Page 4 of Red

"Are you sure, Des? She works with the company that catered the pastries on set and she seems really sweet-"

"No, Mallory," I snapped, hurling all the vitriol whipping inside me at my sister. She was the last person that deserved the angst and pain. "Surely you know what that word means?" She opened her mouth, probably to remind me that she wasn't one of the PA's that had to put up with Big, Bad Desmond. I didn't bother pausing long enough for her to get in a word edgewise. "If not, let me elaborate. No, I do not want to see her. Period." I stormed the two feet to the door and yanked it open. "I'd like to be alone."

Mallory hesitated, that O'Connell stubbornness shining through bright and clear. I knew her heart was in the right place; she worried about me, but this was one piece of me, of my past, that always had been and always would be off limits. It had to be. The alternative was devastating. And I couldn't afford to fall apart.

She tucked her red strands behind her ear as best she could, looking like my awkward sixteen year old sister even though she was twenty-two now and I'd seen the way she turned heads. "I'm guessing you're headed to the club."

I nodded and cleared my throat, still holding the door.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she acquiesced and made her way toward me. She paused just outside the door, casting a glance over her shoulder that made me feel vulnerable. "One of these days you're going to have to stop running. Stop using Hush to hide the wounds so you can finally heal. Stop using Hush to dull your pain."

"When I need a therapist, I'll let you know so you can hire one."

It was cruel, and her cheeks reddened like I struck her. Before I could apologize, she was gone, stalking toward the production building. I could have called after her, loosened the grip on the apology that was burning in my throat like fire, but I just let the door shut.

Hush—that's what I needed. It was the only thing that made me feel these days. And lust was better than nothing at all, right?

Chapter Three: Sophia

I took a step backwards, staring intently at my three choices. This was make or break. There were only rumors; whispers of the truth most likely. I knew better than most that the truth could get lost in the need to tell a good story. Whether they interviewed hundreds in a dungeon, forcing the prospective hostesses to witness all kinds of kinky horrors, then whittled it down to a handful that were strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross and—

I shuddered, getting a grip on my nerves. I wouldn’t psych myself out before I’d even begun. Not that it mattered, if I couldn’t figure out what to wear to the interview.

I flicked my eyes to the plaid skirt, white blouse, and fringe leather jacket. It had this rebellious, edgy schoolgirl thing happening. I’d even found a bit of ribbon and could put my hair in pigtails. While the skirt was sexy, hitting me beneath my butt, and combat boots would kick things up a notch, it looked like a costume. Like I was going to a Halloween party instead of an interview. The interview.

A smile grazed my lips. Considering the fact that I would be wearing a mask for the interview, if I got that far, Halloween party wasn’t too far off.

Hush was a place where you could pretend you were someone else. Where I would pretend I was some seasoned submissive who craved a job at the hottest kink club in town. Pretend that I wouldn’t be committing ever comment, scene, words, and hopefully, faces that I encountered, to memory. That I was the kind of woman that craved my pleasure with a whole lot of pain.

The plaid skirt wouldn’t do it.

The second outfit I’d thrown together was a blood red blazer, a lacy, black corset, and black leggings that fit like they were painted on. With the stilettos perched on the pillow, I’d look like a sexy business woman. But there was something about it that was...lacking. When I picked up the blazer and held it in the light, I realized I’d seen it around the office. It was the kind of get-up that you imagined women who worked at gossip magazines wore. Sultry and fierce...and a far cry from my band tees and skinny jeans. If the rumors about Hush were true, I didn't need to look like I’d crafted the perfect ootd post. I needed to be demure, but scream ‘I belong here. I’m finally home.’

That left the last mashup. The black body con dress looked small enough that I was pretty sure I’d need prayer to get into it, but that took the back burner to the wig beside it. I approached it slowly, deliberately, and lifted it gingerly from my bedspread. I’d seen it in action, the pink strands bright and flirty. I combed my fingers through the colorful strands and turned to the dresser where the mirror would help me decide.

I scooped my bone straight, dark brown strands into a low bun and secured it at the base of my neck. Carefully, I pulled the the wig on, closing my eyes as I situated it and tugged it into place. When I opened them, excitement jolted through my system. The color was like candy against my fair skin. All the striking features I shied away from—my cheekbones, my electric blue eyes, my plump lips—they wouldn’t be denied.

I looked good.

“I knew you’d go with the little black dress and wig!” My roommate, Lindsay, appeared beside me, her dark eyes shining with approval. Every outfit on the bed belonged to her. With her pixie cut, platinum blonde hair, deathly pale complexion, and plethora of piercings from her eyebrows to places I didn’t want to know about, she pulled off every article of clothing on the bed. I didn’t even own a little black dress, a travesty she reminded me of every chance she got.

She’d gawked at me like I’d asked her to come with me to an orgy when I asked her if she had something to wear to my interview at Hush.

“You look hot, Soph!” She clapped her hands together like I’d just given a four star performance.

I shied away from the attention, turning my back to the mirror. ‘Hot’. ‘Sexy’. They were all words I avoided. “I feel a little...ridiculous.”

Lindsay lifted a pierced eyebrow. “These are my clothes. Do I look ridiculous?”

I cringed, gripping her shoulders. She put on a brave, ‘don’t eff with me’ face for the rest of the world, but her scars and insecurities ran as deep as my own. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes-” She opened her mouth to say the obvious, but I beat her to the punch. “I know that’s the point. I’m interviewing at a sex club for crissakes.”

That peek beneath her armor, the look at the woman with a past as brutal as the spikes in her ears, faded when her smile returned. “I still can’t believe you waited until the night of your interview to tell me you’re in the running to become a hostess at Hush!”

Lindsay was a dancer of the erotic variety, and wore her sexuality like a badge of honor. Working somewhere like Hush, where sexuality and kink was celebrated, was her dream job. “I’m not gonna lie...I kinda hate you a little.”

I smoothed the pink bangs with a giggle. “Just a little, huh?”

“I already said you look hot, but clearly you’re still fishing for compliments,” Lindsay stuck her tongue out at me. “When I applied two months ago, I didn’t even get past the ‘please please please give me a job!’ phase.” dpgrpup exclusive

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