Page 45 of Hard Limits

But not for long.

The call came the next morning, before I’d even made Mr. Vale’s coffee. A New York number flashed up on the screen. I hated receiving calls from New York because Carissa Dunn lived there and her presence tainted the whole city in my eyes, but there was a branch of Nyx in NYC, the second one Mr. Vale had opened, and occasionally the manager would call to request that I schedule a Zoom chat or ask me to pass on a message. Another second, and I recognised the digits.

“Good morning, Jarrod. Actually, it’s already afternoon on the East Coast, isn’t it?”

“Is Brax there?”

“He’s with somebody right now.” A woman. A potential new basement girl. Teresa was acting as chaperone for Carissa’s benefit. “An early meeting.”

“Can you interrupt? I need to speak with him urgently. There’s… Well, there’s been a fire. Not a big one, and the fire department put it out, but there’s water everywhere.”

“Was anybody injured?”

“Everyone’s fine, but we’re gonna have a lot of unhappy clients.”

“I’ll get Mr. Vale right away.”

But how? He was in The Dark, and I didn’t go into The Dark.

First, I tried his phone, just in case there was a signal down there, but it rang on his desk—he was right, the soundproofing between our offices really wasn’t that good.

There would be somebody downstairs who could help me, wouldn’t there? The front-of-house staff didn’t arrive until twelve, but maybe Teresa… No, Teresa was with Mr. Vale. Did the housekeeping staff go into The Dark?

The elevator wasn’t on the third floor, so rather than waiting, I ran down the stairs, cursing the fact that I’d begun wearing heels again. The first floor was empty apart from the kitchen staff, and they didn’t venture downstairs either. Dammit, I’d have to go myself. There wouldn’t be clients present at this time, so what harm would it do?

If I’d known the answer, I’d have sprinted away along the street instead of heaving open the heavy door to the basement.

The first thing that struck me was the near silence as the door closed behind me. Soundproofing wasn’t a concern down here. As I descended the stairs, my footsteps muffled by thick carpet the colour of deoxygenated blood, I heard the faint strains of classical music, heavy on the strings. Four beats, four beats, four beats. A dirty tango. The lights were dim, and it felt as if I were walking through a tunnel. Perhaps that was intentional? The stairs turned, and I saw a bar ahead of me, bottles of spirits on glass shelves, a mirror behind. An ornate metal arch spanned the polished wooden counter, reminiscent of the windows outside, and a row of empty velvet stools stood sentry in front. The colour theme was red and black, dark and moody. Sumptuous. Dramatic. Curved leather banquettes wrapped around tables for two, four, six, and this really wasn’t so bad. Sexy chic. I’d been imagining a dungeon with ropes and chains and—

A gasp escaped as I caught sight of the stage at the far end of the room. A woman stood there, as tall and slender as a supermodel, her pale skin smooth, her small breasts high and firm. She wore nothing but spike heels, leather panties, and an ornate Venetian mask, and when she turned to stare at me, her expression was one of mild confusion for a second before her scarlet lips pursed into a hard smile. The man beside her didn’t look up. That would have been difficult, seeing as he was tied to some kind of leather bench with his ass in the air. And while I’d come across plenty of interesting things in men’s anuses during my rotation in the emergency room, I’d never seen a jewelled butt plug attached to a set of handcuffs before.

Mr. Vale was sitting on a velvet chair, legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded as he studied the scene critically with Teresa at his side. I began backing away, horrified. Horrified at invading these people’s privacy. Horrified at the ache between my legs. Horrified at being caught watching. But it was too late. My boss turned around, and he didn’t look happy in the slightest.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

He crossed the room in six long strides, wrapped an arm around my waist, and half carried me out to the stairs.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Meera?” he hissed.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… There’s a problem in New York.”

“What problem?”

“A fire. Everyone’s okay, but the fire department… Water damage…”

“Shit.” Mr. Vale scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. “Cancel the rest of today’s meetings and book us plane tickets while I finish up here. A car to the airport too.”

“Okay, I’ll—” Wait a second. “Us?”

“All hands on deck, Meera.” He smiled grimly. “Don’t worry about packing. You can buy clothes in New York.”

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to travel with Mr. Vale. I didn’t want to risk running into the Wicked Witch of the East Coast. And I needed time to process what I’d just seen.

But this was my job.

I had to go.

“Yes, Mr. Vale.”

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