DÉJÀ VU CONSUMED ME AS I stared down at a sleek white package with a gold bow tied around it. A mysterious note written in strong, all-capital script was taped to the front. Besides the address printed at the top, it was annoyingly vague.
FRIDAY. 8 P.M.
WEAR THIS.
-MATT
I’d received the package two days ago, and yet, I hadn’t had the courage to open it until now. This time, I had no idea what was inside, but with the teasing tone of his voice when I’d mentioned bringing the costume I’d worn to Lemon Devlin’s birthday party, it was safe to say it wasn’t a white rabbit costume.
Honestly, I had no clue what I was getting myself into with Matt Hadder and Wonderland, Inc. Big, exclusive events or not, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who just planned parties. It was unnerving. Everything felt so discreet, so fucking secretive and mysterious, when it came to him. There had to be more to the story than just parties, right?
Was he in the mob? The mafia?
Was there even a difference between the two?
Hell if I knew.
I glanced at the clock above my kitchen sink, and 6:00 p.m. glared back at me.
Time had run out.
In the spirit of saving my ass from falling into financial ruin and having to move back to San Diego with my bunny tail between my legs, I decided the time was now. Maybe I was asking for trouble. Maybe I’d gone temporarily insane. Or maybe my desperation to start a new life for myself had finally taken its toll. No matter the reason, I was going to see this through until I at least knew what Wonderland, Inc. was. Then I could decide whether to dive in or run for the fucking Hollywood Hills.
After a quick shower, I made my way back to my bedroom, and with shaking hands, I slid the silk bow off the threatening white box and opened it. The perfume-scented tissue paper rustled as I pulled the first layer back to reveal a black cocktail dress sitting on top of a pair of the most eye-catching, sparkly, gorgeous heels I’d ever seen in my life.
I pulled the beautiful black garment out of the box, moved in front of my mirror, and slipped it on.
The hem was shorter than most of my dresses, but it was easily overlooked by the fact that the front was simple and classic. But when I turned around and caught sight of the rear, I stared at the bare skin of my back with wide eyes. The back of this dress, well, it was downright seductive. The overall absence of fabric revealed everything from my shoulders to the bottom curve of my spine; it was blatantly obvious a bra wasn’t in the cards tonight.
In the reflection in the mirror, my fingers found the small tag nestled near my ass, and I flipped the material out to read it. Chanel.
Holy moly.
And when I grabbed the heels out of the box and caught sight of the red soles, my jaw nearly hit the floor. How had I’d gone from a goddamn Sprinkles the Rabbit costume to Chanel and Louboutins in the matter of a few days?
The answer was unclear, and I didn’t know if I should dance around with joy or fear for my life. I silently prayed it was the former, and instead of letting my mind wander toward thoughts of the latter, I set my focus on getting ready.
Like music to my ears, my new heels tapped exquisitely against the worn hardwood floor of the hallway as I walked into my bathroom and set to work blow-drying my hair. Once my long, blond locks were styled in soft waves down my shoulders, I grabbed my makeup bag and started applying a light coat of foundation.
As I began to line my eyes with smoky black, Deena decided to join me and hopped her fluffy black butt onto the bathroom counter. I paused between eyes and looked down at my nosy cat, sitting patiently on the side of the sink. With her little head tilted to the side and her ears perked up, she appeared intrigued by my makeup routine.
“What do you think, Deena girl?” I asked her. “Do you think this is a good idea?”
She simply stared back at me.
“I mean, I’m meeting some random guy in expensive clothes he sent over for a possible job opportunity,” I added. “A job that I don’t even know what it entails… That’s crazy, right? I mean, do you think it’s safe? It can’t be that dangerous, right?” I asked her, even though I was really just rambling out loud to myself at that point.
Deena offered no advice. Instead, she leaped off the sink and found a cozy spot on the bathroom rug to curl up on.
“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered, but she couldn’t have cared less. Her cat eyes were already half-mast and mere seconds away from taking the final descent toward sleep.
Eyes smoky enough for a forest fire, face set with power, and lips lined and glossed, I walked back into my bedroom and took one last look at my reflection in the mirror. Dressed to the nines in designer duds and with makeup highlighting my eyes, cheeks, and lips, I almost didn’t recognize myself.
When I was a teenager, Aunt Delores often told me I was a dangerous mix of girl next door beauty and curves. I’d never really understood what she meant by that, and even to this day, I still didn’t understand it.
Sure, I considered myself attractive. I mean, everyone has flaws, little nuances they know about themselves that drive them crazy, but I didn’t hate my body.
But oftentimes, especially in this moment, as I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt more girl than woman. As if I weren’t really an adult, but still sixteen and trying to grow into my own skin.
My phone beeped with the warning alarm I’d wisely set before I’d jumped in the shower, and it pulled me out of my thoughts. I had two minutes to get moving or else I’d be late.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that Matt Hadder probably wasn’t the kind of man who tolerated tardiness.
I snatched my purse off my nightstand and headed for the door with my keys and cell phone in hand. But just before I stepped into the hallway, I decided to do one last thing. With my heels quickly tapping a rhythm across the hardwood floor, I jogged into the kitchen and poured a week’s worth of cat food into Deena’s dish and set two extra bowls of water onto the floor.
She glided in and stared at the buffet on the floor before shifting her glare to me.
“Just in case I don’t come back home,” I explained.
I know, I know.
It sounds a bit crazy to leave out enough cat food to last Deena for a week, but should she really have to suffer for my impulsiveness?
Everything will be fine, right?
Right?
Jesus, I sure hope so…
The soles of my heels had barely scraped the pavement when Matt was by my side, taking my hand into his and helping me out of the cab.
“I got it,” he said and leaned in the passenger window to hand the cab driver money. “Have a good one,” he added and tapped the top of the cab with his palm.
As the cab drove off, Matt led me up the sidewalk until we stood in front of a large building with ornate, gold-inlaid glass doors. What had to be thirty stories, it was a beast of a building that dominated its plot of land on South Grand Avenue and stretched up toward the sky. One small, but otherwise eye-catching plated sign hung near the entrance. Wonderland, Inc. it read in the shiniest, sparkliest gold letters I’d ever seen. If Tiffany’s ever delved into the sign-making business, this would be their fucking sign.
“I’m pleased to see you followed through tonight.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You didn’t think I would come?”
“We both know it was a fifty-fifty shot, sweetheart.” He smirked, and his eyes took a slow, not even discreet perusal of my body. From my face to the tips of my stilettos, those deep amber eyes took in every inch me. “The dress and heels suit you much better than the rabbit,” he said and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you ready to go inside?”
Clad in a sleek and fitted grey suit that hugged his powerful thighs and a white button-up shirt straining against the muscles of his chest, there was no denying Matt looked good. But, fuck if he didn’t look even better when his eyes were on me. I felt damn near heady from it.
I nodded and swallowed against the sudden dryness of my throat.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as a soft grin consumed his lips. “No need to be nervous, sweet Alex. It’s just a party.” He squeezed my hand with his and nodded toward the men dressed in all-black suits standing watch in front of the entrance. They opened the doors, and Matt led the way inside.
We walked through a long entry, down a spiral staircase, and the instant we hit the bottom floor, all of my senses were overwhelmed by the extravagance of it all.
Sight. Sound. Smell. There was too much to take in all at once.
Sultry music pounded against my eardrums as I glanced around the room at the beautiful people filling the space. And I was smacked in the face by the reality that most of the people at this party were celebrities or politicians or some of the richest, most influential people in the world.
This was Lemon Devlin’s birthday party guest list on steroids.
People danced. Chatted. And some made their way in and out of the black curtains lining the back of the large, open room, revealing a sneak peek of what lay beyond those curtains—a man snorting white powder off a stripper’s breasts, two women removing each other’s clothes while several men looked on with heated eyes, a group of well-known politicians boozing it up together while they passed around a bottle of champagne with a golden, expensive-looking label.
God, it was sensory overload. Forget steroids, this was Lemon Devlin’s birthday party on cocaine.
I felt like I’d just entered that movie Eyes Wide Shut. The one where Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise go to those rich, fancy parties that appeared sophisticated, yet everyone was engaging in bad, dirty behavior behind mask-covered faces.
Minus the whole satanic cult aspect, I was literally standing in the real-life version of that movie. Sure, I’d yet to witness an orgy, but it was only a little past eight p.m. I didn’t know orgy protocol, but I figured most didn’t start until at least eleven, right?
Holy hell, what is this place?
Matt’s eyes met mine. “Welcome to Wonderland, Alex.”
“Wonder-land,” I softly repeated under my breath.
Ironically, what puzzled me the most had nothing to do with the dirty and illegal behavior occurring before my very eyes. No. It was the fact that, inside Wonderland, it all appeared so natural. Like everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing with no censure at all.