Extended Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
Asher
It’s Valentine’s Day and it’s also Madilyn’s and my wedding day. Ever since Madilyn first walked into my law firm, I had wanted to fuck her for her very first time. But I didn't know I'd want to marry her.
I never thought I’d get married again to anyone after what my ex-wife put me through. But ever since meeting Madilyn I’ve done a lot of things I never thought I would do. And so has she.
Before she met me, she never thought she’d let her boss bend her over his desk or tie her up to his office chair and fuck her pussy and her ass. She hadn’t even had sex when I’d first met her. But within no time— and certainly by now— I’d explored and defiled every inch of her body.
At the same time, I wasn’t used to opening up to someone and learning how to heal and grow. Madilyn is the only woman who had ever inspired me to do that. She’d given me her virginity and I had given her my heart. I think it turned out to be a pretty good deal for both of us.
So now I’m standing at the altar waiting for my bride. Four hundred and eighty-nine of our closest friends and family members— or colleagues, or acquaintances who wanted a free open bar reception— are gathered here today to witness our union.
And Ron Sanchez is standing beside me as my best man.
“You really picked a winner this time, Asher,” he’s told me on multiple occasions since that crazy day he found out about Madilyn’s and my “illicit” relationship through HR. That day we thought that our secret and super hot love making sessions had finally ended up getting us both canned. “I can tell she’s good for you. She makes you happy.”
My response is always “I’m glad you finally approve, Ron.”
At first it was rather annoying that he always seemed to think I valued his opinion so strongly but I guess he’s right that I do. He’s always been my right-hand man ever since I started that marble-trading ring way back when.
And now as I see him wink at his wedding date in the second row— his secretary who is a lot younger than he is and who Ron always gushes to me as being “the hottest little number” he’s ever seen— I know that he approves of my choice so much he decided to copy off me.
And he’s right that I’m happier now too.
My ex-wife hasn’t tried to call me since the fiasco with Janice and Mandy, but even if she had, I wouldn’t pick up the phone and I wouldn’t fucking let her bother me anymore. I don’t know why I ever did. I guess some things were too hard to get over before I had the love of Madilyn, my own “hottest little number” I’ve ever seen.
Speaking of Madilyn, I don’t know where she is. The guitar player looks confused but then begins playing the same song over again after the wedding officiant walks over and whispers something in his ear. The guests look around, beginning to realize that something is amiss.
Our female wedding guests wrap their sweaters around themselves and huddle into their wedding dates' arms as a gust of cold air blows in. Even though it’s February we decided to have an outdoor wedding at the park across the street from the cemetery where Madilyn’s dad is buried. She said that way he could see her get married to the love of her life.
But now she isn’t here. I shift back and forth, growing anxious. I know Madilyn wouldn’t flake out on me, on what is supposed to be the best day of our lives. Would she?
This past year has been amazing. We’ve worked on several big cases together and we’ve moved in together. She’s sold the smaller house she had lived in with Jimmy and I sold the condo I had always jokingly referred to as my Bachelor Pad and we bought a nice house in the Northeast Heights.
Our new house has plenty of bedrooms in case we manage to successfully have a child. But the prospects on that are beginning to look slim. After a year of trying, nothing has happened and so it’s back to the fucking fertility doctors for me even though so far they have no further answers than I was able to get out of them the last time around.
Maybe my ex-wife was right and I’m incapable of getting a woman pregnant. Maybe Madilyn isn’t here because she doesn’t want to tie herself to a husband who can't give her a child. Even though I was the one who primarily wanted to try to have the child in the first place.
Suddenly, the officiant says "All Rise" and audible sighs of relief ripple throughout the rows of guests. I'm sighing inwardly with relief as well.
The music changes and the classical harpist we hired begins to play and then I get my first glimpse of Madilyn in her wedding dress. I knew she wouldn't let me down by not showing up on our wedding day and maybe she was being fashionably late just to heighten my surprise at seeing her. If so, it worked.
She's absolutely stunning, wearing an ivory dress with an old-fashioned half-veil. Her hair is half up— which I love because it reminds me of her professional office look— and half spiraling down in soft ringlets, which I love because it reminds me of how I take it in my fingers and pull it when it's hanging loose and free while we fuck.
Her dress is mermaid-style and hugs her body in all the right places— just like I do. It caresses her tiny waist and then flares out, snugly accentuating her curvy hips.
I wish I could turn her around and see her perfect ass and hold onto those fine hips while I fuck her. But that can wait until later, I tell my throbbing cock that's starting to rise up at the sight of her, just like all of our wedding guests. First, we have some “I do’ing” to do.
Madilyn is walking down the aisle alone. Her mother is here and they've done their best to make up in time for the wedding but it's not the kind of situation in which her mom would be walking her down the aisle.
After she walks up to me I take her in her arms and tell her, "Your dad is very proud of you on your wedding day."
"I'm sure he'd love that I'm marrying a guy who is almost his age," she whispers, with a wink.
My mouth flies open as I try to think of a saucy retort. But then the officiant says, "Now, now, you two. We are gathered here together today to watch you get married, not bicker."
All of the wedding guests laugh and I shake my head at Madilyn. She's gotten the last fucking word in, as always.
But later tonight, on our wedding night, I'll show her that I'm still the boss.
Madilyn
It's late when Asher and I sneak into the office. After our ceremony was over we took wedding pictures, which included a photo shoot beside my dad's grave. Some might say that's morbid but I think it was special. Then we had our reception and stayed late into the night, dancing and celebrating with our friends.
All of my friends from high school, college and law school are here. Plus, there’s a new secretary named Ruby here who is really cool and is apparently following in my footsteps by dating her boss, Cameron Sanchez.
Suddenly, drunk and exhilarated, my new husband had a great idea.
"Let's take the limo to the office and consecrate our marriage the same way we started out our relationship," he'd said, spinning me around on the dance floor and then kissing me.
I had to run off to do the Boot Scootin' Boogie with my bridesmaids— our band sure had terrible timing— but when I got back I said, "Let's do it."
After one last slow dance, our guests lined up outside the reception hall and lit sparklers lining our path as we held our hands up high together and made our way to the limo.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," announced the DJ, "This concludes the festivities for the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Asher Marks, thank you for coming."
Mrs. Asher Marks.
The name has resounded in my mind this entire limo ride. It feels so new and so right. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
Our wedding day was perfect. But nothing could be better than looking forward to a lifetime of love and happiness— and filthy dirty sex— with my boss-turned-husband.
Asher and Madilyn, I think, like a schoolgirl. Madilyn and Asher. Forever and ever.
I’m so glad I’m in a relationship—and now a marriage— that actually involves sex. And not just any sex, but hot, amazing, mind-blowing sex at that. It may have taken me meeting Asher and falling in love with him to be able to break up with Jimmy for good, but I’m so glad I did.
When we get to the building we tell the limo to wait so that he can take us to our honeymoon suite at the hotel we'd booked to stay at tonight before we leave for our honeymoon tomorrow. Then we head straight to Asher's office and he rips off my wedding dress with passionate and drunken fervor, not caring that it cost a small fortune and that I had planned to save it in case we have a daughter.
I suppose that if we do, then for better or worse she'll know that her parents loved each other and that there was no lack of passion on our wedding night. Nor, I am guessing, on any other night of our entire lives since we had first met. I still can’t believe that that Mystery Man I met on my very first day at work turned into my mentor and now my husband.
"You look so handsome in this tuxedo that I don't know if I want you out of it," I tell Asher, as I nevertheless help him take it off.
As soon as I see his broad chest, toned muscles and sexy tattoo I change my mind. I definitely want him out of it.
My hand travels down to his chiseled abs and sculpted pelvic bones. Then they linger on his large cock, which throbs as it gets even harder in my hand.
"I want you so bad," he says. "Wife."
"I want you too, Boss…"
I trail off.
"Sorry. I'm so used to Boss. Husband."
"Same difference," he says, and picks me up.
I wrap my legs around him and he squeezes my ass as he kisses me.
I would have thought I would be offended to have my new husband telling me he's my boss. But I love letting go and submitting to Asher. I love how domineering and even how demanding he is.
He carries me over to the wall. He slams me up against it and pushes himself into me.
I lean back and enjoy the way his huge cock thrusts into me over and over. He plays with my nipple with one hand while he holds on tight to my waist with his other hand, moving my body back and forth while his cock has its way with my pussy.
"I'm coming," I tell him, steadying myself against the wall as a current of passion seizes through me.
"Come for me, baby," Asher says, his cock filling up my entire pussy as it swells even bigger and harder. "And come on me too."
"Yes, Boss," I say, as I lean back into his strong arms and give into my feelings of complete surrender and abandon. "Yes, Husband."
Asher
I pick my bride up again and carry her over to my desk. I turn her around and bend her over it. She's still wearing the ruby red heels she got married to me in. I love that that's the only thing she's wearing.
She had been wearing red panties but they're now in the pocket of my tuxedo suit. Of course she got married to me wearing the same red panties that had started us off, back when I had first proposed my bet and guessed the correct color. But today she wasn’t wearing them for long because I took them off her when I was only supposed to be removing her garter belt.
And I had a little fun while I was under her wedding dress, teasing her by sticking my finger in her pussy and even licking her clit a little bit, until people started asking if I was okay down there and saying we should save something for the honeymoon. As if.
Now, I squeeze her ass and look at its perfectly round curves. Then I look down at my cock, which is sticky with her juices.
"I can see that you still get dripping wet for me."
"You make me come so much," she says, turning around to look at me.
"I want to take you in your ass," I tell her, as I put my hand on her head and turn it back around.
"Yes, Boss."
She's still so supplicant and permissive. I love it. I love her.
"I love you," I tell her, as I reach for some lube I've learned to keep in my desk drawer for precisely this purpose.
"I love you too," she says, as I slide my cock into her ass and bite her gently on the neck
"Woah," she whimpers, but it's more like a love bite I've just given her.
And my wife is used to my cock in her ass by now. Soon she leans back a bit and enjoys the ride. Just like she did when I was fucking her pussy up against the wall.
"You take your Boss's cock like a champ now, don't you?" I ask her, as I cram my shaft into her ass hole.
"I do," she says. "I'm so glad you showed me how amazing this can be."
"I'm so glad we got married," I tell her.
I hold her hands back and pull her into me as I push my cock further into her. It feels so good that I allow myself to give into the overwhelming need for release, even though I wish I could fuck her all night. I know that soon we'll go again though.
"I'm coming in your ass," I tell her, feeling my cock get even harder and bigger.
"Do what you want with me, Boss," so says, so I let myself come a bit inside her and then I take out my cock and let my cum shoot all over her ass and back.
I rub my cum around her ass, using my cock, for good measure.
"There," I tell her. "Now you're marked. Claimed as mine."
"I think I already was," she says, as I sit down on the couch in my office and then pull her into my lap.
"That's true," I tell her.
I look around, noticing that the expensive paintings hanging on my office wall are returning to their normal colors and shape.
"I had quite a few drinks," I tell her. "I think they're just now starting to wear off."
"Well, a few drinks is exactly what you should have on your wedding night, Hubby. And rough sex too, of course."
She laughs and leans her head against my chest. I pet her hair, thinking.
"You didn't have anything to drink tonight," I tell her. "Why is that?"
She pauses.
I had been so busy taking shots with Ron and downing beers with my buddies that I hadn't really thought about it until now. Whenever I had noticed she didn’t have a drink in her hand, I figured she was just busy playing host and would have one later, once most of the guests left and she could relax. But now I realize I hadn’t actually seen her have a drink all night.
"Madilyn?" I ask her.
I'm too afraid to ask the question. Because I’m afraid of the answer.
Just tell me, I silently will her. Because if it's true then I'll be so fucking happy and if it's not true then I don't want to think about it tonight of all nights.
"Well," she says, turning her head up to look at me, her beautiful eyes glistening in the moonlight shining through my office window. "I was actually wanting to tell you that I'm sorry for being late to our wedding. But something came up."
"What came up?" I ask her.
She reaches over to get the red clutch she was carrying around tonight. It matches her red high heels that she's still wearing and the red panties that are long gone.
She takes something out and hands it to me with a happy grin spreading its way across her face.
"This little plus sign came up."
"What?"
I look down at a pregnancy stick with a pink plus sign.
"The plus sign means you’re pregnant right?" I ask her, unable to fucking believe it.
"Yes, silly," she says, laughing. “It’s a positive pregnancy test. It means I’m pregnant.”
I pick her up and swing her around.
“You’re pregnant!” I exclaim. “With my baby. You’re pregnant!”
"I felt really sick this morning," she says. "I thought it was just pre-wedding nerves but it got really bad, to the point where I couldn't keep anything down. This is embarrassing to admit but I was in the bathroom throwing up right before I walked down the aisle.”
I just stare at her, not thinking it’s embarrassing at all. Instead, I’m thinking that it’s fucking amazing.
“But don't worry,” she continues, assuming I’m staring at her because I’m grossed out rather than amazed. “A kind secretary from the wills and trusts department happened to have some toothpaste I used my finger to apply, and some mouthwash too. She tried to tell me she was spending the night somewhere after this but the story didn’t make a lot of sense and I've always suspected that she's a day drinker and that just confirmed it for me."
"Who is she?" I demand, wanting to know who is fucking drinking on the job at my firm.
Not that half the senior partners aren’t, I chide myself once I realize how hypocritical I’m being.
"I couldn't snitch on the person who helped me pull myself together just before my wedding," she says. "And she's a good secretary although you might want to have someone proofread her documents."
She laughs.
"Whatever," I tell her. "I don't even care. Law firm drama can figure itself out later. It's our wedding night and you're pregnant. You're really pregnant!"
I had really started to think it would never happen.
"Well shit," she says. "There go the daiquiris I planned our honeymoon around."
Of course, I'd wanted to take Madilyn on a mountain- climbing expedition for our honeymoon but she'd told me she just wants to relax on a beach with a frozen Daiquiri— not try to literally conquer the world.
I've been teaching her to climb at the climbing gym in town as well as in the Sandia Mountains. But she said she didn't think she'd be ready for a real expedition for at least another six months to a year.
"So, I guess you won't be able to…"
I begin, realizing that those plans involving dangerous terrain and a tight rope around her waist are now dashed.
"Yeah," she says, with a shrug. "But we'll go eventually."
"I would much rather have a baby," I tell her. "I just didn't think it would happen. Mountain climbing trips can wait!"
Suddenly my phone buzzes with a text.
"Fuck," I tell her. "It's the limo driver. He's saying that the cops are giving him a problem about waiting in the no parking lane out front even though it's late at night and no one is around. They gave him a five minute warning or else they’ll cite him."
"That's okay," she says. "We should head to the hotel anyway and enjoy our honeymoon suite.”
"True. Maybe without being given a time limit we’d just stay here and fuck all night."
"Fine with me. Although I’d prefer a hotel, then our honeymoon, then back home before we return to work as Mr. and Mrs. Boss,” she says. “Now you're going to be my boss and my husband and my baby daddy.”
"I sure am," I tell her, as I stand up and hand her her wedding dress, struggling with the weight of it and surprised by how heavy it is. "So why didn't you tell me until now?"
"I didn't want you to get scared of hurting me during sex," she says, with a giggle, as she shimmies into the dress.
I smile as I myself get dressed again.
"I guess I would have felt a little worried about tearing you up the way I do, knowing our tiny fragile little guy is living in there now."
"Or little girl," she says, with a grin.
"Or that."
I smile.
“I'd be happy with either one. He or she will definitely make a great lawyer in either case.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on our poor child,” she says.
“Yeah, maybe they’ll be the creative type and smarter than us. They’ll avoid the rat race and build art installations at Burning Man all summer or something, and somehow figure out how to make that profitable.”
"You have high expectations for our offspring already, I see,” she says. “And by the way, I'm going to have to hold this dress in place because you tore it.”
"I'm sorry. I was a little bit too eager."
"That's fine, because no one is here anyway," she laughs, as we leave the office. "Just like back in the day when you would make me walk through the hallway half naked to see you."
"You always did anything I wanted," I tell her. "And you still do."
"That's why you married me," she says.
“Sure is,” I agree. “But not just because of that. For a lot of other reasons too. Your smile, your big brain and your amazing ass, to name just a few.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get those last two mixed up?” she jokes.
Suddenly, in the middle of laughing, we hear a noise that makes both of us jump. The old days of sneaking around and being afraid of getting caught are still ingrained in us— both the thrill of it and the fear of it. But then I realize we aren't the ones who have anything to worry about.
"That noise is coming from Ron’s office," I tell Madilyn, pointing at the corner office just down the hall. It's the only one that’s almost as big as mine.
"Oh my God."
Not able to stop ourselves, we tiptoe over towards the closed door and listen. As we stand under the name card that says “Cameron Sanchez, Esq.,” there’s no doubt what’s going on inside.
"Are those the same sounds we just made?" Madilyn whispers, suppressing a laugh. “And for the same reason?”
"They sure are."
"He and his secretary Ruby have been getting close," Madilyn says, as we stop spying on the love birds and head towards the elevators. "She's probably one of the most down to earth people I’ve ever met, so I approve of him for her. But I still can’t believe it. She’s his not- so- secret office fling and his wedding date, and then they come back here to fuck?"
"What can I say?" I ask her, with a mischievous grin, thinking, Atta boy, Ron.
Maybe if he's lucky she'll be a keeper and they'll get married and have a kid. And live happily fucking ever after, just like me and the new associate I knowingly hand picked to be my pet and also ended up choosing to be my wife and mother of my child.
"He learned from the very best."
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Copyright © 2017 Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
The holiday windows at Saks Fifth Avenue usually filled me with Christmas cheer, but tonight the twirling sugar plum fairies did nothing to calm the category-five hurricane twisting its way around my stomach. I should have known better than to take a cab through Midtown the week before Christmas. The invitation to the masquerade party said eight o’clock sharp, but thanks to the sloth-slow traffic, I would be late. That was the last thing I needed or wanted because I was about to go undercover for a story I knew would kickstart my journalism career, something I desperately needed.
On the third floor of Expose Club, a few blocks from Fifth Avenue, was a sex club. The sort of place celebrities, politicians, millionaires, and billionaires frequented when they wanted to get their rocks off, and I planned to reveal to the world exactly what happened there.
Over the past month, I’d spent countless evenings at the club staking it out both inside and out. I knew that the first two floors were regular clubs where people went to get drunk, dance, and pick up people to have regrettable sex with. But I’d also witnessed politicians, movie stars, rappers, and pop singers walk through the first-floor club to the secret elevator by the kitchen that would take them to the third floor.
Last Saturday night, I’d slipped a couple hundred bucks into a bartender’s pocket for the chance to wash glasses and watch the elevator. But I hadn’t been able to discover what was behind the proverbial curtain, or, in Expose’s case, see what was on the other side of the elevator door. I wanted more than to watch people get into an elevator; I wanted proof.
My plan was to do an exposé on Expose Club because the world deserved to know about the double lives the men and women they worshiped and voted for lived. It didn’t hurt that by shining the light on their dirty little secrets, I’d also make a name for myself.
Uncovering the kinks of the rich and famous wasn’t how I’d expected or imagined I’d begin my investigative journalism career, but my editor-in-chief, ironically named Henry Miller, left me no other choice. I had to prove my worth to him, and going undercover at a sex club was how I planned to do just that.
Ever since I’d gotten a job at The New York Reporter, Henry insisted I write the agony aunt column because, in his words, a pretty young thing like me didn’t belong on the streets investigating anyone. His overprotectiveness was because back in the day he had been my dad’s senior editor and since my dad was killed by a hit-and-run driver while working on a story, Henry felt he had to look out for me.
He didn’t. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.
For crying out loud, I was a journalism graduate from Emerson. During my last two years there, I was the news editor for The Berkeley Beacon where my responsibilities included finding stories and managing reporters. I didn’t bust my ass or live on caffeine and no sleep for four years so I could advise desperate housewives on how to bring the sexy back into their dead marriages.
Plus, after my dad’s death, I’d vowed to follow in his footsteps and become an investigative journalist at The NY Reporter. Being an agony aunt was not how I intended to honor him or spend my days.
I didn’t care if getting my story meant I had to pretend I was a submissive in a sex club. I’d researched the lifestyle enough to know I could act the part. Sure, some of the naughty books I’d read turned me on, and some of the video clips had left me more than a little wet, but it wasn’t like I’d actually have to participate in anything tonight. I was attending the party as an observer only.
The thought of being cuffed, chained, or tethered didn’t do a thing for me, but I’d be lying if I said the thought of being spanked didn’t send tingles to my clit. I’d never had sex at all before but maybe one day, if I ever found a man I wanted to sleep with, I’d ask him to spank me. I had zero interest in any other type of punishment or control, though. No thank you!
The lack of romance in my life wasn’t because I wasn’t pretty or because men found me unattractive. I was what most people described as the girl next door. With my long blonde hair, green eyes and curvy body I got my fair share of appreciative glances and invitations to dinner, but so far, none of those dinner dates turned into anything more. I guess most men didn’t like my ambition or my competitive nature. Their loss.
Getting an invitation to the party wasn’t easy or cheap. I went to Mike Russo, one of my dad’s old contacts and asked him to help. Mike was the kind of guy who could get anything for anyone… at a hefty price tag.
I’d used the inheritance money left to me by my grandmother to pay for the invitation. I could see her spinning in her grave because her only granddaughter was going to a sex club, and not only that but she’d also paid five-thousand dollars for the pleasure. I made a sign of the cross and for the millionth time prayed for her forgiveness.
Going undercover with no one knowing was risky, but it was a risk I wanted to take. Not even my best friend Jessica, who was now on her way to Jamaica for the holidays with her family and who usually knew everything about me including what color underwear I wore, had any knowledge about my plans. If she did, she would have ripped me a new one. She thought I was going to the newsroom’s holiday party.
Since I’m a jeans, beat-up Converse, and oversized sweater girl, Jessica jumped at the chance to help me get ready for tonight. As if she needed any excuse to play with hair and makeup. Much to her parents’ chagrin, she dropped out of Fordham’s business program last year to become a makeup artist—something she kicked ass at.
I was in the chair for two hours while Jessica contoured and highlighted my face. For the first time in my life, I had cheekbones. She also tortured my follicles by straightening and then loosely curling my hair before spraying it into submission. Maybe all the primping and preening was worth it, because I actually felt a little bit sexy.
I wiggled my butt against the squeaky pleather cab seat and inched down the hem of the black dress Jessica found for me at a consignment store. That girl had consignment shopping down to a fine art. She knew the best places in town to get next to new designer dresses at ridiculous prices. The bandage style, off the shoulder LBD she found sucked in my jiggly stomach and lifted up my more-than-a handful boobs and butt. While I didn’t look skinny, I looked toned and healthy.
And then there were my shoes. By no means was I a shoe person but the glitter-covered pointy-toe pumps on my feet were to die for. The color faded from deep black on the front to rose gold on the back, and the leather lining felt like butter.
Since the club had a strict no electronics policy, I had to be clever when it came to concealing my phone because I intended to record as much of the evening as I could. I was no seamstress, but thanks to a YouTube video, I’d sewn a phone-sized panel into the lining of my dress at the back. I’d also included a small hole for the camera lens. There was no way anyone would find my phone unless I got naked, and even then, the lining should keep it hidden.
I also wore a silver masquerade mask which I found on Amazon for ten bucks. Pink and silver feathers decorated the lace bridge and sparkling Swarovski crystals lined the eyes. The mask covered the upper half of my face, and there was no way anyone would recognize me.
The cab pulled to a stop opposite the club, and after I paid the driver, I took a deep now or never breath before stepping outside.
Icy wind slapped my bare legs as if warning me not to go ahead with my plan, but I wasn’t backing out. Not now.
I pulled my black wool coat, also borrowed from Jessica, around my body to shield out the bone-chilling cold.
Excitement mixed with fear tingled my nerve endings, and I stifled the giggle bubbling up in my throat. With the invitation clasped between my fingers, I prayed to God that going undercover would be worth it.
I weaved through a line of beeping cars driven by impatient drivers and stepped onto the blue carpet leading to the club. Fake it till you make it looped around my mind, and I held my head high as I teetered on my skyscraper-high heels towards the door.
On the front of the building, all ten stories, multicolor lights danced in time to Carol of the Bells. There was nothing quite like Christmas in New York City.
Once I reached the main door, guards resembling pit bulls flanked the entry. Each one looked like they could eat me for breakfast, and I hoped they wouldn’t get the chance. Shivers prickled up and down my back, and I forced myself to calm the fuck down. Now wasn’t the time to run away like a scared little girl.
Doing my best to keep faking it till I made it, I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. One doorman who looked like the love child of Conor McGregor and Ronda Rousey held out his hand, silently asking for my invitation. I handed it to him, and he took it without comment. He scanned it under a UV light, and a name appeared, but I didn’t get the chance to read it.
Shit on a fucking stick. The name of the original invitee must only be visible under UV light. If Conor junior asked for my ID, I was screwed.
“Jimmy,” he called out in a surprisingly soft voice. “This one’s for you.”
I froze. Common sense suggested I make a run for it. The reality of the trouble I was in if any of these people discovered I was an undercover reporter wasn’t lost on me. I should go home now and forget about my hairbrained scheme.
Jimmy, a Rottweiler in a tux with tattoos covering his neck and hands, took the invitation from Conor Jr. He turned it over in his hands, looked at the invitation, then looked at me.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
My lungs were fast forgetting how to work.
“Should there be?” Jimmy replied.
“Nope. No problem.”
“Good.” He removed a pager from the breast pocket of his tux and typed out a message. After a few seconds, a message pinged back, and Jimmy gave me a “cat who got all the cream” grin.
“Follow me.”
“Why?” I asked, taking a teeny step back.
“You already know why, sweetheart.”