Saffi

I’d stumbled onto something big.

No, not big. Monumental.

My story would shake the city. I’d no longer have to accept the paper’s shit assignments—well, not all of them, anyway. They’d entrust me with good, high profile work, and with the chance to prove myself over and over. People would ask my opinion. They’d listen to what I had to say.

But as soon as I was handed the usual list of Chinese food to pick up for the office, I realized my dream was still a ways off.

Ugh.

I went to the Chinese place so often they knew me by name. How sucky was that? Saffi Bartlett belonged on the byline of a brilliant piece of journalism, not a hand-written receipt from a takeout restaurant.

Trudging back to the office with multiple plastic bags, I struggled to hold my head up. It wasn’t easy to do when one smelled of fried wontons and sweet and sour pork.

“Saff. Yo, thanks for flying. I’m starved.” Tom snatched a bag from my hand and emptied its contents onto the break room lunch table. Chopsticks and fortune cookies clattered to the floor.

Jerk.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” I say next to him. I was hungry, too.

“Geez, Saff,” he said, diving into his noodles. “Why so glum?” He tried to hook some of his lo mein with his chopsticks, but the slippery noodles slithered right out of them and landed on the grimy table.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s this place.”

This was part of my ploy, to tell no one about the story until the last minute, with the exception of Ed. That would guarantee maximum impact at the paper. They’d all be blown away by my investigative skill and writing talent.

I pictured for a moment how great it would be for someone else to get the damn Chinese food my coworkers seemed unable to live without.

Seriously. How much lo mein can a person eat?

“Oh, Saff.”

Why did that douchebag have to keep calling me that? At one time, I’d thought it cute. Now it was annoying as hell.

“You know,” he said, leaning toward me as if in confidence. “Some people are meant to do the serious work. And some people are meant to support us.”

Oh, hell no.

Did he really just say that?

“Excuse me?” I leaned back toward him, just inches from his nose.

His head snapped back. “Oh, Saff,” he said with a weak laugh. “I was just kidding. You know me.”

“Yeah,” I said with a fury that surprised us both. “You’d better be fucking kidding.” I grabbed a container of moo shu pork and returned to my desk before I lost control and dumped the slimy goo over his head.

* * *

Happy hour lasted till six p.m., and with just a few minutes left I ordered another beer. I was waiting on my perpetually late best friend, Nelle. She normally arrived when I was on my first drink. But I since I was into beer number two and wondering where the hell she was, I pulled out my phone to track her down.

And to my surprise, there was a text from my new Club Silk friend.

G.

I saved it for later.

I had to get back to Club Silk, and soon. There was no way around it, not that I minded; I’d only just started gathering information, although I sure as hell hadn’t planned on hooking up with anyone, especially not my first night there. On the other hand, if I just kept showing up without ever playing with anyone, well, that wasn’t going to help me fit in at all.

I had to figure out what to do about G, and sooner rather than later. He’d be there when I went back. Plus, he was sexy as hell even if he did wear that damn mask.

A hand fell on my shoulder, startling the crap out of me.

“Geez,” Nelle said, out of breath and flustered. “Why’re you so jumpy? Relax.”

I waved for the bartender. “Hey there. You made it just in time.” I ordered Nelle a beer with just seconds left in happy hour.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Nelle said, getting situated on her barstool. “How’s the job at the paper?”

“I’m liking it better. I mean, I think I’m going to be getting more challenging work.”

Nelle’s face brightened. “No kidding! Tell me.”

I opened my mouth to tell Nelle everything, but I stopped. No doubt she could deal with it but…way too soon. I didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions. I probably wouldn’t have answers for them, anyway.

So I fibbed. “Well, there’s nothing particular to tell yet. It’s just a feeling. I think my editor is listening to me more.”

Who wouldn’t listen to a story about a freaking sex club?

Earlier that day, Ed had called me into his office.

He’d leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped on his desk. “Saffi, what’s up with the Club Silk story?”

“Well, I visited for the first time the other night.”

Of course I glossed over the sexy details, explaining I’d not yet gathered much of substance.

“It’s going to be a good story,” I assured him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I mean, is this something you should be doing?” He looked around the room as if there were others present, and then said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Should you”—he gestured at her—“be going to a sex club?”

“Not sure what you’re getting at, Ed.”

“Maybe next time you go, you should take me with you.”

What the fucking fuck.

I had forced a small smile in the hope of wiping the tension off my face. “I’ve got it under control.”

Did he really think she wanted to go to a sex club with him? Jesus.

“Well, all right,” he said. “But before all is said and done, someone else will have to go for fact-checking purposes.”

“I understand.”

Then he had pushed back from his desk and stood like he always did when he was ready to end a meeting. “Okay then. Keep me posted. Good work.”

Nelle was shaking her arm. “Hey. Saffi. You with me? You spaced out again.”

I realized I’d shredded my cocktail napkin. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I have to stop letting work get me down.”

Quick save.

“Yeah, you do. Now what about your office crush? What was his name again? Tim?”

“Tom. It was Tom. But he turned out to be a douche.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Onward.” Nelle raised her beer glass. “Anyway, your mom would be proud of your commitment.”

A thud landed in my stomach. Would she be proud of her daughter investigating a sex club?

“Yeah, I hope so.” I stared at the sweat ring my beer had left on the bar.

“Of course she would be. She’d be proud of the life you and your dad have built. Speaking of which...how is your handsome father?” Her eyes widened.

“My dad is great. You know him. He doesn’t mind my crashing at the house. In fact, I think he likes it. And it’s nice to have some time with him after being away at school. Not that I could afford to move out, anyway...”

“Hey, don’t despair,” Nelle said, placing a hand on my arm. “You’ll be making more money in no time. We’ll get a place together.”

“Easy for you to say, Miss Finance Major. You’ve got a great job in banking. But the journalism route does not pay quite as well.”

There could be some pretty sweet perks, though. The kind only an exclusive club offered. And I was determined to enjoy them.