Page 39 of Release Me

“They should be here in a few.”

Handing her drink back, I arch a brow. “Are you going to put a bra on before then?”

“Probably not, since my dress doesn’t allow for it.”

“You never showed me what you were wearing.”

She pops up suddenly, downing the rest of her drink before she dashes to her room and returns with a red satin jumpsuit and a pair of silver heels. “This!”

“Ohhh, that’s cute!” I take it from her and stretch it out on the bed then pull out my dress and lay it out next to it.

“Damn.” Desiree gives me a mischievous smile, running her fingers over the short hem of my black dress. “You’re about to look so good in this. How are you going to wear your hair?”

“I was thinking sleek pony?”

Her expression turns considerate, then she nods. “Yes, I love that.”

“Perfect, because you know I’m going to need you to do it for me.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh, but when the time comes, she wrangles my hair into submission, giving me a ponytail that’s somehow secure and comfortable. It doesn’t so much as budge as we indulge in a night of debauchery that takes us to several different clubs in New Haven and ends with us having dessert at a cafe that opens at midnight and serves boozy milkshakes along with their fresh baked goods.

I’m sipping on something called a Drunken Cookie—a blend of vanilla ice cream, chocolate vodka, Irish cream and chocolate chip cookies they make in house—when a familiar face fills my admittedly distorted vision.

“Is that Preston?” The music inside the cafe is loud, but Desiree, who’s sitting next to me, hears my question. Her head turns as she follows my gaze to the bar where Preston Fredricks was just sitting. I say just, because now he’s standing and walking over to us.

“Yep, and he’s coming over here!” Desiree says, tapping my leg and using subtle movements to push me out of the booth.

“Desiree!” I hiss, glaring at her as I gain my footing.

“Harper.” Preston comes in for a hug as soon as I turn around. He’s all confidence and familiarity as he calls me by the name I used when I was working in the club. It’s not the first time we’ve embraced, so my body doesn’t do that thing where it panics at the sensation of a foreign touch.

I ease back, looking up into brown eyes that are happy to see me. “Actually, it’s Nadia.”

Preston takes the correction in stride. In fact, he smiles at me, which makes the cleft in the middle of his chin pop. He’s a handsome man with umber skin and jet black hair he keeps cut close to his scalp. He always looks like he just left the barbershop and smells like he recently starred in a commercial for Tom Ford cologne.

“Nadia.” He tilts his head to the side and nods. “I think it fits you better than Harper.”

“Thanks. I think so too.” We both take a small step back from each other, but Preston’s hand stays on my waist. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Images from the last time we were in the same room play in the back of my mind, and I can tell by the look on his face that Preston is thinking of it too. His usually happy facade cracks a little, a bit of bitterness shining through before he pushes it away.

“You too. I’ve missed being in the presence of a woman who’s as beautiful as she is intelligent.”

A blush sends heat sweeping over my cheeks. “Preston.”

“I’m serious, Nadia.” And his eyes convey just how serious he is. They bore into mine, making it hard for me to look away. “I have thought about you every day since my membership at Ludus was revoked.”

“I still can’t believe that happened.”

Preston shakes his head and lets out a dry laugh. “Me either. I mean, kicking out a founding member with no explanation? That’s just bad for business.”

For some reason his words make something like defensiveness come alive in my chest. It’s stupid since what he just said has nothing to do with me personally. Preston doesn’t notice my silence, he just keeps talking.

“They make it impossible for ex-members to get in touch with the girls, and trust me I tried.”

“You shouldn’t have. They have those rules in place for a reason. They keep everyone safe.” Especially the sex workers who don’t have money and influence to protect them if people from the club decide to follow them home at night.

“Right.” Preston says, maintaining his smile even though it has faltered a bit. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean to imply that the rules weren’t necessary. I just wanted to let you know that I wanted to get in touch with you.”

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