Page 7 of Interview with a Sadist
“Is that all?” Maddy asks. It’s a simple question, but there’s something extra in her words. They weigh more than they should, but Nolan doesn’t acknowledge the added pressure.
“Yes,” Nolan says, somehow cutting the one syllable word short.
I look at Maddy and watch the life drain out of her face. She stares at Nolan, and I see something in her demeanor as the two of them lock eyes, but it fades quickly as Nolan turns his attention to me. Maddy slowly shifts her body toward the door and walks away, shutting it behind her and leaving me all alone with the owner of The Black Collar.
“Thanks for being on time,” Nolan says to me.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” I answer.
“Cool. We can set up on the couch and get started if that’s okay with you.”
“Sounds good,” I reply.
Nolan nods his approval and starts to turn away, and that’s when I notice something that nearly makes me stumble. As he angles his body to lead me to the couch, the lights above us reflect the color in his eyes. Blue. He hasblueeyes. In some sort of unfair, cruel joke from the heavens, Nolan Carter has flawless caramel-brown skin and gorgeous ocean-blue eyes. It’s like he was made in a special laboratory designed to intoxicate and stupefy women, and what’s worse is that he doesn’t seem to notice how dazzling he is. He doesn’t smolder when he looks at me, or squint, or lick his lips. He moves with no agenda at all, and his presence has its own gravitational pull.
“You good?” he asks, and I snap myself out of another trance as I realize Nolan has already walked to the black couch and is standing in front of it, waiting for me to catch up.
“Oh, yeah,” I blurt out as I speed walk over to him. “Sorry about that.”
We sit down and I do my best to get myself under control. I’m a goddamn professional, and I’m not going to allow myself to be distracted by any of this—not his looks, or his sexy cologne that keeps wafting its way up my nose, or his stupid blue eyes that I can’t stop noticing now, or how perfectly he has set up this office.
I glance around the room and notice that everything in Nolan’s office is impeccably placed. The tiled floor is dark gray, while every bit of furniture is either red or black. The picture frames are black, while the walls are dark gray to match the floor, and the images on the wall are all black and white with the tiniest hints of red in them. There’s a large photo of a black wall with nothing on it except a red rope dangling from a silver hook. Another picture showcases a massive bed with white sheets, but the handcuffs dangling from the headboard are red. The entire space is beautiful and well thought out, matching everything about the way Nolan carries himself, including the tall, black cabinet in the corner. Its decorative doors are beautiful and elegant, but it’s also mysterious, just like its owner.
“Bree,” Nolan says, stealing my focus as the sound of his voice saying my name casts a spell on me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I reply before clearing my throat. I gently shake my head and sit up straight. “I was just admiring your office. Did you hire a decorator?”
The side of Nolan’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “No.”
“Oh, well it’s very well put together,” I compliment.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I take a small audio recorder from my purse and place it on the black and gray table in front of us. Nolan eyes it like he doesn’t trust it, but chooses not to comment. His gaze finds me and watches as I pull out a notepad where I’ve written down every question I want to ask. Once I’m settled, I take a deep breath and begin. “So, Mr. Carter, I’ve broken this interview into two sections. The first is all about you, and the second is about your new and infamous nightclub, The Black Collar.”
“Infamous,” Nolan repeats.
“Well … yes. Surely, you’re aware of the reputation your club has garnered in the three months since its opening.”
“A reputation given to us by uninformed people who’ve never stepped foot inside The Black Collar, but I digress. We can get back to that later. Please continue.”
Nolan shifts in his seat, but if he’s annoyed by my statement about the club’s reputation, he doesn’t show it. He’s a pillar of control as he places an arm on the back of the couch and awaits my first question.
“So, I guess the first question I have is what made you decide to grant us an interview?” I ask. “I hate to mention the word reputation again, but if I’m not mistaken, The Black Collar doesn’t allow just anyone in. There’s a form to fill out that has to be approved by the staff here. It all feels very exclusive and private. So, why talk to us?”
Nolan doesn’t move a muscle before answering. “Because rumors can cause problems when left unchecked for too long. At first the blather and …reputationdidn’t bother me, but now that I’ve had time to process it all, I think I’d rather use my position to educate. People fear what they don’t understand, and they hate what they fear. So, I want to educate people who talk about me or The Black Collar without knowing what or whom they’re talking about. Most folks don’t even know what BDSM really is.”
“So, you’re here to educate people like me,” I say without thinking better of it. “I can agree that my lack of education about BDSM certainly makes it more intimidating.”
“That’s understandable,” Nolan says. “I was afraid before I learned and got into the lifestyle.”
“The lifestyle?”
“Yes. BDSM is more than just sex. It’s a lifestyle,” Nolan states matter-of-factly, gazing at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes.
“That’s very interesting. What made you decide to educate yourself and get into the lifestyle of BDSM?”
Nolan tilts his head back as he thinks about the answer. His eyes drift away for a moment before returning to me. “Sometimes people just know they’re missing something without actually knowing what it is they’re missing. I was okay in the vanilla life, but I felt that I could bemorethan okay, and it took research and education to understand the feelings I was having.”
