Page 12 of Compelled Obedience

What did it say that he ran the kinkiest and most exclusive club in town? I’d heard all about Carnal Sins long before applying, a club where only the richest could apply for membership, dues in the neighborhood of one million dollars a year. What they did behind closed doors should disgust me. Impact play. Bondage. Collaring. Cupping. Knife play. The list of sadistic proclivities went on and on. I couldn’t imagine what the women went through who attached themselves to men like that.

And I’d already proclaimed I wanted to work there.

Shuddering, I tried to keep from moaning, my reaction to the proclivities represented in the club having nothing to do with the fact Grant owned the club.

I’d always been fascinated by aspects of BDSM, the trust involved something I’d never found before. However, I couldn’t get involved in anything sinful. I had to keep on the straight and narrow or there was a good chance I’d lose Casey. I’d taken a significant risk by applying for the job at Blackout. God. What was I thinking?

I remained inside the stall for a few minutes, hopeful the luxurious vomitous event would be over when I returned. When I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, I walked out, ignoring the attendant and grabbing a plain brown paper towel to dry my hands. When I walked out, I heard the thunderous applause all the way in the hallway and took another deep breath, trying to plaster on a smile.

“So it seems you don’t like me very much.”

His voice was instantly recognizable. I hadn’t paid any attention, trying to focus on getting the hell out of the hotel as quickly as possible. I stopped short, turning my head. This just couldn’t be happening.

Had he recognized me? No, not a chance.

“I’m sorry?” Hold it together. You can do it.

Chuckling, he took a few seconds to slide his heated gaze all the way to my battered black heels. “I happened to notice your face when I accepted the award,” he said, confirming there was no recognition. “Your expression was easy to read. I think it was somewhere in between disgust and a longing to rip out my eyeballs.”

He was leaning casually against the wall, one foot propped against the vivid red paint. The gothic setting and the classic look of his attire was starkly in contrast to his thick, dirty blond hair that I wanted to run my fingers through.

I was shivering to my core. Karma didn’t just hate me. She was sliding bombs under my already difficult life.

“You would be right.” Several nasty words threatened to erupt from my mouth but fortunately, I kept that from happening.

“Why?” he asked, as if he was some innocent good guy wrongly accused.

“Does it matter whether I like you or not?” My retort was laced with venom. A small part of me realized that he didn’t deserve my misguided wrath. My fucking landlord did. “You have your life all figured out.”

“What does that mean?”

Oh, my God. The asshole was goading me. Why? My guess was because I’d challenged him when all his other employees treated him like a god. I’d heard what they’d said. There wasn’t a woman who worked with him who didn’t think they’d become Mrs. Grant Wilde. That disgusted me.

I turned to face him, folding my arms. “It meant that I have zero dollars to contribute nestled in my meager bank account, so in the scheme of things, I mean nothing in your elitist world.”

Great. Just tell one of the richest men in LA that you are close to becoming homeless, why don’t you?

Grant studied me intently, his eyes twinkling. He acted casual, happy to be in his insufferable skin. “Well, the elitist world you think I belong in doesn’t sound appealing to me either. It’s full of pompous assholes who vie for attention any way they can get it, including pretending that they care about children and animals, disease or catastrophic weather events. Events such as this are methods of dragging their sorry asses into the public eye, hopeful that their next great deal will put them back on the map once again.”

I was taken aback by his words, but not so much that they could change my mind about him. I walked closer, narrowing my eyes. “If you think flirting with me is going to work, you’re dead wrong. I prefer men who aren’t sloppy seconds.”

“Wow. You have a chip on your shoulder the size of a Colorado boulder.”

Why did he irritate me so much? Because I’d fought elitist assholes my entire life to try to get somewhere. I narrowed my eyes, adding a salacious smile to my face as I swiveled my hips, deciding to take a different tactic.

“I’m curious, Mr. Wilde. What do you really know about the inner-city kids and what they go through on a daily basis?” When he didn’t answer immediately, I exhaled as if bored. “That’s what I thought. While it’s fabulous that you’re providing money for arts programs and having one of your minions drop off paints and cheap guitars to the various schools, they are intangible things to the kids and at the end of the day mean nothing and provide little comfort.”

“Why?” He almost seemed interested.

I dropped a little of my guard. Maybe he should know what was happening behind closed doors on the street. “Because so many of the kids come from poor and broken families, violence a way of life. Some are so fearful of going home that they can’t allow their creative sides to flourish. Or even be seen.”

“Why are they fearful of going home?”

Huffing, I yanked the pin from my hair, the entire outfit giving me a violent headache. “Please. Have you been sequestered away in your fabulous mansion for so long that you don’t know about the violence both at home and in the streets? Now, the gangs seem safer to some, a welcome family-like atmosphere that they wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“How very sad,” Grant said almost too reverently.

“Yes.”

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