Page 5 of Interview with a Sadist
“This time tomorrow,” Nolan answers, his words sharp and to the point. I expect him to say more, but he doesn't, forcing me to fill the silence.
“Oh, umm, okay. Yes, one o’clock tomorrow afternoon sounds good,” I say. “Is there any particular place you’d like to meet?”
“One o’clock tomorrow, here at the club. Just go to the entrance and you’ll be let in. See you then.”
“Perfect. Thank y—” I start, but the call ends. When I look at Octavia, she looks as stunned as I feel.
“Is it just me or did he sound fucking delicious?” she asks, before releasing a giddy laugh.
“It definitely wasn’t just you,” I admit. “It doesn't change my expectation for the kind of person he is, but I know a sultry, deep, sexy voice when I hear it.”
“God, I wish I could be there for this interview,” Octavia says. “What if he’s not some ugly weirdo? How are you gonna feel then?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re expecting to meet some strange pervert, but what if he’s hot? Would that change how you approach the interview, seeing as how you’ve been single for, like, six months?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly so I don't have to answer differently. “If he was … attractive, I’d still conduct the interview as professionally as I always do. My being single has nothing to do with any of it. You know I haven't had time for a boyfriend. I’m dating my career.”
“Oh, is that right?” Octavia says, smiling. “Well, good luck getting your career to fuck you.”
“Oh, god. I can’t with you,” I say as I stand up. “Look, his appearance is irrelevant. At the end of the day, he’s still the owner of a freaking sex club. Not exactly my type. So, at one o’clock tomorrow, I will approach this interview like a true professional. I’ll spend as much time as it takes to squeeze every last drop of information out of this guy, and I’ll write an amazing story about it. It’ll be business as usual.”
Octavia smiles like a woman with a secret. “Okay.”
“Don't say it like that,” I snap. “Everything will be fine, Octavia. You’ll see.”
“I hear you. It’ll just be business as usual.”
“That’s exactly right,” I say with a nod. “Business as usual.”
Meet the Sadist
ChapterFour
The building that houses The Black Collar isn't extravagant. It’s quite the opposite, actually. As the name would suggest, the two-story club that is sandwiched between two larger buildings is completely black. From the outside, it resembles more of a warehouse than it does a nightclub, with small personnel doors on the front and side of the building, and a large black rollup door in the back, opening into the alley. The words The Black Collar are fastened to the front of the building, and while they’re not illuminated now, they still stand out with their large, masculine font. If I could imagine what a BDSM club would look like from the outside, this is exactly it: large, but also moderate so as to not draw too much attention, discreet—for the same reason—dark, and ominous.
I park in a pay-by-the-hour lot across the street from the club, and try to swallow the lump of nerves clawing their way up my throat as I approach the building. With each step, my heart picks up its pace. By the time I reach the door, I feel lightheaded, so I take a second to gather my composure before I lift my hand to press the buzzer on the black door. I hear the faint sound of buzzing when I press it, and it only takes a few seconds before the door is unlocked.
When it opens, it’s not the inside of the building that grabs my attention, it’s the beautiful woman in front of me. Her porcelain skin glows, as does her curly blonde hair. It’s as if she has harnessed the sun and is keeping it for herself. She has dark blue eyes, round cheeks, and the glare of a woman who has never taken an ounce of shit from anyone. Between her beauty and the ice in her demeanor, I’m not sure if I should greet her or run back to my car.
“Can I help you?” she asks in a husky voice that snaps me out of my trance. I blink out of my stupor and manage to formulate words.
“Oh, yes, I’m looking for Nolan Carter,” I reply, and any hint of happiness in the blonde’s face instantly melts away. She slowly looks me up and down, taking all of me in without any regard to how rude it may come off.
“What do you want with Nolan?” she asks when her eyes finally make their way up to mine again.
I swallow hard. “My name’s Bree Barrett. I’m a journalist with the Philadelphia Inquirer—”
“Get the fuck outta here,” the blonde snaps. Her face tightens into an even more intense scowl as she glares at me, preparing to slam the door in my face.
“I have an appointment with him,” I blurt out with a raised hand, hoping it’ll somehow help.
“What?” she says, stopping the door halfway and reopening it.
“I have an appointment,” I repeat. “I spoke to Mr. Carter on the phone yesterday, and he told me to meet him here at this time to conduct an interview.”
The aggressive blonde freezes, staring at me as she calculates my words in her head.
