Taking Turns (Turning #1)(55)

I let out a long breath of air.

“It wasn’t your idea, Chella. You just went along like a good… little… slut. You sucked his cock and swallowed his come and then you painted your red lipstick back on like it’s just another night out. And do you know why it was so damn easy to just go along?”

“Why?” I ask in a soft, soft whisper.

“Because when you go dark, you don’t take a light.”

“Just what the f*ck—”

But the call has been ended.

God, he’s sick.

But as soon as I think that thought, I think it about myself as well.

I’m sick too.

We’re all sick here.





Chapter Nineteen - Chella




“You look tired today,” my assistant Michell says as I make a cup of coffee in the employee break room at the gallery.

“I was out late for a Christmas party last night.” And getting f*cked sideways. Not to mention the mind games, courtesy of Smith, which kept me up all night long with the video.

“Oh?” she says, sipping her coffee and peering over the rim of her mug, eyebrows waggling. “You were on a date? Why, Marcella Walcott, I do believe you’re keeping secrets from me.” And then she lowers her mug and gives me a stern look. “Tell. Me. Everything. Right now. I can’t believe—”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say. And I can’t talk about it, especially not to Michell. Our fathers are friends. I’ve known her for twenty years, ever since she was four years old. And good God, now isn’t the time to bring that complication into the mix. No, I cannot say too much. I need to downplay everything. “Just a date,” I say. “That’s all. Nothing happened. Nothing will. Let’s talk about work. You know, because we’re working right now?”

“Hmmph,” Michell says. “No second date on the calendar?”

I need to be very careful about my lies. How long will this all last? It could be over tomorrow. It could last for weeks. Or months. Or what if—what if it lasts for years, like it did with Rochelle? I wonder what she told people. Did she have friends? I don’t really have friends, I have acquaintances. Like Michell. And Kathryn, the dock manager. But we don’t go out together like girlfriends. Kathryn is mostly just a co-worker. And I only see Michell socially when she invites me to her family cabin every now and then.

Still, if Bric comes around—or God f*cking forbid, Smith—I will have to tell her something. They are important men. Men with power and money. Men who make you want to gossip. I don’t really have to worry about Quin much. We’re together on my days off.

“I’m actually dating a couple of people,” I say, trying to make this believable and yet wholly untrue at the same time.

“What? Girlfriend, how dare you keep this from me?”

“It’s no big deal. Just… looking around, you know? Exploring my options. I’m thirty. My chances of finding true love are dwindling day by day.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Michell snorts. “You’re Marcella Walcott. You’re a catch and every guy who comes in here wants to ask you out. But you have this air about you, ya know?” She makes a wide arc with her arms and says, “Keep away. No touching. Unavailable. I’ve watched you turn down dozens of men over the past few years.” She stops talking to catch her breath. “So,” she continues in a low, sultry voice. “These guys you’re dating must be something pretty special.”

“It’s just dating, Michell. In fact, one guy is only about Christmas parties.”

She raises her eyebrow at me again. “Men take women to Christmas parties because they want to show them off, Chella. They take them to meet the important people in their lives because they like them. So who is this mystery man? Hmm? Is it Matisse?”

“What?” I almost choke on my coffee.

“My friend said she saw you with him last week. After delivery day.” She’s looking very smug.

“Which friend?” I ask, trying to be innocent about it.

“Just some girl I went to school with back east. Vanessa Sterling. She was asking about you, in fact.”

I try not to react, but I’m pretty sure I fail. “Why? When?”

“Last week. That’s how I know you were with Matisse. She said she saw you at the Turning Point Club having a midnight dinner. You know what that place is, right?” She makes air quotes with her fingers as she says, “A gentleman’s club. But I’ve heard what happens there. It doesn’t surprise me that her husband is a member. I’ve heard rumors that they’re into the whole swingers thing.”

I do choke on my coffee now. “What?”

“Yeah. Turning Point is a swingers’ club, Chella. Wife-swapping? You ever heard of it?”

“No,” I lie. But holy f*ck. I had no idea this was a well-known fact. If I had, I’d never have gotten involved.

“Sometimes I wonder where your mother hid you all growing up. You’re so clueless. Everyone knows about that place. And my friend said you had dinner on the private side. What was it like? Were people groping each other and shit?”

“Michell! No. It wasn’t even dinner. I went over there with him and we were going to eat, but I got sick and left. I was there for like twenty minutes, that’s all.”