his door, and walked across the hall to the lounge.
A large part of me didn’t want to be working tonight. It felt wrong and weirdly disrespectful, but I didn’t know any other way to make my feelings go away. I just wanted one evening where my thoughts were quiet, my body numb. To escape thinking about the South African who’d broken my heart.
I scanned the board to see my room number for the evening, then checked again to confirm Regan wasn’t working tonight. We hadn’t talked since I’d left her place. She’d texted and called, and I’d left them all unanswered. Eventually, I would deal with it, but she’d kept me in the dark. It’d do her some good to see how it felt.
“Hey,” Nina said in her husky voice. “I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”
She hadn’t changed yet into her robe. She wore a black leather skirt that fit her so perfectly, it looked painted on, and a black tuxedo jacket. It was buttoned, but she wasn’t wearing a bra, and it was miles of skin and cleavage.
“Nina,” I gasped, “you look fucking hot tonight.”
She gave me a genuine, flattered smile. “Aw, thanks, girl.”
She scanned my outfit, maybe wanting to return the compliment, but it would be wasted. I’d put on heels, black cigarette pants, and a purple backless top. The bare minimum of effort.
“You should probably get changed,” she said, her gaze drifting to the white silk robe hanging in cubby number five.
It finally clicked why she was dressed, when all the other girls were in their robes already. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and tugged it up over my head. “Are you my assistant again tonight?”
She nodded. Seeing me topless had no effect on her. At this point, we’d seen it all, and many times too. She leaned in, lowering her voice so the other girls wouldn’t hear. “Rumor is your appointment tonight is with somebody special. Julius won’t even put his name on the schedule.”
My hands slowed. “Mr. Gold?”
“Fuck, no. Someone new.”
There was relief it wouldn’t be Katzenberg, but otherwise I didn’t feel the excitement I would have a month ago. I moved like a robot, striping off my clothes and slipping into the robe. It used to feel luxurious, but tonight it was cheap and scratchy on my skin.
When I was ready, we went down the stairs and turned into room five. My complacency continued as I shed the robe and climbed on the table. The chandelier overhead didn’t seem as bright. The crystals were dull and ordinary.
“You okay?” Nina asked as she handed me the blindfold. “You seem . . . unhappy.”
I was unhappy. Last week I’d been ready to walk away from this place for Grant. And now, here I was one week later, already back up on the table. Like it had all meant nothing. I donned the blindfold and tugged it over my eyes, not wanting to see the concern in hers.
“I’m fine,” I announced, telling myself more than her. I just needed to get through tonight. Then I’d get my life back to the way things used to be, and in a few weeks, I’d head to New York for Dance Dreams selection week.
She Velcro-ed closed the ribbons around my wrists and radioed to Julius that room five was all set.
I’d hoped that putting on the blindfold and the restraints would have calmed me, but it had the opposite effect. There was nothing else to focus on, other than my thoughts, and nowhere to run.
Why had Grant signed my name on the book he was writing, and not his own? Or at least, both of ours? We’d collaborated so well on the audition piece, but maybe seeing our names together would have been too much.
Once Nina had walked to the wingback chair in the corner and sat, the room was quiet as a tomb. I wanted it to feel like that. To be dead inside when the man came through the door and offered his hard-earned money to use my body however he wanted.
This feels fucking wrong.
I was a breath away from telling Nina I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to take the client, when the door creaked open and footsteps came in.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
We’d had plenty of celebrities come through the club, and we didn’t get starstruck, so it was fucking weird to hear her start off negotiations this way. It’d been a few weeks since we’d been partnered together, though. Was this some new tactic she was using? She’d really sold it. Her pleased surprise had sounded real.
Her high heels tapped across the floor in a hurried rhythm, like she was running at him. “It’s so good to see you. Congrats on the wedding!” Her voice muffled. Was she . . . hugging him? “I saw the pictures online, and they looked amazing.”
“Thank you,” a very male, very familiar voice said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to Tara. Would you excuse us?”
My heart suspended so I could hear better. That voice couldn’t be who I thought it was. He didn’t come here when the club was operating, and he certainly wouldn’t come as a client.
“Of course.” Her heels clicked away.
When the door opened, he spoke again. “Oh, and Nina? Tell Julius to cut the feed. No cameras in here tonight.”
Had she nodded? There was no response from her, other than the door closing.
The room was silent, and I whispered it. “Joseph?”
“Hey, honey.”
The straps were undone as he released my wrists, one then the other. I clawed at my blindfold, pushing it up and blinked as he came into view.
I hadn’t seen him in months. He’d kept distance from the club he’d created for the sake of his wife, not wanting scandal that could damage her company. And physically, he looked exactly as he always did. Broad shouldered, dark hair, deep eyes.
His wedding ring glinted as he placed the robe over my body, and I marveled at the sight of it. I’d expected the silver ring to look out of place, but it didn’t. He’d sworn for years he’d never marry, and told me repeatedly that nothing lasted forever.
Oh, how he’d changed.
She’d done that—taught this old dom some new tricks.
“What are you doing here?” I cried, holding the robe against me as I sat up.
His expression was an enigma. “I came for you.”
I glanced around the room, confused. “Where’s Noemi?”
They’d eloped on a beach in Hawaii a few months ago. I’d known about it for two weeks before the pictures leaked online, and Nina had been right. They’d looked amazing. Standing on a beach, her in a white dress, both of them gazing at each other with so much love.
“She wanted to come, believe me.” Something clouded in his eyes, then vanished. “We haven’t told anyone yet. It’s too early to say anything, but she has horrible morning sickness.”
My mouth dropped open with surprise, then widened into a huge grin. “Oh my God. Joseph, congrats. You guys sure didn’t waste any time.”
“Our situation is complicated. We’ve been trying for a while.” He made a face. “I mean to say, thank you. We’re excited, and I’ll be much more excited when she’s not miserable for ninety percent of the day.” He grabbed the lapels of his black suit and tugged them, getting his jacket to hang properly on his shoulders. “We need to focus on you right now. I came tonight to make you an offer.”
His eyes were intense, and I found it difficult to breathe. “What kind of offer?”
He didn’t break my gaze as he reached into his suit pocket and pulled something out. He laid it beside me on the table, and it squeezed the air from my body. It was black leather with a steel clasp at the back.
A collar.
“One night,” he said. “You give me total control. I can’t promise you’ll like everything I tell you to do, but I know you’re struggling right now, and I think I can help. I can promise you’ll feel better when we’re done.”
Before I could even consider it, my thoughts went to Noemi. “Your wife is okay with this?”
“Yeah.” Heat warmed his expression. “If she gets to feeling better, she’ll FaceTime. She wants to watch.”
“Oh.” My gaze drifted from him down to the band of leather. I’d only been Joseph’s submissive for a month, and that had been years ago. He’d never collared me then, and he was married now. “Why?”
He followed my gaze. I’d forgotten how good he was at reading me. “The collar? So there’s no mistaking who’s in charge.” He was so serious tonight, all business. “I’ll step out for a minute and let you make your decision. If you accept, put it on, and we can begin.”
I didn’t know what to say as he moved toward the door and opened it.
He turned over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. “Think carefully. If you wear that, you’re agreeing to my rules. It only comes off when I say so, or with a safe word.”
And then he disappeared, pulling the door shut behind him. I frowned and pulled my arms through the robe, cinching the sash tight around my waist. As far as I could tell, Joseph had never lied to me. He’d been the one to set me free, and my submissive side wanted to fling herself at his offer.
But he’d also told me I wouldn’t like some of the things he’d demand.
Joseph wasn’t cruel, but he was . . . intense. He lived to push. I was fragile right now. What if his pushing made me break?
I stared at the collar. It was a simple piece of leather and metal, but it carried heavy meaning. Rules, and pleasure, and likely pain. I’d come to the club to be numb, and he was offering the opposite.
But if I didn’t do this, I’d be filled with regret. Worse—I’d still be the same way I was now. He’d promised I’d feel better, and he’d always delivered on his promises.
I picked up the collar and slipped it around my neck, trembling as the cold steel kissed my skin.