Page 1 of Red

Chapter One: Sophia

Sophia was no submissive.

I'd had my suspicions from the moment she'd walked right up to me and jerked her hand out to shake mine.

Submissives didn't shake my hand...they trembled at my touch.

I wasn't some wet behind the ears dominant who stumbled upon the lifestyle because calling myself 'Dom' or 'Alpha' was suddenly trendy. I'd known about my desires, my needs, when I had no choice but to stay in the shadows. I lived and died by non-disclosure agreements and one night stands where my sessions were ended by writing a check to ensure their silence. Now, I was in the shadows by choice. I created Hush so people like me, people in the public eye with a lot to lose, could escape.

This woman had her disguise prepared. We required our staff's first names only and hers was Sophia, though she opted to go by 'Sin' at the club. The pink wig, the skin tight dress that showed every scintillating curve, the demure little smile that made me pulse with want every time she flashed it my way...to the untrained eye, she fit the mold damn near perfectly. But her eyes were the first thing that gave her away. They held the look of someone that could swim laps in a pool with their eyes shut, but had finally opened them and realized they were flailing in the ocean.

She glanced at me, like she was making sure I was watching. Making sure this was real.

It was her gasp that solidified the unfortunate truth. It was barely above a whisper. If that wasn’t damning enough, her black nails gripped the edge of the desk.

I finally got to see her tremble as she gaped at the scene unfolding on the illuminated monitor in front of us. Sophia's only sin was lying about her extensive experience in the lifestyle. Her anxiety was as palatable as the submissive we were watching in Dungeon #3. A petite, dark skinned woman was strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross, her Dominant wielding the cat o' nine tails like an artist about to paint his masterpiece.

Sophia's face wasn't filled with wonder or excitement at what we were about to watch. The only wetness the display had inspired in her was the sweat exploding at her temples.

She was terrified.

Which meant she was a liar.

With the exclusive nature of the club and the prime list of clients and staff that let their dark sides out to play, breeches in security were always a risk. I'd hoped Mary was wrong about this one because I had plans for this woman. This 'Sin'.

I cast a rueful look at her, letting go of the fantasy of stripping her bare, removing that pink wig, and touching every part of her, inside and out. There was only one end to our story, and it wasn't the usual end where I got my fill and sent whomever on their way. Our story would end with me marching her to the exit, thrusting a document at her that outlined the extensive legal action we would take if she uttered a word of what she'd seen , and a door slamming in her face.

"Is he-" Sophia croaked, the tremble rocking her from head to toe, "Going to spank her?"

I owed her no words, no anything, but the devil on my shoulder couldn't resist delaying the inevitable. This would be as close to teasing as I'd get with her.

"Yes," I answered darkly. "Vigorously."

The optimistic lust inside me swore the flush that warmed her cheeks was that of arousal, but I didn't venture any further. I reached out and pressed the button to make the screen go dark. There was too much at stake. I wouldn't risk the safety and security of the club, no matter how delicious she was.

Sophia spun in her chair, confusion gripping her soft features. She looked way too innocent. Too practiced.

"I don't understand," she stammered. "Mary said someone has to be watching the monitors at all times."

"This is the training room." I rose, buttoning my jacket. "Someone is always watching at Hush. We take the safety and security of our club very seriously...which is why you're coming with me."

Her face was still playing the game, but I saw her gulp. She clasped her hands together in her lap to hide the shudder. "Where are we going?"

I strode to the door, pulling it open with more force than was necessary. When she gasped this time, it was out of a different kind of fear.

She knew she was caught.

"We are not going anywhere." My words bit as sharply as a Wartenberg pinwheel. "You're leaving on your own accord...or I'm throwing you out."

****

My pale blue eyes darkened with lust as I stroked every glistening contour of it. The thesaurus in my head scrambled to find the words to describe every hot inch.

Thick.

Juicy.

Pulsing.

I salivated as I closed my eyes and imagined my lips parting. Angelic choirs sang as I took a bite of the delicious, painfully overpriced burger.

I reopened my eyes with a hungry groan. It was just a fantasy, because I wasn’t chowing down on some yummy burger. I was sitting in my cubicle, drooling. The picture that sent me on my daydream glowed on my computer screen. It was snapped on the patio of Hot Meat, the tongue-in-cheek name of the hottest new restaurant on Boulevard West. It joined the ranks of a cafe where a cup of coffee cost $10, several exotic restaurants that would earn a customer a tab of at least $100 a head, a dessert shoppe that would send you into bankruptcy, and now, a burger that cost twice as much as the new pair of Chuck Taylor’s I so desperately needed.

I tapped my foot impatiently as I picked the third image in the carousel. There were half a dozen pictures to scroll through. Perusing them was like one of those flip books where thumbing the edge of the pages made the image dance and move, only the subject that I was looking at was just having lunch. The picture I settled on was a shot of mayo dribbling down actress Chastity Kennedy’s chin.

‘Chastity Kennedy’ may sound like the name of a stripper with ambition, but the Chastity featured in this picture was anything but a punchline. Sure, she had the same Hollywood good looks that were mandatory in this town: flawless, sun-kissed skin, piercing blue eyes, and a covetable pout. She possessed all of these things before the makeup artists got a hold of her, a natural beauty who even pulled off the messy blonde tresses that she had stuffed into her ball cap.

At 21, she had a Tony and 2 Oscar nominations, with her most recent turn as a saloon girl during the Gold Rush garnering whispers that she was a shoo in for her third statuette. Oh, and she graduated magna cum laude from Harvard. None of that mattered for my purposes. It was my job to pick the most unflattering picture out of the bunch and come up with a pithy remark about how celebrities eat burgers, just like the rest of us.

I leaned back in my chair, scooping up my Cup of Noodles. I wasn’t complaining about my lot in life—how many people land their dream job? I was working at one of the top gossip magazines in LA. I’d only been at The Dish for three months and I’d already covered a red carpet event, getting glammed up on the company’s dime and getting a few minutes alone with people I’d only seen on the big screen. Still, I was searching for something more, something that vaulted me to the ranks of the Who’s Who of entertainment reporting: an undercover story about the secret lives of the rich and famous.

I spun my fork slowly and dumped a lukewarm bundle of noodles in my mouth. I clicked on the picture, enlarging it until I could see every pore on Chastity’s face. I could already hear my boss yelling at whatever unlucky graphic designer had forgotten to enhance the pimple on Chastity’s otherwise perfect chin.

While Perri Collins, the editor-in-chief of The Dish, had made a small fortune documenting celebrities, she didn’t hide her disdain for our star studded subjects. We didn’t run anything on their charities, or cute family shots, and she barely spared the staff for red carpet events. She wanted pictures of wedgies, chewing with mouths wide open, sloppy clothes. The more outrageous, the more embarrassing, the better.

I put aside my noodles, my fingers poised above the keyboard. Usually, my inner mean girl could whip out something that made my inner feminist cringe, but I had nothing.

“How about, ‘Actress Eats a Burger’, then insert some sort of shrug emoji? It’s factual, to the point, and the emoji makes it hip.”

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