Just One Sip (4 page)

Present Day

It took a half hour to get into The Club. The security team was so freaking thorough it made my teeth bleed. It was damned near ridiculous. And it made me curious as hell as to what was inside the place. But once I walked in with the other two catering employees, I understood the need for secrecy.

There would be no cameras in here. No listening devices. Definitely no cell phones.

All items such as that were checked at the door.

If there were an emergency at home…well, the people here were probably too
busy
to care.

Jet had outdone himself with this club.

Definitely stepping it up a notch from the sins of his father’s legacy.

The only way to describe it was—legal carnality.

The Club was in the heart of downtown Karim, too. Prime real estate for the wealthy.

One step away from the wholesome gingerbread shops and wrought iron lamp posts of Gerome Street and you waltzed into decadence that sang of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries. All with one small exception—you would have to indulge with a little sting if the women and men lounging on the couches in dominatrix attire were any indication. There were three floors of this building, too. I could only imagine what lay hidden in each room.

My own requested outfit made sense now.

It didn’t make me feel any less self-conscious, but it fit the ambiance. I pulled on the skin tight black suit that I wore. My mom had taken me shopping when I told her I didn’t have an outfit as the order requested. I wore black pants that hugged my ass and a black suit jacket with only one button that clasped right below my breasts. Black high heels completed the ensemble.

No shirt.

No bra.

The tight as hell suit jacket was barely keeping my goods covered.

I glanced to the employees with me.

Nancy was a size two and Cary was a size four. I was a size eight.

I wish I could say I carried the extra weight in my chest. But I was only average there.

I was merely short and slightly round. Not fat. But…round.

Soft
is how Jet always described me. I kind of liked that.

I hoped he still felt the same way.

Nancy asked politely, “Ms. Plume, where do you want us to set up?”

“Were you here last month with my mother when she catered?”

She pointed to the right. “Yeah, we set up right over there. Mr. Mak preferred us to use half the bar instead of taking up some of the dance floor.”

I nodded in agreement. “Same as last time then.” Carefully, I helped Nancy and Cary maneuver the black bins of food around the lingering clientele at the tables. There was a tall woman behind the bar with a short, sparkling white wig and black leather that formed to each of her sensuous curves. As we rounded the bar, I smiled politely and held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Ms. Plume. We’re catering here tonight for your monthly event. Should we set up shop here?”

I didn’t expect the beaming smile I received. She grabbed my hand in a firm shake, and her brown eyes ran over me from head to toe. Her makeup was incredible. All glitter and jewels. “
Lucy
Plume?”

My brows rose. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Beebee. I run the bar here on Fridays.” She released my hand and still eyeing me, patted the counter next to her lean hip. “You guys can set up here. Mr. Mak will be down soon. I’m sure security has informed him you’re here.” She winked, and her beautiful fake lashes fluttered in her brusque breeze as she walked down the long bar to a waiting customer.

I blinked once at her retreating back, still reeling that she knew my first name, and turned to the gals. “You heard her. Let’s get the appetizers out first. I’d like to have that done before Mr. Mak shows.”

I was hiding in the restroom. In a bathroom stall. A very fine restroom…but still, a restroom.

Humiliated. My breath came in short pants, and my head rested in my hands as I tried counting the tiles on the floor to calm my mind. A fine sheen of sweat dotted my brow, and my brain just wouldn’t shut the fuck up as my heart battled inside my chest like a sputtering racecar.

I was having an anxiety attack. I knew that. But just because I knew, it didn’t mean it would evaporate the second I mentally told it to stop. The rich crowd had pressed in as soon as the appetizers were out; many of the people were those I had known back in high school. All were friendly and accepting, and sincerely pleased to see me. Though, Beebee may have had something to do with it, hovering protectively over me as she had been, but their reactions had seemed genuine.

But there had been so damn many of them.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. I started counting again.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Five…

Six…

Seven…

Eight…

I sucked in a sharp breath when I heard the door to the bathroom open and the slow, methodical beat from the music filter in louder…then
quiet
.

“Lucy?” It was Jet, his tone soft. “Beebee said she saw you come in here. Exactly forty-seven minutes ago. Are you okay?”

I groaned quietly. I didn’t want to speak, but I made myself before he thought to bust down the stall door. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few more minutes.”

It was silent for so long I thought he had left. But he hadn’t. I had heard a soft rustling against the bathroom stall before he sat down with his back against the door. His black suit jacket rustled beneath the frame of the door, and then his hand appeared under it. He pulled his hand back…leaving a small, plastic toy maze on the ‘number four’ tile.

I breathed through my nose as tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you.” He didn’t say anything as I bent and grabbed the small toy. Instead, he sat in the quiet with me while I zoned on the little silver ball inside the curving maze, again and again, hitting the mark only to start over again. Repetitive and soothing, it coaxed my thoughts down from meltdown level. Just barely. Eventually, when I could speak without feeling nauseous, I whispered, “It’s almost been a month since I’ve seen you.”

He hummed quietly. “I made the first move. It was your turn. I was waiting for you to call or stop by.”

My brows furrowed as I wiped the sweat from my forehead and concentrated on the maze again. “Your
first move
was to take your ring back. What was I supposed to think?”

His fingers started tapping on the tiling outside my door. He would really need to wash his hands. “I didn’t calculate that. That was my error.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Would you have dinner with me sometime? Soon?”

An unexpected chuckle escaped. It felt good against the chaos residing in my mind. “Oh, my God. You have no idea how much I’ve missed your absurdity.” He and I, we were made for each other. Two cinnamon rolls in a zipped up baggie. With extra icing. And maybe a random green sprinkle or two.

His tone was light. I knew he was smiling. “Ditto.” He thumped the stall door lightly with his head, his blue hair showing through the crack of the door. “But I really do want that dinner.”

“We’ll have it. Tomorrow night. My place at eight.” My head was still buzzing. “Talk to me. Tell me all about The Club.”

And he did.

While I sat inside the bathroom stall of an erotic sex club, he told me all The Club’s secrets.

March 5, 1998 – Age 7

Feet pounded the floor to exit Mr. Rupert’s classroom. Recess time! I was going to the monkey bars first. That fat head, Rick, had been hogging them for the last two days. Not this time though. I would tell the recess monitor on him if he did. My blonde pigtails swung as I dodged two desks, moving as fast as I could.

Mr. Rupert shouted, “No running, kids!” I ducked my head and slowed my pace. To a slow jog. Those monkey bars were mine! Then, my feet halted at Mr. Rupert’s next words. “Mr. Mak, is there a problem?”

A few of my classmates glanced in Jet’s direction but, just as fast, raced out the door.

I didn’t move though. I peered once more at the door and fisted my hands.

The fat head was going to beat me there if I didn’t leave now.

My chest heaved, but my attention swung back to Jet.

He was still sitting at his desk in the far corner of the room. His forehead was down while he studied the math test we had been taking. He kept thumping the pointy end of his pencil repeatedly on the paper. With the noise diminished, I could now hear the quiet humming sound he was making in the back of his throat, gurgling and deep. He slammed his right elbow on the table and fisted his black, shaggy hair in his free fist, yanking on it in rhythmic jerks.

“
Mr. Mak
, I said, is there a problem? The time’s up for that test. You need to turn it in now.”

My brows furrowed as I turned a sharp glare our teacher. He didn’t need to speak to Jet like that—as if he were talking to a misbehaving dog. Jet always had problems when it came to math. The teacher knew that. Everyone knew.

I kept my scowl on our teacher as I raced to the back of the room. To Jet. I knew I didn’t have much time before Mr. Rupert made me leave. Probably to scold Jet, too. Our teacher was more of a fat head than Rick was. Nicely, I placed my hand on Jet’s shoulder. He jerked under my touch, and his gaze slammed into mine like he was waking from a nightmare.

His blue eyes were huge and rimmed red as if he hadn’t blinked in hours. “Lucy?”

“It’s me,” I whispered, glancing up quickly to our teacher when I heard his chair squeak.

Mr. Rupert’s shiny black shoes clicked on the tiling as he marched in our direction. “Ms. Plume, you cannot help Jet with the test. You should be outside right now.”

I ignored him, gazing back down. “Jet, you’re gonna get in trouble.”

He peered at his sheet. His pencil started thumping again on the paper. His voice was hoarse when he growled, “The numbers. They’re out of order. They should be one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven—”

“It’s addition. The answers won’t be in order.”

His eyes met mine. His lips thinned so hard there were lines at the edges. “But they need to, Lucy. The numbers
need
to be in order. They
need
to be
exact
. One, two, three, four, five—”

“Ms. Plume,” Mr. Rupert grabbed my shoulder, jerking me upright, “you need to be with your other classmates at recess. Mr. Mak will have to stay inside today for his improper time management.”

My eyes narrowed on my teacher. With my thoughts churning for a way to get his attention off of Jet, I remembered a response my mom had said to a mean customer at the bakery. I knew it wasn’t a proper phrase to say since my mom immediately told me never to repeat it to anyone. So I did the only thing I could. I shoved his hand off my shoulder, crossed my arms, and gave him my best mommy-stern-look. “Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”

Mr. Rupert’s jaw dropped. His cheeks flushed an unnatural shade of pink. Like cotton candy.

Jet made a choking sound, and then he shoved up from his desk. His shoulder pressed against mine as he held the test paper up high. He started ripping it into tiny pieces and nodding with a firm decision, he growled, “Yes, Mr. Rupert. Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”