Page 1 of Mr. Sandman
Chapter One
“Ms. Monroe… if you’re ready.”
I blinked twice.If I was ready.
Was I ready?
“Yes.” I reached up and clasped my throat, betraying that my voice truly sounded like it was made of gravel.
I felt my pulse race underneath my fingertips. Anticipation. Fear.I rose from the plush leather chair in the waiting room and adjusted my purse on my shoulder, the soft designer leather brushing my fingertips.
There was still time. I could still leave. Still walk back out the door, down the low-lit hall to the elevator that required a keycard to access and a passcode to reach this floor of the club.
God. Who was this person?I’d never walked away from anything.
Myheels sank into the rich Persian carpet under my feet, and I rose up straight, chin tilted high. For a second, itfelt like quicksand under my feet, rooting me tighter the more I thought about walking away.
I wouldn’t leave. Not now. Not after months of wanting and hoping. Waiting and testing. I’d been given a million and one opportunities to turn back. To change my mind. I’d taken none, and I wouldn’t start now.
I stepped off the carpet onto the marble floor, my heels landing with a soft click… like the cocking of a gun. My head rose. My spine straightened. And my heart felt housed in my throat—nerves I hadn’t felt in years bubbling to the very edges of my skin.
“This way.” Katherine’s blank stare was a masterpiece of professionalism. In fact, everyone I’d worked with on my request had been models of decorum and discreteness. It tempered my nerves each step of the way. Maybe what I was asking… what I wanted wasn’t that out there. That was what I told myself, at least.
There were far more debauched fantasies than mine.
Still.
The hallway felt longer than it was. A labyrinth of gilded mirrors and ornate paintings. Erotic paintings, on closer inspection. The classical style almost masked how the couples were engaged in various sexual acts. The very last painting was a woman staring up into the heavens as three men pleasured her.
My breath caught, and my steps slowed for a split second, absorbing the… unearthly scene and feeling a low coil of heat start to spring low in my stomach.
“Through here, you’ll enter into a restroom where you can freshen up.” Katherine stood poised at the single doorcrowning the end of the hall. “There, you’ll find another door into your room. There’s a button on the nightstand for when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” I held my head high and entered through the door like I was entering a courtroom. Poised and prepared for whatever came.Ready to do whatever it took to come out on top.
The door closed behind me, and I spun at the soft click. The sound was almost imperceptible except to a woman whose nerves felt like they were standing on the edge of a cliff, wondering if the next few hours would prove that I could fly… or just how far I’d fallen.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat, my gaze snagging on my reflection in the mirror. Long, tight black skirt. White blouse. Silver blazer. Sexy had never looked so severe.
I set my bag on the counter, the heavy chain clinking on the marble. My hands went to the pins in my hair, the thick, dark waves pulled back in a severe knot. One by one, they clattered onto the marble too, softer but with just as much weight as the chain. The irony of the woman in my reflection wasn’t lost on me.
I had everything. My name was on the building—the youngest senior partner at Pearson, Nixon, and Monroe. I was as close to being a celebrity as a lawyer could get. I had the penthouse apartment. The red-soled shoes. The one-of-a-kind Mercedes.
But everything had a price.
To succeed in my world, I couldn’t stop pushing against that glass ceiling. Pushing back against everyone who wondered when I was going to settle down. Have kids.Tumble back down the mountain I’d fought so hard to climb.As soon as I stopped pushing for success, the chauvinistic sharks in Armani suits would swallow me whole. I couldn’t even take my eye off it. Not even for a day.
Not even to let my hair down.
I pulled the last pin out, and the thick, heavy waves spiraled down over my shoulders, long and loose and free. Instantly, my face softened. Years of stress and stoicism drained from my expression like a burst dam.
No one saw this side of me. The vulnerable side. The compliant side. The side that wanted to let go of the reins.I hardly saw this side.But I needed a release. Not just any release. I needed my control ripped from my desperate, petrified hands.
So, I came here… to the skyscraper that glittered in the desert of downtown Chicago.
To the Mirage.
A club to most. A sex club to some.But for me? For the most exclusive clients who could pay for it?The Mirage was home to a carnal concierge. One request submitted with payment. Then, it could be days… weeks… even months until they found and vetted someone within their network who wanted to fulfill the same fantasy. It wasn’t money paid for sex. It was money paid for a safe but anonymous connection.
