Page 2 of Masked Seduction
I rise abruptly, the chair scraping loudly behind me, and stalk toward the door. I nearly slam it on my way out, managing to restrain myself at the last second. I close it firmly, the sound echoing like a small, satisfying rebellion.
Outside, I press my back to the wall, drawing a shaky breath. My heart is pounding, adrenaline surging through my veins. I’m stronger than this. Abram Vasiliev might be a powerful, intimidating, sexy-as-hell, insufferable prick, but he won’t break me.
No one ever has.
With determination steeling my spine, I push away from the wall and stride down the hall toward the legal department. The heels of my shoes click against the polished marble floors, punctuating each step with stubborn defiance.
I find Mark Henley, Abram’s personal lawyer, seated in his expansive, overly lavish office, fingers tapping on his laptop. When he sees me, he gives an amused smirk.
“Ms. Ridley. Did the boss send you?”
“Who else?” I say, forcing a polite smile. “He needs details about your meeting at three. Apparently, I should already know.”
Henley chuckles softly. “Well, we can’t have Abram disappointed, can we?”
“No,” I deadpan. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He rifles through a file, quickly scanning its contents. “Ah, yes. It’s regarding the acquisition of the club downtown.”
“What kind of club?” I ask, careful to keep my voice neutral even as something sharp and electric stirs under my skin. Abram owns plenty of properties—some legitimate, some not—but the way Henley’s eyes gleam puts me immediately on alert.
“It’s, well, a sex club,” he says, voice laced with dry amusement. “Though not officially. High-end. Exclusive clientele.”
A flush rises beneath my skin. My brain stalls for a second, catching on the phrase like a fishhook. A sex club? That’s not what I was expecting to hear. Still, I summon my training, keeping my expression calm, voice cool.
“Of course it is,” I say smoothly, arching a brow. “And I’m guessing that’s not exactly above board?”
Henley chuckles, but it’s the kind of chuckle lawyers give right before they start dancing along the edge of legal definitions. “That depends on what you mean by ‘above board,’ Ms. Ridley. Is it a licensed nightclub? Yes. Does it serve alcohol legally? Alsoyes. Are there private areas where consenting adults can spend time together away from prying eyes? Sure. But that doesn’t make it a brothel, which would be illegal under Nevada law—at least in Clark County.”
I tilt my head. “So it’s legal because it’s not charging for sex?”
“Exactly,” he says, pleased that I understand. “There’s no transactional exchange of money for sexual services. No solicitation. No in-house staff providing those kinds of amenities. What the club does provide is an environment. Mood lighting. Private rooms. Security. Discretion. If consenting adults choose to engage in certain activities while on the premises, that’s their business.”
“And if law enforcement shows up?”
Henley shrugs. “They don’t. The place is careful. Membership-only, vetted guests. Surveillance, but no recordings. The current owners aren’t foolish. They don’t market it publicly. No flyers, no ads. Just a space that facilitates fantasy. If anything, it’s protected more by the strength of its obscurity than by any legal shield.”
I nod slowly, absorbing everything he just said. It’s not just shady—it’s calculated. Clever.
Very Abram.
I manage a slight smirk, though beneath the surface, my mind races.
My boss is buying a sex club.
Armed with the details Abram demanded, I thank Henley and step into the hallway, heart thudding just a little harder than I’d like to admit.
Asex club? I knew Abram had ties to things most people wouldn’t understand—shady business dealings, hush-hush partnerships, maybe even some money laundering. But this? This is different. Intimate. Personal.
My mind spins as I make my way back to Abram’s office. Did he buy the place just to profit from it? Or does he actually partake? I try not to imagine him in a private room—voice low and commanding while someone is pinned beneath him, trembling and begging.
But the image won’t leave. Instead, it spreads like wildfire, heat licking up my neck, curling between my thighs.
Damn it.
I take a breath.Rein it in.
By the time I get back to Abram’s office, my jaw is tight, my face composed, and I’ve rehearsed my update enough times to sound coolly professional, even if my pulse hasn’t quite recovered.
