When she answered, my opening greeting was awkward, my words tripping out, no good way to introduce myself. There was an initial pause, but then warm sincerity flowed through the phone.
“You’re that gorgeous brunette who came with Brad to Masked Innocence! Of course I remember. I’ve heard you tied that man down with an engagement.” The admiration rang clearly through her voice.
“Well, someone had to do it.”
She laughed coquettishly. “I missed seeing you at the Christmas party; Brad said you guys went up to Aspen. How was the snow?”
Aspen. The day after my parents left, we locked down the house and flew west, locking ourselves into a chalet and fucking for three days straight before coming home. Snow? I hadn’t even noticed. “It was great, though I hated missing the party. But Beverly, the reason I called is that Brad’s birthday is Friday.” I explained my predicament, hoping that she didn’t take the question the wrong way.
She thought for a moment. “Honestly, Julia, if you’re trying to find a single woman yourself, you’re probably best going to The Montley House.”
I repeated the name, drawing a blank, my naïve mind trying to find something familiar in the words.
She laughed. “Why don’t I take you there tonight? It’s a place easier shown than explained; plus, they won’t accept you without a referral.”
I blushed. “That would be great, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Let’s meet for drinks first. I need to give you the lay of the land before you make your selection.”
We made plans to meet at seven-thirty. I hung up my cell and Googled ‘The Montley House,’ finding zero results. Any place that successfully hid from the internet could only mean trouble. My stomach flip-flopping, I returned to my files and dove back into work.
♥♥♥
I almost forgot about the damn chicken. I was mid-dial into a call to Brad when I remembered the baked chicken breasts. Martha lightly battered them in flour, mixed with some type of crack, before slow-baking them, and they tasted out-of-this-world amazing. There were few things in life better than her chicken, and I wasn’t missing it for anything. I hung up on Brad, his hello cut off by my thumb, and I thought for a moment before dialing him back.
“Yes?”
“Sorry about that, forgot I was getting on the elevator. Martha’s making baked chicken tonight.”
“I know. I’m on my way home now. Are you leaving the office?”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay long. I was just going to grab dinner and then go; I’ve got plans with the girls.”
“Why don’t they come by the house for dinner? You know Martha will have plenty.”
“I think they have other stuff to do, but I’ll ask.”
“All right. See you soon. Love you.”
“I love you, too, babe.” I hung up the phone with a smile, grateful that he hadn’t pushed any more. My lies tended to fall into a million pieces at about question three. Anything before that, I held up pretty well. I let out a breath, walking through the plan in my mind. I would go to Brad’s house, gorge on Martha’s cooking, change into something worthy of a mysterious outing, then go and meet with Beverly. I grinned, embracing the delicious secret. I was, basically, James Bond in stilettos.
Chapter 39
Julia was lying. There was something in their earlier conversation on the phone, something off. And now she was nervous, eating but fidgeting, glancing at the clock too often for practical purposes. Deception was never good, it was an evil snake that planted doubt in the mind of others, and he could feel it stealing over his body. He stood, grabbing his plate and paused on his way to the sink, kissing her neck and flashing her a smile. She flushed, looking down.
He continued to the sink, scraping his plate and glancing at her. “Where are you guys going?”
She hesitated. “Olives. Becca heard it was good.”
Yes, Olives was good, if you didn’t mind paying thirty dollars a drink. A little rich for college student blood. Brad headed to the den, a headache growing.
♥♥♥
I changed, and then changed again, my first outfit looking like a cat burglar’s. Frustrated with my lack of knowledge about Montley’s, I finally decided on a simple black dress, choosing one that was more daring than conservative, hoping it would fit the vibe of whatever mousetrap Beverly was leading me into. I slid on Jimmy Choos and a cropped leather jacket, then headed downstairs, calling for Brad.
He was in the den, a t-shirt and sweatpants on, baseball playing on the television, and he glanced up at my entrance, his eyes taking in my outfit in one, slow scan. He stood, walking over and stopped before me, his hands on his hips. I looked up at him quizzically. “What?”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
“You look way too good.” He let his eyes drop, and he trailed a finger along and up my side, the contact causing my breath to hitch, his finger crossing over my breasts and down the dip in my neckline.
I reached out and grabbed his finger, wrapping my hand around it. “Stop. Stop that or else I won’t be able to think straight.”
“Go change.”
“What? I’m not changing! Besides, Olives is fancy, so what’s wrong with this?” I looked down at my outfit in dismay, his finger catching my chin and pulling it up until our eyes met. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine and I stared back defiantly. He grinned suddenly and pulled me to him, his mouth taking mine, a long kiss that stole my breath. He squeezed my ass as we separated and turned, heading back to the couch and settling in. I stared at him, baffled. “So ... the outfit is okay?”
“Yeah. Very ... Hot,” he drawled, picking up the remote. “You coming back here tonight or staying at your house?” He seemed utterly unconcerned with my response.
“I was gonna stay here,” I said slowly.
“Call me if you end up drinking and need a ride.” He flashed me a gorgeous smile and leaned forward, watching the game closely.
I turned, checking that I had my phone and headed for the back door, sending one final glance backward at the den.
“Love you, babe,” he called as I opened the door and stepped out.
“Love you, too,” I said, pulling the door closed and digging for my keys. Weird.
♥♥♥
Brad relaxed against the leather couch, listening as Julia’s SUV started up, a throaty purr that rumbled past the den on its way out. Wherever she was going, it wasn’t to meet the girls, and it probably wasn’t Olives. But, when he stared into her eyes, those brown depths that held his heart, he was reminded of who she was, and she was trustworthy. She had never given him any reason not to trust her. And if she needed to lie to him, there was a reason. He’d just have to wait to find out what that was.
Chapter 40
Olives was definitely not my kind of place. Any bar that had a valet was too high-brow for me. I left my car with an acne-covered kid and headed in, gripping my purse and looking for Beverly. It was easy to find her, her shot of red hair sticking out like a flag. I shot a quick smile to the hostess and bee-lined for her, moving through a throng of suits, silks, and perfume until I finally reached her table. She beamed when she saw me, standing and giving me a hug.
“Julia! So glad you made it. Let’s move to the back, it’s quieter back there.” She grabbed my elbow and we hustled, moving to a rear room where the air was lighter and the volume half as loud. Fanning herself, she slid into a small booth and gestured for me to take the opposite seat.
“This is better,” I said, grinning at her across the table.
“I know; it’s pure madness out there. Everyone packs in like sardines until nine, and then there’s not a soul in this place. It makes no sense. I would have started back here, but didn’t want you to get lost in that crowd. A young thing like you, those men wouldn’t have let you get too far.” She winked at me and caught the eye of a server, who stopped by and took our drink order.
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“So. Brad’s birthday. What kind of girl are you thinking about?”
Well, that was easy. So much for awkward skirting of the issue. It was one of the reasons I had called Beverly. Frank conversation was certainly appreciated. “I’m not really sure. Can you tell me more about The Montley House?”
She leaned forward, her gorgeous face highlighted to perfection with flawless makeup and diamond drop earrings, her blue eyes burning with mischief. “Montley is the underground red-light district for this city, if a red-light district dealt in thousand dollar bills and professional security. They only have seven girls, and they only cater to clients with a personal invite. I’ll be your invite. I called Riley and told her who you were and what you were looking for. She’ll walk you through the girls they have. Are you wanting more of a submissive or aggressive girl?”
I blew out a breath, considering the choices. “Probably submissive. I don’t want a girl who acts beaten; I just don’t want one trying to run the show. Brad will want to do that.” A thought occurred to me and I frowned. “Every other experience we’ve had, the other person has been a willing participant. I don’t want to force or pressure a girl into this.”
Beverly laughed and leaned forward, flashing a playful smile. “Julia, these women are not at Montley because of financial need. They make more in one night than most women make in a year. They are there because they love sex. Not to mention—can you imagine having to force any woman to have sex with Brad? Good lord, Julia. When I first hired him as an attorney, sex was the last thing on my mind. I hired him because I was told he was lethal in the courtroom. But any woman who spends five minutes in that man’s presence wants his cock. That’s just the way it is. Whomever you pick tonight ... trust me, they’re going to enjoy every minute of the experience.”
She sat back, smiling at the waiter as he set down our drinks, twin martini glasses of sexual confidence.
♥♥♥
I stopped at the second drink, the room a little fuzzy and Beverly getting more beautiful by the second. She knew everything and everyone, and spoke about our lifestyle like it was Wisteria-Lane-normal. It was refreshing, to be able to gasp about the awkwardness of a threesome gone wrong, or giggle when she told me of a sixteen year old kid who somehow snuck into one of her parties.
“I’m telling you, Julia, he stood there for one minute with his mouth hanging open, frozen in his tracks, and then he turned white as a sheet and took off! We probably ruined that boy for life.”
“What happened to that girl, the Russian who was there the night of the Masked Innocence party?
“Who, Kate?” She closed her eyes briefly. “When I think about what almost happened in our house, I get sick. That creep who brought her ... the whole point of me agonizing over a guest list is to make sure people like that don’t end up at our parties. My husband understands that now. Kate lived with us for a few months until we got her citizenship sorted out. Now she works in Customer Service for one of our companies. She’s doing well, looks marvelous. Not as pale as she was that night.”
Brad walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her back onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the blood red duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes.
I blushed, hoping the dark bar hid my tell, pushing my memories back. I had handled that experience well, jealousy not a problem, arousal overriding it in one, easy sweep. Would Friday be any different? Kate had been a fumbling, inexperienced partner. What if this hired vixen blew my sexual attempts away? Reminded Brad of all of the sex and women he was missing out on? But my decision was made. Even if it all led to that, if she was the catalyst to that epiphany, I wanted to know that now; I wanted this breakdown to happen before the wedding, before the joining of our lives was complete. Brad had voiced it, in simple enough terms, when we had discussed a prenup. We are not getting divorced. Ever.
I didn’t know about a divorce, didn’t know any legal contract in which the word ‘ever’ could really be applied. But it didn’t matter what was on paper, or my finger, or filed with the courts. Whether or not our marriage lasted, I would always and forever, madly deeply love the man. My heart was being sewn together with his, each day and night that passed adding threads to the stitch. And our wedding, our exchange of vows, would be the knot tying the whole package together. At that point, it would be too late; my heart would forever be his. No matter how long the marriage lasted.
So this was important. For better or worse, I needed to know if this was something I could handle, and more importantly, if this was something we could handle.
Beverly had asked me something, and I looked at her expectant face. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“I said it’s getting late. Are you ready to head to Montley?”
No, I want to go back home and crawl into bed and run from my insecure fears. “Sure.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
Apparently, when you reach a certain level of god-awful money, it comes complete with a driver. A helpful accompaniment in our case, since neither of us was in a condition to drive. The man pulled up in a gray Maybach, and we bundled into the backseat, nervous anticipation causing a shot of adrenaline to shoot through my body.
“Do I need cash?” I whispered to Beverly.
“No, they won’t take any money tonight. Riley will handle payment with Brad after the fact. They know we are good for it, otherwise we wouldn’t be considered as clients.”
“And how much is this all going to cost?”
She shrugged, folding down a mirror and checking her makeup. “If you don’t want the girl to stay the night, if she is just there for a few hours ... it’ll depend a little on the girl, but probably ten, fifteen grand.”
Holy fuck. This gift just went way out of my price range. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but a five-figure sum wasn’t it. I swallowed. Beverly flipped up the mirror and glanced at me. “What’s wrong? Is it the money?”
Yes. “Not exactly ... I just wasn’t expecting ...”
She interrupted me with a wave of her hand. “Brad will pay for the girl. That will all be handled by him, and trust me, he won’t mind in the slightest. You are giving him permission, which is your present. The cost is a normal expense in his sex life. It won’t give him a second’s pause.” She patted my leg reassuringly. “Breathe, Julia. Get some life back in those beautiful cheeks. We’re almost there.”
And two minutes later, my face still pasty white, the Maybach slowed, iron gates opened, and we pulled into a cobblestone drive, the gates closing securely behind us.
The doors to the car were opened as soon as it came to a stop, white-gloved men in tuxedos opening the doors with a polite smile. They escorted us to the entrance of a three story Gothic mansion, the brick covered in ivy, oil lanterns flickering light over the brick, twin sentries of illuminations flanking the front door. The white gloves moved past, opening the doors, and we were suddenly in the foyer and asked to take a seat. They gave half-bows, heads moving All-American good looks in unison, then returned to the front, leaving us alone in the grand room.
The three-story foyer stretched before us, the arched windows along the back glowing with views of a blue pool and up-lit palms. I flexed my hands, aware of the dampness of my palms. I could see where the exorbitant fees went. The room’s dark floors, large stone columns, and fresh flower arrangements screamed high class, no condom dispensers or neon lights here. The window dressings alone had to have set someone back six figures. From somewhere, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered. Faintly, I heard the click of heels, moving with brisk efficiency toward us. The staccato was a countdown, and I tensed in anticipation, my nerves high, second-guessing what the hell I was doing here, what I was thinking, what ...
The clicks rounded the corner, a
nd then she stood before us.
She was gorgeous; my first introduction to The Montley House, and I was already blown away, slightly insecure at the idea that other women in this house could compare to this statuesque woman. In her late thirties, if I had to guess, the age barely settled on her, her face clear and unlined, large blue eyes intelligently assessing me through thick lashes. Her hair, blue-black tresses, was pulled back and away from her face in a casual bun that somehow seemed perfectly pulled together. A dark purple dress with velvet accents hugged her curves, and she gave Beverly a warm hug and then extended a graceful hand toward me. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Riley.”
I stood, shaking her hand, impressed by the firm grip and her gracious smile. “I’m Julia. Beverly has spoken very highly of you.”
She smiled. “Let’s move into the sitting room.” She held out a directional hand, and we moved into a round room containing a small seating cluster of two leather chairs and a loveseat, a large fireplace dominating the room. She gestured to the chairs, and I sat, Beverly leaning forward and gently touching my arm.
r
“Julia, why don’t I wait for you in the car? Then you can have privacy with Riley.”
I hesitated and nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”
She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm. “Take your time, I’ll catch up on my phone calls.” Then she left, and I was alone with Riley. There was a brief moment of silence, a moment where I really wanted to stand up and chase Beverly down, waving my arms dramatically and escape back to the comfort of her car.
“May I offer you anything to drink?”
“No, I am fine. Thank you.”
She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looked into my eyes. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about our house and how it works. We have six girls who can be reserved as singles, doubles, or triples. Our home has several rooms that you can use, or we can send the girls to a location of your choosing. If the girls leave this house, there are several security measures that come into play, so that will be something for you to consider. What kind of experience are you looking for?”