Saffi

Nelle was back from London, and I was desperate to talk to her. After a miserable day working on my Club Silk story, knowing full well I didn’t have all the details I needed and that I’d probably never get them, I needed a shoulder to cry on. I arrived early at the bar where we always met and dove into my first beer.

“Heyyyyyy!” Nelle exclaimed, running into the bar with open arms. She threw them around me.

“I am so glad you’re back,” I said.

“Well, I’m not. I freaking loved London and cannot wait to return. We have to go there, Saffi. It’s the most amazing city.” She frantically waved over the bartender. “And the guys’ accents are so hot. Oh my god. I am so marrying an Englishman.”

I was chomping at the bit to discuss all that was on my mind, but just listened. If I waited long enough, she’d run out of gas.

And she did, chattering on for five more minutes before slowing.

“So, Saff. What’s up with you and the big story?” She leaned close to whisper. “And the sex club.”

“Glad you asked,” I said with patience. “I’ve hit some roadblocks. I think the club owner might be on to me.”

Nelle’s hand flew to her chest. “No way. Jesus. What will they do? I mean, could this be dangerous?”

“No,” I said, wishing I believed my lie.

“The problem,” I continued, “is that I’m having trouble finishing the story. Everyone there is tight-lipped and I haven’t been able to get even the most basic info. I can probably finish the story, but it won’t be that good.”

“Aw c’mon. There’s got to be a way. Won’t anyone there talk?” she asked.

“You would think. But it’s like they’ve been freaking programmed. They’re the Stepford Wives of sex clubs.”

“What about the guy you’ve been playing with? What’s up with him?”

“He won’t tell me anything, either. But I am kind of into him. It’s the strangest thing. I don’t even know what his face looks like.”

Nelle frowned. “Yeah…that’s kind of creepy.”

I shook my head. “What you’re saying makes perfect sense, and yet… I don’t really care what he looks like, I’m so drawn to him, and I think he might feel the same way about me. It would be nice if he were handsome, but it really doesn’t matter.”

She held her hands up in surrender. “All right…whatever.” She pulled out her credit card and waved for the bill.

“I gotta run. This was my treat,” she said.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“Got a conference call.”

“What? So late?”

“Yeah. It’s morning in Hong Kong, so we do our calls with them in the evening.”

She was doing business with the Chinese, and all I ever did was go for takeout.

She air-kissed me and was gone.

I was taking the last swig of my beer when my phone vibrated with a message from G.

Hmmm. I swiped it phone open.

r u busy? meet me at four seasons bar for a drink?

Wow. What was that all about? He couldn’t very well wear his mask at the Four Seasons. This was big. Something was up.

ok. what time?

in 15?

u wearing mask?

LOL. nope

how will I know u?

I’ll know u

c u then

Holy shit, I was finally going to see his face. Would he have dimples? No, he didn’t seem the dimple type. Would his lips be thin or full? Probably thin. Would his nose be straight or crooked? Best guess, crooked, but only slightly, from a fight as a kid.

I ran to the bathroom to smear on some glossy red lipstick and fluff my hair. I hustled to The Four Seasons.

The cavernous hotel bar, dark and masculine with wood paneling, was quiet. Other patrons were scattered about, but it had been designed so that nothing more than whispers and the occasional laugh drifted through the room.

Settling into my second bar of the evening, I ordered a fancy cocktail and began texting Nelle about this latest development.

There was a tap on my shoulder, and I spun to my left.

“Saffi.”

Oh.

It was my dad’s client...the one who’d asked about me. Varden. What was he doing here?

“Hi. How are you?” I kept looking around the bar for G. He was five minutes late.

“Good. You?” he asked.

I turned back to him with a polite smile. “Nice to see you.” I kept looking around for G. Normally I would have been happy to chat with one of my father’s clients. But now was not the time.

“What are you drinking there?” Varden asked.

“Um. It’s a negroni.”

“You look distracted,” he said.

I glanced toward the door again, but the man entering was too old and short to be G.

“I’m sorry to be rude,” I said to him. “But I’m expecting a friend. I do hope you have a good evening.”

His expression changed. Was that amusement?

“I’ll tell my dad you said hi,” I added, hoping he’d take the hint. I felt kind of bad—he did seem nice and was damn good-looking.

I was on the edge of my seat waiting, but Varden just stood there. He seemed to have no intention of leaving.

God, why doesn’t he take the hint?

Where was G? I reached for my phone and sent a text.

ur late. still coming?

I looked up from my phone.

Still Varden.

Shit.

“Varden, I’m really sorry but I have other plans tonight.”

“I know you do, Saffi.”

Huh?

“I know, because you made them with me,” he said.

“What? What are you talking about?” I craned my neck toward the door. G could rescue me from an unwanted conversation like this.

“Saffi, I am G. From the club.”

How the fuck does Varden know about the club?

What. The. Fuck.

“How do you know about the club?” I was confused, but my stomach sank as if it knew something I wasn’t ready to.

He slid onto the barstool next to mine and waved over the bartender.

“I wear a mask at the club to protect my privacy,” he said, looking at me intently. Just like G would. “But I wanted you to know who I really was, so I asked you to meet me here. We have something important to talk about.” He ordered bourbon. G always ordered bourbon.

A slow realization washed over me. My hand shook so much, my drink sloshed out of its glass.

“I…I don’t believe you. Who put you up to this?” I swallowed hard to hide my shaking voice.

“I can prove to you that we’ve been at the club together.”

No, no, no, no, no.

“I really don’t think this is funny.” Tears threatened to fill my eyes.

Get it together, girl.

The bartender brought Varden’s bourbon. “Last time we were there, you wore a slinky dress with no bra and high heels. Your hair was partially pulled back. Miss M tried really hard to get you to her office, but I intervened.”

G was also my father’s client, Varden, and the man I’d met at dinner? I’d been intimate with an associate of my father’s?

Please. It can’t be so.

Tears distorted my vision, followed by spots of white light, and my heart pounded in panic.

“We got, uh…intimate on the second floor on one of the sofas. It was amazing—”

“Shut up,” I screamed. The bartender’s gaze snapped my way, and he headed over, it seemed in slow motion.

Confusion had me seconds away from vomiting right then, right there. I reached for my cocktail, not sure why, because the last thing I felt like doing was consuming more alcohol. But my fingers slipped on the wet glass, causing it to tip and release my sticky cocktail all over the bar. An orange wedge sat in the middle of the puddle.

Varden put his hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry you’re upset. When I first saw you at the club, I thought we’d do a little harmless messing around, but…I don’t know…I found myself wanting to see more of you. And not just at the club.” He looked around as the bartender arrived. He leaned next to my ear. “I want to see you outside the club, here in the real world. In my real world. And yours.”

“Miss, are you okay?” the bartender asked.

I looked at him. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be fine.” I slid off my barstool, stepping away from Varden, but he only moved toward me.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The disappointment washed over me like acid, causing searing pain in every pore and crevice.

“How could you?” I mumbled. My eyes filled with tears despite my effort to deny them. The disappointment—the goddamn disappointment—that someone I’d begun to fall for had taken me for such a fool.

I was a fool. A huge fucking fool. To think I could write a superstar story for the Post, and attract some mysterious and sexy man at the same time.

Fucking idiot. That’s me.

I hightailed it out of the Four Seasons. God I hoped I never saw G, or Varden, or whatever the hell his name was, again.