I stare down at the card, and then up at the building in front of me. Down at the card. Back at the building. Down at the card again.

This is definitely the right address, but there’s no way in hell this decrepit building houses the elite sex club Caroline claims.

I twist my hair around my fingers nervously. Maybe this whole thing is just an elaborate hoax. How well do I really know Caroline, anyway? How do I know she didn’t see me at the diner the other day and decide that punking me would be a hilarious way to spend her time?

I try to breathe. Caroline has always struck me as a sweet and genuine girl. She has no reason to do something like that. And besides, I’d talked to her editor. Signed a contract with him. Everything seems to be on the level.

Still … this building isn’t exactly filling me with confidence. The street number — 195 — is hung in aged metal over the door, but the five has fallen sideways. The door itself is also metal, so aged it has a shimmering green patina to it. Metal rivets line the door. It looks more like a loading dock than the entrance to paradise.

I take another deep breath. I’ll poke my head in, just to be sure, and then I’ll go home. I should be spending my free time with Dad anyway, not crawling around dodgy neighborhoods like a street rat.

I give the door a hard tug, fully expecting it to be locked. Instead it opens easily and I fly backwards, almost landing on my ass.

“Shit.” I shake it off and try the door again, more gently this time. The interior is dark, especially after the bright sunlight outside. As my eyes adjust, I notice there’s a dim purple light coming from a little ways in the distance. I seem to be in a hallway of some kind.

I wait until my eyes adjust a little more before I let the heavy metal door swing closed behind me.

It closes with a booming thud and I swallow. My heart is racing in my chest, and I unconsciously run my hand over my solar plexus, trying to calm it. I move slowly towards the purple light.

The man appears seemingly out of nowhere. His skin is black, almost as black as the t-shirt he’s wearing, and if it weren’t for the slight purple gleam reflected off his smooth skin, he would have blended into the darkness entirely.

My heart races faster.

“I’m looking for Ava Lockwood,” I stammer, giving him the name Caroline had given me the other day. “But I think I must be in the wrong place. I’ll just go…”

“Name?” His voice seems to thunder in the narrow hallway. I let out an involuntary squeak, then try again to calm myself.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name?” he asks. To my surprise, he has a thick French accent.

“Lila,” I squeak. “Lila Emery.”

It occurs to me a fraction of a second later that maybe I should have given him a fake name, but it’s too late now. Besides, my application has already been submitted, so if this is indeed The Orchid Room, they already know who I am.

The man in front of me steps back into the shadows, leaving me alone in the hallway again. My eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness, and I look around. It’s definitely a hallway, and I seem to be standing at the end of it. On either side of me, the hallway breaks into more heavy metal doors.

Suddenly, one of the metal doors opens. The man in the black t-shirt reappears.

“Come with me,” he says. His voice is like the roar of the ocean. I have no choice but to follow him.

As he holds the door open for me, I notice the high-tech scanner mounted on the wall next to it. I swallow thickly. What the hell kind of place have I wandered into?

I follow the man down another dimly lit hallway and then finally we pass through another metal door into a large room. My heart beats a little easier — this is more like what I expected. There actually is a club in here, buried under that labyrinth of hallways we came through.

The room we’re in now has soft overhead lighting and floor-mounted purple spot lights that stream upwards, creating a dizzying yet surprisingly ambient effect. Long dark velvet drapes line much of the walls, and leather sofas and chaises dot the room. There are two bars, and two stages. One stage is in the center of the room, with the other towards the back. Cocktail tables cover the floor surrounding the stages. The bass from some kind of hip hop music drums softly in the background.

The place is empty except for a petite brunette standing behind the bar, stocking bottles on the glass shelves behind. She pauses while we come through and gives me a smile as we pass. Then she turns back to her work.

The man eventually leads me down another long hallway, though this one is much wider and more elegantly decorated than the last one. There are dozens of closed doors, each with small gold plaques. We pass too quickly for me to read what’s written on them.

Eventually, we pass through a velvet curtain and arrive at a modern looking metal door. This one, too, has a high-tech scanner mounted to the wall, and the plaque on this one reads “Management”. My escort scans a card that he extracts from his pocket, and the machine gives a soft beep followed by a softer click.

He pulls the door open and ushers me into the space beyond. It’s yet another hallway — what a surprise. This place is a freaking maze.

Finally, he stops in front of a door and raps softly.

“Come in.” A woman’s voice.

The man opens the door and in front of me is the most beautiful office and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

This room, at last, has a huge arched window, and sunlight streams in, lighting up the black walls and the rich wood floor. The woman, a voluptuous black-haired beauty, sits behind a sleek ebony desk. A vintage crystal chandelier hangs over her, providing even more ambient lighting.

“Thank you, Remi,” the woman says. Her voice is as lovely as she is, calming and clear and confident. “You must be Lila.”

She holds her hand out and I hurry over to shake it. She gestures to a plush deep purple velvet chair across from her, and I slip into it. I look back to see that Remi — the man who’d escorted me in — has already disappeared.

“Lila Louise Emery,” she says, opening a gold folder and scanning the pages inside. “Born June 29, aged 24. Mother, deceased, thirteen years ago now. Car accident. Father, Mike Emery, aged 51. Recently underwent chemo therapy and radiation for stage two colon cancer. You studied journalism at USC and now work at … Earl’s Dine & Dash?”

“Yes, Ms. Lockwood.” Jesus. They sure do their homework here. How the hell had she even found out some of that stuff?

“Please,” she says. “Call me Ava.”

“Ava.” I try to smile, but my lips are so dry that they feel like they’re going to crack.

Ava folds her hands on top of the folder, and I see that her nails are perfectly manicured in a deep crimson. Of course they are. God, when’s the last I had perfectly manicured nails? I stopped bothering after I started working at Earl’s, because there’s just no point. They get chipped all to hell within an hour.

“So, Lila, tell me why you want to work at Orchid?”

I swallow. I should have prepared more for this. I hadn’t expected to feel so out of my element here.

“I need the money,” I say. That part’s true at least. But Ava looks at me like she’s expecting more, so I wrack my brain to try to think of something else to say.

“I guess I’ve just always felt there was more to life than working at a diner,” I say. “I want to experience more. Really see what’s out there, you know?”

Ava smiles placidly. I can tell I’m not impressing her so far. She closes my folder. Shit. I have to get this job — I can’t do the story otherwise.

“It’s just … I’ve always felt like I had this darkness inside me,” I blurt. I have no idea where the words come from, but they make Ava raise her eyebrows so I continue.

“I know I should enjoy sex — and I guess I do — but it never feels like enough. The darkness in me … it craves more.” I lean forward in my chair. My heart is racing. “I want to push my boundaries. Feel my limits. I want to know what the edge tastes like.”

I want to know what the edge tastes like? Jesus, where the hell did that come from? My breath is coming more shallowly now, and under my thin t-shirt, my nipples are beaded. I shift in my seat and I can feel how engorged my pussy is, how wet I am. I shift again, and shiver at the friction.

Jesus, Lila. Get a grip. You’d almost think you believed all that stuff.

“You’re very beautiful, Lila.” Ava says, leaning back in her chair. “You could do very well here.”

My cheeks flush. Everything about her is so glamorous and chic that I feel about as beautiful as a chubby, yarn-haired Cabbage Patch Kid.

“Thank you,” I force myself to say.

She taps her nails on the desk as she considers me.

“I can put you on the general floor for now,” she says finally. I have to bite back a squeal. Yesss!

“The job is pretty straightforward, in theory, but you may find it takes a while to get comfortable. Essentially, you’re there to entertain the men — however, you don’t have to allow any form of touching that makes you uncomfortable. All our patrons are well aware of our rules, and are very carefully vetted. They may try to touch you, and if you’re comfortable you can certainly proceed, but you are also free to gently say no. They know that their membership is conditional on respecting our girls.”

I nod. “That sounds good.”

She smiles. “It’ll take you a little while to find your own equilibrium — your own edges, as you say. But you’ll eventually figure out what you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m sure I will,” I say. And for the sake of my story, I’ll do whatever the hell I have to.

Ava drums her fingers on the desk again.

“I don’t usually do this, but I have a good feeling about you, Lila.” She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a stack of papers.

“We recently had a slot open up in next weekend’s auction. One of our girls —“ Ava’s face takes on a pained expression. She swallows. It’s the first time since I’ve been here that I’ve seen her look anything but a hundred percent poised.

She seems to recover, and she smiles at me.

“One of our girls will no longer be participating,” she says finally. “So we have an open spot. It’s yours, if you’d like it. You’ll want to read through these documents, outlining what your commitment entails, but essentially you would keep fifty percent of the total winning bid. Orchid will keep the other half. The agreement is for one month, and in this case, the gentleman has much more leeway with what he can request from you. As always, we do have measures in place to protect our girls, and certain activities are not permitted without signed consent from both parties, but … well, let’s just say it’s still not for the faint of heart. But for someone like you, Lila, someone interested in pushing their boundaries, it can be an extremely satisfying arrangement.”

“I’ll do it.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I mean… thank you.”

“Wonderful.” Ava smiles. She slides the stack of papers over to me. “The auction will be next Friday, though I’d like you to read and sign those papers and return them to me at least three days before that. For the auction, you’ll want to wear a black dress. The sexier the better, of course — after all, you’re selling a product here, right?”

She smiles, and I try to smile back. Selling a product … right. And I’m the product. I swallow.

“We also ask all our girls to wax before the auction,” she adds delicately. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope, not at all.” And I guess it’s not — I’m about to sell my body at an auction, just for a freelancing assignment, so waxing hardly seems like a big deal at this point.

“Excellent. Then I’ll see you next Friday — and don’t forget to drop off the contract. You can leave it with Remi if I’m not here.”

She reaches out her hand again and I lean across the glossy black desk to shake it. If Ava notices how much my palms are sweating, she doesn’t let on.