Page 24 of Black Velvet

Tonight is different. There are a lot more guests, which could be because it’s a Friday night and opening night had been scheduled on a weeknight. Miss Barry told us that opening night was primarily intended to serve as a trial and error to work through the logistics before it was open to more guests.

Tonight's guests are still an exclusive group, all of them VIP members, but there are more of them and they have been allowed to bring a guest along.

Based on my initial assessment when I made my first round through the guest room, it appears that about half of the clients took advantage of bringing a plus-one for tonight, and the majority decided to bring a date as opposed to a friend.

Miss Barry's eyes are on me tonight. She was rather skeptical when I told her I wanted to work as a devil tonight instead of an angel. I expected her to be happy about this decision, seeing that she was so disappointed when I first told her that I wanted to quit the agency altogether. Her reaction proved to be quite the contrary, however: she just raised her eyebrows and looked at me with a doubtful expression.

She's watching me. I can feel her eyes on me right from the beginning of the evening. She seems to cast me dark smiles whenever I catch and return her gaze as I slowly make my way through the main area of the guest room.

Everything about what I'm doing tonight is a lie, and the longer I wander around without finding who I'm looking for, the more I doubt my decision to dress like a devil.

I had imagined how tonight would play out. I would step off the stage after our ceremonial entrance into the room, his eyes would meet mine. I would stride gracefully toward him in my seductively revealing black lace, and he wouldn’t be able to hide the hunger from unfolding on his handsome face. His hands would be on me as soon as I reached him, greeting me with that alluring warmth that I've not been able to forget about, and then our breathless sighs would be swallowed into a sensual kiss...

I hate how much I want this.

I hate how much I wanthim.

And I hate how this image slowly continues fading away with every step I take wandering through the dimly lit room without a single trace of him.

He's not here tonight.

Fuck.

I mouth the word without actually saying it. I can taste the word on my lips, but it’s drowned out by the thrumming background music and the buzz of voices surrounding me while I stand in the middle of the guest room all dressed up but with nowhere to go.

I keep turning in circles as I continue searching the room for him, even though I know it's futile. But I can't stop myself. I don't want to give up and not believe he’s here, not just yet. I don't know what else to do other than to desperately keep hunting for someone that's nothing more than a fantasy, searching for the image that has haunted my mind for the past two days and compelled me to transform from an angel in white to a darkly attired lady of the night.

I'm so fucking stupid.

"Looking for someone?" I hear a voice say behind me.

I jerk around in surprise, and even though I know better, there's hope for a split second that the voice belongs to him.

But the eyes looking back at me are neither gray nor nested in the young and handsome face I was searching for. An older gentleman is smiling at me, his eyes as black as the suit he's wearing. I tower over him in my stilettos, and that bothers me. I don't like having to look down on a man. It feels wrong, unnerving, and anything but sexy.

I try not to let those feelings dictate the expression on my face when I reply.

"Just enjoying the scenery," I say, noticing that my voice is at that high-pitched level I have come to loathe over the years. It's not me, at least not the real me. I only speak like that when I'm on the job, when I'm faking it, which is exactly what I’m doing right now.

The older gentleman is smiling, in a docile and almost fatherly way. I have to refrain from flinching when he places his hand on my shoulder and gently pulls me closer to him. There's nothing creepy, forbidden, or wrong with him—but there’s also nothing about him that excites me. He's just a client like all the others. A man who is well-groomed, a little older than the majority of those here tonight, but still handsome and obviously wealthy. The smile on his face is as polite as it is wanton.

"Would the lady care for a drink?" he asks.

I know what he wants. I know where this is going.

And I know I can't stop it, because I signed up for this. I told Miss Barry I wanted to be a devil tonight, and devils play with clients if that's what the client wants. With the way he's eyeing me right now, there's no doubt that that's what he wants.

Shit.

I nod, reciprocating his smile. "Yes, thank you, that would be nice."

He removes his hand from my shoulder and places it at the small of my back instead, gesturing toward the bar with his other hand, and gives me a light push. I can't help but search the room again as I follow his gesture and head toward the bar. He's an old-school gentleman, as most of them are, and makes sure that I'm properly seated in one of the high chairs before he takes his own seat.

"You look like a wine girl," he reckons, placing his elbows on the bar as he calls the bartender over to us by raising his hand.

I smile at him. No, I'm definitely not a wine girl. I've never cared much for wine. It's too heavy for my taste, and it tastes too much like fruit. And I hate grapes. When he says that I look like a wine girl, all he's really saying is that I look like any other girl to him.

"Actually," I reply, still in that high-pitched fake voice, "I'd prefer a Manhattan. If you don't mind?"

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