The VIP Room(48)

The doors slid shut. It was only then that tears stung my eyes. Keep it together. At least until you get home, I told myself.

Once I was in the lobby, I ignored the stares. I kept my head held high and my eyes dry. The doorman held open the glass doors as I exited and I gave him a small, albeit shaky smile.

I ignored the black car with the driver standing next to it. In my bare feet, I padded past him on the cold cement.

“Wait, Miss!” The driver called. “I’m supposed to take you home.”

“You’ve got the wrong person,” I returned over my shoulder as I dug through my clutch for my phone, trying to keep a decent grip on my heels. There was no way I was getting in that car. I wouldn’t accept anything from Tristan. I would pay for my own ride home.

Once I walked down far enough so that the extravagant building was out of sight, I called a cab. In the five minutes that it took to reach me, I read over the plethora of texts Larene sent me.

Get it, girrrrllllll.

How’s it going? ;)

He looked like he could give a girl a good time. Tell me everything!!!

I want a play-by-play too. None of that ‘it was good’ stuff. I want DETAILS! Dirty details!

Sighing, I slipped my phone back into my purse. I didn’t have the energy to respond to the texts now. No doubt, she’d be hammering down my door in the morning. Thank goodness it was only Saturday night. I had a day before work on Monday to recuperate from this awful, humiliating night.

The cab arrived. After telling the driver my address, I leaned my head back against the worn leather, which smelled vaguely like stale cigarette smoke. Luckily, it was dark enough inside so that the driver wouldn’t see me crying.

I just hoped I’d never have to see Tristan again.





Chapter 5





Bright and early on Monday morning, I strolled into my office in a pencil skirt, a royal blue chiffon blouse, and my sensible non-stripper heels. I had a nine o’clock meeting with Annie, the owner of the interior design firm I worked for. Despite my aversion to early mornings, I’d never once been late to a meeting.

Sunday had crawled by at a snail’s pace, probably due to the fact that I’d moped around my house all day. Once I phoned Larene and regaled her with the fresh humiliation of Saturday night, she’d brought over a huge slab of chocolate cake from my favorite bakery in town and we drank red wine and watched 30 Rock until Tina Fey made me forget all about Tristan.

It was a fresh start to a new week. I almost breathed a sigh of relief. Saturday night now seemed like a bad nightmare, not a memory, and I was thankful for that. If only Larene would stop bringing it up. She’d drilled me about every little detail yesterday and together, we’d analyzed every word he said to me.

“But what kind of tone did he use?” she had asked, sitting on my couch munching on popcorn. “And when he said it, what was his body language like? Were his arms at his sides or crossed?”

This morning, I’d woken up to a text from her asking me if I was alright and whether or not she should go track this guy down so she could “bust him up.” I simply replied that I was fine. The sooner she forgot about it, the quicker I could move on and not relive the moment in my mind, both the amazing sex and afterwards. Because even though Tristan was a grade-A *, he had worked my body better than any of my past boyfriends and brought me more pleasure than I’d ever experienced. I got shivers just thinking about that world-shattering orgasm.

But, inevitably, that train of thought ended with his cold words echoing in my mind—“thanks sweetheart” and “you should go”—and I’d go back to denying that the night ever happened.

With a sigh, I took a sip of my steaming thermos of coffee I brought from home, while I scanned my desk. I was still finishing up Mr. and Mrs. Evian’s new home. I’d already rendered my designs, received the couple’s approval, and ordered the majority of the furniture. I was still, however, searching for more accessories that would please Mrs. Evian’s more traditional tastes.

My office phone rang. Glancing at it, I saw Annie’s extension number and hit the speaker button, setting my thermos down.

“Good morning, Annie,” I chirped, my voice more alive than I felt. “How was your weekend?”

“A little chaotic, actually,” was my boss’ tired response with a heavy sigh. “David’s sister visited for a couple days. And well, you know how we don’t get along very well. She has all those diet restrictions. And then there was this debacle over her comforter set. She claimed there was dog fur and it was making her sneeze all night. Psh, we don’t even own a dog.” A frustrated, feminine grunt on the other end. “But she left yesterday afternoon, so David and I had a lovely dinner together. Not a completely wasted weekend.”

I smiled. Annie was a character. Although, I’d discovered that a few days in when I’d interned for her my senior year of college. And since I was now officially one of her designers, an incredibly sought-after position that I counted myself extremely lucky to have, I was all too familiar with her personality.

I glanced at the simple black clock I’d hung on the left wall of my office. It was only 8:30. “Are we still meeting at nine?” I inquired with a small frown, glancing at my calendar. I was sure I’d gotten the time right.

“I was hoping you could come now. I just got off the phone with a new client and it’s big news!”