Page 12 of Pretty Little Thing

Four

Nora

My eyes keep shiftingtoward my desk clock and each time I feel just a little more disappointed that only minutes have passed. Monday is usually a rough start day but ever since Melanie urged me to check out the sex club, I’ve felt a rush of excitement I haven’t experienced in a good long while.

Excuse me. Kink club. Not sexclub.

Of course, I should have known when I told Melanie to meet me at noon, she wouldn’t actually make it sharp.

I squint at the clock. 12:15.

Bestselling romance author, Melanie Rose, lives in her own little world — which is fine. She’s more than earned it. But for the rest of us that live in a world of alarm clocks and time sheets, a blatant disregard for punctuality can be quite annoying.

I grab my phone to prepare a biting text message just as someone knocks on my door frame.

“What’s up, bitch?”

I sigh at Melanie’s grin and reach for my purse. “You’re late,” I tell her.

“You’re surprised?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. “Just tell me you finished that chapter you were working on.”

She hesitates. “Definefinished.”

I throw my purse over my shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Nu-uh,” she says, pointing at me. “Not with that attitude. No one walks into Judy’s with cat-butt face.”

“I do not have cat-butt face.”

“I want bright, smiling faces and wide-open minds,” she says. “You’ll never find a good Dom if you look like you just bit into a rotten fish. Though, who am I kidding, there’s probably a fetish for that out there somewhere.”

“I’m not even—” I lower my voice, realizing my office door is still open. “I’m not even looking for a Dom. It’s a little soon for that, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” She winces. “Probably shouldn’t have put out that ad, then.”

My face drops. “What ad?”

She breaks character and slaps my shoulder. “Just kidding. Let’s go get our whips and chains on.”

I heave a thick sigh to conceal my laugh as we make our way toward the elevator.

* * *

Judy’s— despite what Melanie calls it — isn’t actually called Judy’s at all.

The club is called The Red Brick Road and it’s nestled, of all places, in plain sight a few blocks down from my own office building between a coffee shop and some hipster record store.

I blink from the sidewalk, staring up at the wooden sign above the red doorway. “The Red Brick Road?” I ask.

Melanie nods. “Yeah, you ever notice how when Dorothy and her friends skip down the yellow road, there’s a red brick road heading in the opposite direction?”

“No,” I answer.

“Well, now you won’t be able to unsee it,” she says with a smile. “Come on.”

Melanie steps forward and holds the door open for me. I lower my head and force myself to walk in quickly just in case someone sees me. There’s a deep throb growing in my gut. I don’t know what makes me so nervous about all of it. I’m not committing to anything. I’m just taking a look around.

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