The Club (6 page)

             
When it’s over, we lay on the bed, spent.

             
“Leigh, I…” He sounds uncertain. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never experienced anything like I’ve experienced with Max. I don’t want it to end.

             
I start to laugh. I do that sometimes when I get nervous. “I…I’m sorry,” I sputter. “It’s just…that
was so…more than I’ve ever…
I don’t know what to say.”

             
He looks at me like I’m crazy and then starts laughing, too.

             
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I begin, gaining control of myself.
I’ve decided. I’m not going to turn Max over to the authorities behind his back. I’m going to tell him exactly who I am and what I know about his past.

             
“I already know.”

             
I gasp.
“You do? Then why did you let me come here?” I’m genuinely confused. If Max knows who I really am, he knows I’m a threat to him.

             
“
Interesting choice of words,” he says wryly. We both laugh again, but I arch my eyebro
w at him.
“I don’t know,”
he answers
. “Despite your job, I feel like I can trust you.”

             
“You can’t,”
I say playfully.
It doesn’t matter that he steals art and jewels for fun. I still have to turn him in. I just didn’t plan on falling in love with him.

             
“Is that a fact?” He begins caressing my breasts again and I swat at him.

             
“How did you find out?”
I ask.

             
“I don’t let anyone in my club without a thorough background check. Yours just happens to be more impressive than most.
Two
false identities? Even
I
only have one. You mak
e me curious. A
gorgeous,
brilliant Ph.D. investigator with a sexy
kink
. You’re quite the package, Leigh Strauss.
If that is your real name.
”

             
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I admit.
“And it’s not.”

             
“
So, what are you going to do?” h
e asks. I get the feeling like it d
oesn’t matter much what I say; h
e’s a step ahead of me. I wonder if I still have a job after the way I’ve behaved. Not that it matters too terribly much. I love what I do, but
I have two million dollars
stashed in a Swiss bank account in case of emergencies.

             
“Turn you in,” I say.
I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice. But I came to the billionaire’s club to do a job. My performing was just a cover. A very enjoyable one.

             
I couldn’t explain all the sex. I hoped I’d never have to.

             
“Is there anything I can do to talk you out of that?” He asks. He’s smiling, but I can tell he’s serious. It’s true, from
what I’ve spent months learning
, that Maximilian Gregory only steals treasure for fun these days. His billionaire’s portfolio is
far
too vast to rest on the outcome of a heist or two. But it’s also true that he never would have gotten his start in
private equity funds
if not for his sticky fingers. I could understand why he’d prefer to keep this little pastime of his quiet.

             
“I doubt it,” I tell him.

             
He frowns, and then crosses the room to an alcove cove desk. On it is a platter of pastries and coffee. He brings it to me and I eager take a cup.

             
The coffee has cream and sugar, just like I preferred. I si
gh
.

             
“What if I ask you to marry me,” he says casually. “You wouldn’t turn in your own husband, would you?”

             
I drop the coffee.

Chapter 5

             
“Don’t decide right away,”
he says, “
Let me show you the club. You should understand it before you answer.”

             
“I’m confused,” I admit
, making a move to sop up my spilled coffee with a towel
.
Max stops me.
“I’ve seen the club.”

             
“No,” he pauses. There’s a glint in his eye that I don’t understand. “You haven’t.”

             
I let Max lead me to a dressing room beyond his
luxe
bathroom. There’s a tidy stack of clothing on a
chair, cashmere sweaters and simple slacks in my size. “Get dressed; we’ll eat a real breakfast there,” he instructs.

             
I’m momentarily irritated at his assumption that I have nothing else to do today, but his eager expression melts the feeling away.

             
A half hour later, we’re both showered, dressed, and in the helicopter again. I’m mystified. I thought Max would be angry when the truth about who I am came out. Instead, he wants to marry me.

             
My stomach is uneasy. I think of all the ways such a union would solve his problems.
This isn’t about love,
I remind myself. To a man like Maximilian
Gregory, a marriage is
just another deal. With excellent terms for him. I promise myself to stay on guard, even as I fight the urge to relax and enjoy the spectacular view.

             
At nine a.m., the club is empty. Only a few staff members scurry about, cleaning and polishing and perfecting. The rooms are uniformly beautiful—impeccably decorated and luscious in their appointments. There’s something about the billionaire’s club that reminds me of a womb. All the carpets are deep, the walls insulated, the curtains thick. You could easily floa
t off to sleep inside, comforted by fire, wine, and peace.

             
We sit down in a large room I’ve never been in before. Its ceilings are easily thirty feet above us, with intricate skylights creating an atrium in the center. Exotic plants drink up the sunlight st
reaming in. This is the only
space I’ve seen
in the club
that is full of light and fresh air. The other spaces sugges
t darkness and history; this
, the Garden of Eden.

             
Bellinis
appear in our hands and I take a sip—incredible. The peach juice could not be more fresh. It tastes as if the fruit was just plucked this morning from its branch.

             
“Thank you, Max. This is lovely.” I gesture both to the room itself and to the drink in my hand.

             
“How did you figure it out?” he asks in a low voice. He’s not wearing a suit like last night, but he still looks commanding and handsome. I love the smell of his aftershave, though I don’t plan to tell him so. The scent of him makes me sad we ever got out of bed. No
beautiful dining room or fresh peach
could ever compete with this man, no matter how succulent.

             
I take a moment before answering. Though my hear
t is already taken with Max
, I don’t want to tip my hand.
It appears I still have a brain cell or two firing through the fog of lust engulfing me.

             
“It’s not important,” I say soothingly.

             
Max
imilian
narrows his eyes, but seems to decide to let it go—for now. He takes a sip of his
bellini
as a platter of food arrives: e
ggs benedict and an array of fresh fruit. We both eat hungrily and I’m once again impressed. The meal is delightful. What must it be like, I wonder, to have the best of everything on earth all the time? Do you stop noticing? Does it become boring?

             
“Yes,” Max says.

             
“Excuse me?”

             
“Yes, it becomes boring,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

             
I choke on my drink.

             
“Did you just read my mind?” I sputter. “I…what...?”

             
“Not exactly,” he says. “Are you okay?”

             
I cough one more time. “I’m not sure. Was that just a coincidence, or did you really…” I trail off, searching his face for answers.

             
“I get flashes,” he says. “I can’t read your mind, or anyone else’s, at will. But I get phrases…especially when they’re questions directed at me. I combine the insights with a read of what someone’s face is doing and what they’re communicating with their body language, and I can often get a full picture of what’
s going on in someone’s brain
. It’s not that hard.”

             
I swallow. “That’s incredible,” I finally say. “You’re a real-life mentalist.”

             
“I guess I am. Only instead of solving crimes, I make piles of money. Don’t judge me.” he grins. “You do it, too. Everyone does, to the best of their ability. My ability just happens to be more acute
than most
.”

             
“No wonder you’re so good in bed,” I say.
He smiles and finishes the last of our breakfast. I’m too surprised to eat another bite.

             
“Come on, let me show you around.”
He takes my hand and I let him, just a bit uneasy about this revelation. I’
m trying to guard my thoughts
somehow, but I get the feeling it’s not working.

             
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t tune in constantly. It takes a lot of focus. Your secrets are somewhat safe while I give you the tour.”

             
I frown as he leads me t
o a bookshelf near the dining
room’s empty bar. I hadn’t noticed it before; the shelf is set into the wall and all the book spines are a uniform shade of brown leather—encyclopedias or yearbooks or some other series. Max touches something on the top shelf and the w
all opens up silently. I gasp; i
t’s like something out of a mystery novel.
Max leads me through a series of passageways. I catch glimpses of several interesting-looking rooms in the labyrinth, but we don’t stop until we reach a cave-like space. It’s actuall
y a wine cellar, I see as
my eyes adjust. There are tables and chairs, and a long ornate bar. It’s like something out of Belle
Époque
Paris, only darker and more secretive.
Low-hanging chandeliers are filled with slim candles
.
Every fifth one is lit.
Max leads me to an old machine that looks like a phonograph. He turns it on, and the space is
filled with sultry music.

             
“When you appeared in my club I knew you’d get it,” he says, pulling me to him for a slow dance.

             
“Get what?”

             
“What I’m trying to do here.”

             
As we swayed to the haunting music, I let my senses relax and take everything in—the smells, the beauty, the sound, the wonder of being a place outside of time. Max was definitely interested in money and in sex—but he wanted more. He wanted the best of everything that had ever existed in our universe.
He wanted magic
, here in his club. I had to admit, I wanted it too.
I’d heard of his parties here, of how the guests had to wear masks and speak in whispers. Of how liberties were taken, boundaries crossed.
“
Magic.
”

             
“Yes,”
he says, and dips
me low. “Let me show you the rest.”

             
From the Belle
Époque
wine cave
he le
a
d
s
me to a grotto. The
rough stone surrounding the hot
pool is inlaid with what looks
like real diamonds
and other jewels
. Hidden lights capture
their brilliance
and the swirling steam
, making the whole space look like the inside of a dream.

             
“Want to go for a swim?”
h
e asks
, proud of his amazing underground creation. He’s so happy to share it with me; I’m curious
how many people a
re allowed to see this maze of wonders.