Page 9 of Gilded Desires

A few minutes in the changing room and I turn in front of the mirror. My breasts look like they’ll pour out of the top any second and if the edge of the dress rides up any farther everyone will see the color of my new thong.

I connect my eyes with Nyx over my shoulder who puts on the final touches to my natural dirty-blonde hair before fixing the wig into place with a few pins. Midnight strands of hair cascade over my shoulders to brush along my waist.

“You like?”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s not fastened with glue, so be careful. You whip it around like a crazy lady and it will fall off.”

Our gazes connect in the mirror. “Understood. No crazy head movements. Check.”

One last twirl and I pass my credit card over to my attendant who is back faster than I can slip into my black, glittery stilettos.

I palm the newspaper I came in with and slide the handles of my Birkin over my arm. “You didn’t happen to see a gaggle of men in black suits still out there anywhere, did you?”

I don’t know why I ask. Maybe I’m hoping they all needed bathroom breaks at the same time, but it seems unlikely.

“You mean the dudes in the mandatory black shades? How do they see through those things?”

I groan and nod. “Right?”

“Yep. That’s them. They are all still lined up out front. I can’t imagine you get to have any fun around them.” My new friend leans a slight shoulder against the changing room’s door and crosses her arms under her ample breasts with a peculiar look on her face.

“Listen, this whole working-girl look you’re going for…I get what you’re doing. The security detail and the need to get away. Mine is sitting across the street in SUVs. I have my stories. Working here isn’t exactly looked upon nicely by the three men in my life. But boundaries, ya know.”

She didn’t look old enough to have stories. But, whoa! Pump the brakes. Men? Questions pop into my head but I shove themaway because I don’t have time for girl talk right now. But still…men? The idea isn’t new to me. My brother shared a wife with his two partners for a couple of years. They looked happy for a while.

I nod, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the men coming to check in on me. “My brother hasn’t learned what boundaries are yet. Any suggestions on how to get outta here without them knowing? They already know all my moves; I need fresh inspiration.” I keep the panic out of my voice, but if I don’t get out of here, I’ll miss the one chance I have at freedom.

With a crook of a glossy, black-tipped finger Nyx says, “Follow me.”

Caught up in the idea this chick has more than one sugar daddy to please, I stumble a bit trying to keep up with her quick moves.

“Careful, that wig won’t go on twice the same way.” She takes my hand, and we quietly slide out a side exit that leads into a short alley.

She jerks her chin toward the north entrance. “You can grab a cab that way fairly quickly. But you’ll need cash.” Bills are shoved into my hand, and I close my fingers over the tightly-rolled money.

“Wow, I don’t need all this.” My heart literally squeezes from her kindness. I might actually pull this crazy idea off after all. Water wets my lashes and I have to fight them back before I ruin my stupid makeup. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.” I pull her in for a quick hug, my new hair sliding over my shoulder to tangle in her fingers. We share a laugh, but she gently pushes me on my way.

“I’ll hold them off for you. Come back when you can, and I’ll collect in the form of a girls’ afternoon. I could use girl company.”

A wink and my new friend slips back inside the boutique. I look at the roll of bills in my hand. There has to be at least a grand here. “Count on it,” I affirm to myself.

Fifteen minutes and a hair-raising cab drive through Chicago at lunch hour later, I stand outside The Gilded Key Society, newspaper glued to my hand like a permission slip to be in such a forbidden establishment.

The converted hotel from days gone by reminds me of the Waldorf Astoria with its limestone and brick in various shades of gray, weathered by time and the changing seasons of Chicago’s brutal climate.

A canopied entryway leads to a luxurious interior. Cool, floral-scented air wraps around my heated skin and I sigh with welcomed relief when the wide, polished doors snick closed behind me, shutting out the late summer heat. Gone are the blaring horns, shouts, and revving motors.

It’s just me and my plan which has the potential to be a great idea. Or my undoing in a not-so-good way.

Tendrils of adrenaline cause my fingers to tremble, and my knees are having a rough time keeping steady. Both wobble as though I did a relay race in heels and somehow survived.

The entrance is barren of people, so I take a moment, close my eyes, and catch my breath. My brother expected me at Club Genesis almost forty-five minutes ago. I’m sure my detail is already freaking out over not being able to find me.

My heart seizes and my eyes fly open.

Crap.Nyx.

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