Chapter 2
My eyes widened with disbelief. Was the man bonkers? Who in the hell would think anyone would take a job not knowing what it was? I gave a shake of my head. "Why in the hell would I agree to something that sounds fishy as fuck?" I asked.
He gave a shrug, his smile becoming a smirk as he held out his hand in my direction. "Do we have a deal or not?" he questioned.
As I looked at him, I thought over my options, or rather the lack of them. Then, reaching out, I took his hand, shaking it. "I guess we have a deal," I returned, unable but to wonder what in the hell I was getting myself into.
The man stood, his handshake firm, his grip surprisingly comforting. "Good. You won't regret it," he informed me. Then, handing me an envelope, he continued, "Come to this address tomorrow morning at eight sharp."
Seconds later, I gazed at the envelope in my hand, my stomach twisting into knots as the guard escorted me out of the room.
~~
Time ticked into hours as I waited, unable but think about the man's offer. The idea of not serving time was tempting, but the uncertainty of what I would be doing made me hesitant. Yet, the alternative was time behind bars. My decision weighed heavily on me; I could feel the pressure of time slipping away. But there would be no turning back. I might be a thief, but I was a woman of my word.
As I was pondering over the fact, I had no idea if I'd screwed up by agreeing to work for the man, the door to my cell creaked open, and the guard stepped in. His eyes scanned the small space before settling on me. "You're free to go."
"I'm what?" I quizzed in amazement. To be honest, I had doubted the man's word. I stood up, my legs wobbly from the sudden rush of adrenaline. "I'm free?" I croaked.
"Your charges have been dropped." The guard's tone was that of impatience, as if he was ready to be done with me.
I still couldn't shake my disbelief. Was this a trick? A sick joke? But after he unlocked the handcuffs, he handed me my personal items and ushered me toward the cell door. I stepped through it tentatively, almost expecting the man to tell me there had been some kind of mistake.
Seconds later, as we walked down the corridor, all I could think was, Damn, the who was to become my boss, had actually kept his word.
As we continued forward, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet taste of freedom. However, a wash of apprehension stole away the moment of happiness as the guard led me down the same corridor, to the same room where the mysterious man had made his offer.
With a sigh, and expecting the worst, I peered at the man standing just inside the door frame. Leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest, he gazed in my direction. "You made the right choice," he said, a smile playing on his lips.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wasn't so certain.
Minutes later, as I stepped out of the prison and into the sunlight, I did a small dance, worshiping the moist stickiness of the day that brought with it my freedom.
~~
Half an hour later, back in my apartment, I sat on the worn couch, Mac squeaked happily in his cage, his whiskers twitching as, with hands that shook, I opened the envelope. A black business card with a single name fell out of it: Alex Landry 11576 East Marriet RD, New Orleans, Louisiana.
After staring at the name for several moments, I set the card down and made my way over to my refrigerator. With the ingredients for for a sandwich spread out before me, I gazed down at the items, suddenly lacking an appetite. With a heavy sigh, I placed everything back on the shelves. Then, without a backward glance, I made my way over to my bed, and crawled beneath the covers. Covering my head, I blocked out the sunlight. I just wanted the day over.
~~
Come the next morning, I was up early, having showered and put on my best clothes. I'd gone back and forth between jeans and a skirt, finally settling on the skirt. Why I felt so nervous about my clothing was beyond me; it wasn't as if how I dressed was going to be a game changer.
Half an hour later, when I finally stood before the address printed on the card, I gazed at the sleek office building, shoring up my confidence. Finally, after pulling in a determined breath, I entered the building, and made my way to the elevator that took me to the top floor, where I was greeted by a receptionist who seemed to know exactly who I was.
"Mr. Landry is expecting you," she informed me, her voice cool and professional.
Afterward, coming around her desk, she gestured for me to follow and led me into a spacious office. Alex Landry set behind the desk, and looking up, our eyes met as he held out his hand. I took it, though hesitantly. This was the man whose house I'd broken into, the man who had the power to ruin my life or give me a second chance. The same man, who was going to be my boss.
Despite the chaos of my thoughts, my voice was steady, as wanting to get to the point, I blurted, "What exactly does this job entail?"
Alex dropped my hand, then sat back down in his chair. Leaning back in it, his eyes never left mine. "You're going to be catering to the elite at a BDSM---or if you'd rather call it, an adult club." His tone was matter-of-fact.
I blinked, trying to process the information. The shock was incredible. "A BDSM club?" I breathed.
"Ah, Cherie," Alex murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "You see, I have… particular tastes. And as such, I have a need for someone who can blend in; who can be both a conversationalist and a... distraction."
My mind raced with questions, but I knew better than to show my hand. I nodded, trying to play it cool.
"Alright," I said, my voice carrying no hint of what I was really feeling. "What do I need to do?"
Alex leaned forward, straightening in his chair. "You'll need to undergo training, of course---the art of seduction, how to be the perfect... hostess."
A shiver ran down my spine, feeling a double innuendo in his words. This kind of world was not mine. I'd only read about it in books, or seen it in movies. From what I knew, BDSM was where power and passion intertwined in a dance of dominance and submission, and I was about to learn a hell of a lot more about the lifestyle than I had ever wanted to.
"You'll have to move to New Orleans," he stated. "That's where the club is. As well, my home."
The thought of leaving Chicago was not a welcome one, but neither was the alternative. "When do I leave?" I heaved a breath, finally asking.
"Tonight," he said, his smile widening: almost a Cheshire cat grin. "I've taken the liberty of arranging everything for you. There will be a car outside your house at seven sharp. Be ready."