Page 12 of Bully

“Room colors.” I uttered. “Different colors for each room. Different design concepts.”

She whistled and tilted her head to the side as she started running her fingertips over the fabric batches. “How many rooms are we talking about? There are forty-seven rooms currently, but some aren’t used at all anymore. That doesn’t include the larger spaces like the exhibition stage and the lounge.” She finally looked up at me, “Wait, you aren’t getting rid of the stage, are you?”

I pulled a chair out next to her and sat down in it, crossing one ankle over my knee. “Does it get used? Last night was the only time I’ve seen it busy.”

“It will be used.” She argued. “When you allow me to book the talent using it.”

“But has itbeenused?” I clarified, challenging her. She held that stage in high regard, and I wondered what she was willing to do to keep it.

“Not by staff, but clients could rent it for their fun if they want.” She held my stare and then pressed on, desperate to plead her case for that room. “There’s a market for instruction exhibitions. You said it yourself; last night, it was full.”

“How many other shows have you done?”

“None.” She pursed her lips. “That was the first one I got approved.”

“Hmm.” I hummed, eyeing the folder a few down in the stack that I knew held the design plans I had for the exhibition stage. Because she was right, there was a market for that style of event, and I knew it. But as she looked away from me and went through the paint colors attached behind the fabrics, I wondered if she’d approve of what I had planned originally for her precious stage. Before last night, the plans had been made purely with an economic return in mind.

But now—now I was already seeing something different in my mind for that space. Something deserving of having such a jewel standing upon it. Something worthy of my Rainbow.

Ember’s brain worked fast and efficiently as she started dissecting the details, pulling fabrics out with paint sample cards and pairing them up. “I don’t think you should do rooms with monochromatic color schemes. I hate the way the color blocking melts together and gets flat.” She kept moving stuff around, working with her hands and talking quickly as she pressed on, “Take the champagne massage room, for instance,” She stated and I paused, watching her as she talked a mile a minute. “The fabric gets lost on the walls because it doesn’t stick out against anything. The textures and colors should complement each other, not match.”

Hearing her mention the room I was in last night, watching her while I used one of her coworkers for my sexual satisfaction, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. How did she know I was there?

What did the blonde tell my Rainbow?

“Look.” She pushed the folder over in front of me and tapped it like I could miss the new arrangement inside. “Imagine that room, with this color scheme.” Looking up at me, her gold eyes found mine staring at her and she sat up straight, creating space between us she had eliminated in her excitement. “Ke-keep the champagne in the fabric of the beds, chairs, and one accent wall.” She stammered, trying to refocus on the task, looking down at the folder and pointing again, “Then do a dark burgundy on the other walls and ceiling. Add in gold fixtures and a golden floor.” She hesitated, glancing back up at my eyes, which were still staring directly at her instead of the folder. “It creates depth and sensation.”

I was feeling sensations, alright.

Just not about the colors.

“Do it.” I closed the folder and handed it to her, still holding her stare. “Re-design the rooms. We’ll be adding thirteen private rooms on the second floor and eliminating the larger unused space opposite the champagne room on the other side of the stage. Design them in a varying way so that no room is exactly the same and bring it back tomorrow.” I stood up and removed myself from her tempting personal space to empty my coffee out and pour scotch instead. “Do it well and you can keep those sixteen employees you’re supposed to fire.” Turning back to face her where she still sat at the table with a bewildered expression on her face, I continued. “Do it poorly and you’ll fire twenty.”

She scoffed, and her shoulders deflated in disappointment. “You’re an ass, aren’t you?”

“For the fun of it most days.” I admitted with a slight shrug.

Sloane rose, picking up the folder of color choices, and put it in her purse with a huff. “Anything else?”

“Why are you a hooker and not an interior designer?” I asked, and her eyes widened before squinting in disbelief. “It seems silly to have not one, but two degrees and not use them. Especially considering what you do for a living.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“I thought we already covered that. So tell me why.”

“Why?” She snapped, “It’s not like you’d understand a word of my story from your high and mighty, prim and proper royal tower. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.” I challenged, and she paused, staring at me. Even though I wanted to look away from the answers I was already seeing in her fiery gold eyes, I forced myself to hold her gaze.

“I didn’t want the life I escaped.”

“Brookline was so terrible?” I scoffed, annoyed at her avoidance.

“The family life.” She shot back, standing taller in defiance as she ignored the fact that I knew specifics about her personal life that she didn’t offer willingly. “I didn’t want to wake up one day, married and shackled to a white picket fence, just to realize it was all an act the whole time.”

“Sounds a lot like that golden American Dream you all talk about so much.” I raised a brow at her, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not for me.” Sloane shook her head. “It's only skin deep and fake. Nothing is real behind the fake smiles and public image. No happiness. No love.”

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