Page 15 of Forbidden Mistress

Chapter 6

Voyeur

“So, all you had to do was watch and hand him some lotion?” Haley asks, her red brows arched high on her pale face.

We’re on our way home, in the back seat of the town car that had been sent for us by Obscura—I’d guess, by Lucian—and I’m recounting the night to her.

“And yet you’re still getting paid for the entire night? Wow, where do I sign up? Talk about a dream job.” She laughs.

I chew my thumbnail, thinking. “Yeah, it was weird, though. He was engaging with the woman and yet he was staring at me the entire time. Like, looking right at me as he whipped her.”

Haley shrugs. “That doesn’t seem too weird. He was getting off on you watching. I once had a boyfriend ask me to not wash my feet, and then before sex, he would lick them clean with his tongue. It’s the only way he could get off.”

I scrunch my nose. “I don’t see the appeal, but I get your point. To each his own.”

“Yep. Maybe having someone watch is just Hart’s thing.”

The rest of the night goes by in a sort of blur. I scarf down a bowl of noodles and zone out to old reruns of Seinfeld. But all the while, in my mind’s eye, Hart’s gaze is piercing through me. I can still see every detail of his body in my memory—his broad shoulders, his perfectly sculpted torso, the cut abs…and those eyes. I know we just met, but they feel so warm and familiar to me. It’s so strange. Beyond the intensity of his gaze, there’s a deep recognition I just can’t shake.

I’d really hoped that tonight I’d be able to pick Lucien’s brain about getting my dad’s business back, but a sex club didn’t seem like the time or place. In fact, we barely said two words to each other. I walk over to my desk and check my email to see if there’s any reply from Lucien.

I have his phone number, too, from the card he gave me on the night of the masquerade. If he doesn’t reply soon, I resolve to call his office. I want to be persistent without coming off as desperate, but now I just might be able to pay his bill—ironically with the money he’s paying me to help out his kink at Obscura.

The following morning, I check my email again before heading off to class. Waiting in my inbox is an email from Lucien, and I hurriedly open it.

Dear Ms. Fitzgerald,

I would be pleased to meet with you regarding your business venture. Please set up an appointment with my assistant, Sara. I have included her contact information below.

Kind regards,

Lucien Hunter

I stare at the email for a second. The formality of it has me kind of taken aback. Ms. Fitzgerald? Kind regards? The email is short and professional and more than a little stiff? I just watched him whip a half-naked woman last night at a sex club, for God’s sake. If that doesn’t call for a little casual banter, then I don’t know what does.

Weird.

I run into Haley on my way down to the kitchen, and I tell her what happened.

She shrugs. “Okay, maybe he just wants to keep business and pleasure separate. I’m guessing a lot of professionals do that.”

I nod slowly, absorbing her theory. It does make sense, except… “Why not just tell me that, though?”

She flashes me an exasperated look. “He’s a man. Men don’t explain anything. To anyone. They just bumble around, expecting everyone else to fall in line.”

I press my lips together. I have a feeling something is going on with her. “You okay?” I ask. “Something you want to chat about?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “No, I’m just saying…they’re all the same. Dumb as rocks.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” I nod. “I’ll just go with it.”

It wouldn’t hurt to keep Hart and Lucien separate, I guess. It might make things easier in my own head, as well.

That night, I get ready for “work.” So the silky black dress he sent me is apparently my “uniform.” Black heels. Hair down. Minimal makeup—most of my face is hidden by a mask, anyway. And the necklace…the one that lies heavily across the base of my throat and eerily resembles his massive chest tattoo. I haven’t been interacting with him, really, but he’s clearly got an aesthetic. I wonder if he chose me because I look so much like the woman dressed in the bunny costume. I choose not to dwell on that thought.

Oh well, whatever. It’s a job, and if I want to get paid, I’ll just have to go with it.

A nice perk of this arrangement is that an Exeter House town car picks me up every evening and drops me off at home when I’m done, whenever that is. And we’re talking about a pretty intense commute. Pasadena to Malibu is an hour’s drive usually. As it did the day before, the car picks me up at eight.

---