The Diamond Club

About the Author

Patricia Harkins-Bradley is an English teacher, ex-wife, and mother-of-three in San Francisco, California.

Since an early age, she’s always wanted to capture the hearts of millions through stories of romance. Many of the characters mentioned in her writing are interpretations of characters pulled from her daily life, college days, and other precious memories.

Patricia has written a variety of unpublished short stories, but finally decided to share her writing with the world in her first published novel,
The Diamond Club.

Hello World

“You bastard.”

I would have sworn the person next to me said the words. But they came from my mouth. My body. My soul. My right hand that dropped the cup of overpriced coffee on my well worn Converse sneakers. My left hand dropped my iPhone on the concrete sending it dancing down the street.

My iPhone. That’s where I read it. Just a few simple words that changed my life forever. One simple push message that sounded the custom chime of my Fully Dateable app.

Roman Dyle is now married to Bonnie Berol.

Married. Not engaged. Married. It had to be a mistake. My trembling fingers skittered across the screen, attempting to swipe the logo, my logo, our logo, from left to right. That’s when I reached over with my coffee hand to steady the phone so I could get leverage. It sent both the coffee and the phone tumbling to the ground.

But not before the application opened. And for a split second, there is was. A smiling Bonnie holding up a rock diamond shimmering like a fist full of sparklers. Roman must have taken the photo. He used that stupid filter he loves so much that makes everything look underdeveloped.

I would later find out that of the tens of thousands of flirty updates posted in the entire history of Fully Dateable since Roman founded it in college, with code that I wrote from scratch and never got any credit for, that post received the most “up votes”.

Ironic, because an hour before he posted it, an hour before Roman Dyle proposed to and shotgun married a girl he only met two months ago; I was under him.

* * *

Roman Dyle’s soft brown hair bobbed back and forth in the golden rays of the San Francisco sun as I accepted his friend request between my alabaster thighs.

What he lacked in a delicate nature as a lover, he made up with in charisma. He always knew exactly when to look into my eyes, making me feel like I was the only girl in the world. Like I was his.

We’d done this since college. I was a senior and he was a freshman. He knew a couple of friends that went to his high school who’d received venture capital funding for internet start ups. Ever the competitive spitfire, he wanted the same, only more. He wanted more than what his friends got because he had a better idea. He would do for dating websites what Facebook did for social networks. He was going to be the King of the Internet.

The one problem: he didn’t have the first clue how to do it.

And so, there I was. Always a sucker for his charm. Late nights led to soft touches on the arm. Soft touches let to warm kisses. Warm kisses led to slick, sweaty sex. Sex I never dreamed I’d have. Being so focused on my work, this was the perfect release. I could finally fuck my work.

My work pinched my nipple as I began to edge toward climax. Reflexively looking around the room I noticed a small box on top of his cell phone. I thought his sister’s birthday was last week? I bet it’s the ear rings she liked. The ones with big turquoise stones.

“I’m ready…” he grunted.

Turquoise was the last color I saw as we came together.

After cleaning up, he got dressed quicker than normal.

“Hey Brie, I gotta run some errands. Just let yourself out. Are you going to be by the office later? We need to talk about the IPO.”

“Where else would I be?” I said, playfully. “I think I am going to head right there right after I get some coffee.”

“Sweet. See you later, pretty,” he kissed me on the lips with that perfect level of passion he always knew how to give. Just long enough to mean more than anyone else. Of course, he was the only one. Or at least the only one who mattered. The only one I’d ever really given myself to sexually.

I always knew about the other girls. But he was a force of nature. A charisma supernova. We never stopped. And after they were gone, I’d still be there.

The door closed as I picked my black cotton thong panties from the floor.

* * *

I picked up my phone and hit the home button.

On instinct I hit my email app and scanned the subject lines. I’m in shock. I can’t believe he married her. This is going too far. Me and him are done. That’s it. I won’t be the other woman this time. I’m not just his toy.

I was right.

There it was, the subject line read “The IPO” from Roman Dyle. The only words in the body of the text:

You are out of the IPO and out of the company. I never wanted it to be like this. Sorry. :(

You bastard.

And so it begins...

Why am I here? Seriously? This is completely stupid. This otherworldly beauty sees me crying at the gym. I certainly didn’t look my best. All that was written on the card she slipped into my hand was ‘2550 Mission Street’ inside a diamond shaped logo. So why am I here again?

I’m a successful tech professional. Loyal right-hand ‘man’ to Roman Dyle, Business Month’s tech entrepreneur of the decade. So why is he worth billions and I’m not worth a dog’s squat in the park? So many questions.

Mega fuckwad: Roman Dyle. What a piece of shit he turned out to be. I did all the dirty work since our college days. The last day at our home was the worst. First he ran over my dog. I loved Chewie. But he ran over him like he enjoyed it. His smirky ‘apology’ sent me over the edge, I know, but it was a long time coming.

First, I smashed three of the plate glass windows overlooking the canyon with his autographed baseball bat collection. Then I set fire to the Sleep Number Bed. Next I took the fake Andy Warhol ‘artwork’ of Roman in different parti colored panels and added it to the burning bed, along with his five cell phones, his collection of Gucci watches and the Shawn White autographed snowboard from the Olympics. The last one hurt and was done in a fit of passionate rage. I would fuck Shawn White in a second if I a stood a chance with an athlete of his ilk.

That wiped the smirk off Roman’s face. “Bitch! Cunt! Whore!”

Bitch and cunt I’ll admit to, but whore? Really Roman? All I ever did was work 24/7 for your fucked-up company. And when we did have sex, it was always at the office of FullyDateable.com. Ha! We never even went on dates for christ’s sake!

If anyone is a whore it’s Roman Dyle, man whore. He fucked every intern and tech assistant in the office. Didn’t matter if they were beautiful, average, fat, athletic; redheads, blondes, brunettes and one bald tattooed chick. Tall, short, asian, brown, black, fake bake orange, Roman didn’t give a flying fuck. Wait, he often fucked while he was flying, so I take that back. Hope his new WIFE can put up with that shit.

The next blow came when I went to my lawyer and found that after the break up with Roman, (break up? Who am I kidding, I was D.U.M.P.E.D.) and the dismissal from FullyDateable.com, I was only entitled to a severance package. Severance? I should be worth the GDP of a small country! I’m gonna need a plan B, that’s for sure. And revenge. Sweet sweet revenge.

So this is my story. The tell all from the FullyDateable.com years will be out in due time. My lawyer is working on getting me an advance, he said there are publishers drooling at the thought of Roman, ‘mutthafucka’ Dyle’s foibles, escapades and indescretions available in book form, (digital and audio books to follow.) He’s got a really great ghost writer lined up and I’ve got the goods, baby.

Plan C has been in the works for a bit. Cupcakes are the trend, and I bake a mean mean cupcake. Chocolate on Chocolate, Vanilla-Raspberry Swirl, Lemon Verbena Absinthe, and Devil’s Food to Die For. Those are everyone’s favorites. I used to bake to let off steam when I wasn’t losing my soul slaving on behalf of Roman. Fuck him, I’m going to be a Cupcake Queen once I have the money to open my bakery, and closet author in the meantime. Get it? MEAN TIME? I crack myself up…

I’ve been doing some serious crying and soul searching, lately. More crying really. That’s when Amazon Goddess found me and handed me this card. I have a weird feeling it’s about to change my life.

So here we go, through the rabbit hole…

The Diamond Club

As I stepped through the nondescript door of the Diamond Club, my eyes were slow to adjust to the dim lighting. The low beat of house music was pulsing through the place. The bar was in front of me and I needed to sit down and get my bearings.

I sat on the stool and immediately regretted choosing this dress, while modest in the front, it had a plunging back and the hemline just about exposed my entire lady business. Daring red, I was one of the few colorfully dressed people here. I stood out like a sore thumb.

I ordered a Mai Tai cocktail and had to tell the bartender how to make it. I always had to tell the bartenders how to make a Mai Tai. Sorry, I’m not into fashionable, hipster drinks like a ‘Coconutappletini’ or a ‘Fuckedinthebathroomsink’ Made with ‘TrendyBoozeoftheWeek’.

OMG! To my left was none other than ShawnMotherfuckingWhite. I sipped my drink and peeked at him again. Wrong. Damn, not him, but still really uber sexy. He had the same long red locks hanging down his back, an easy smile and then he winked at me. Oh Snap! Did I just pee my panties? Um…no, I forgot I wasn’t wearing panties, and that moisture wasn’t pee.

Just then Glamazon from The Gym walks up and puts her hand on my shoulder. “So glad to see you here, dearie. You will not regret it.” My jaw dropped. She was fucking gorgeous up close. Flawless skin, glossy hair and a body to die for. She wasn’t real, no fucking way. I’m dreaming.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself at The Gym, I’m Dia Monde, and you are?” She purred.

“Brianna. Brianna Young.” I stammered. I took another gulp of my drink. I’m waaaaay out of my league here. What have I gotten myself into?

“Ah yes, I knew I recognized you. You’re Roman Dyle’s Main Squeeze?” She capitalized all of that.

“Um….not any more. I basically burned all of my bridges there.”

Dia sighed, “I kind of thought so, you looked rather pensive this morning.”

Yeah, pensive, that’s what I would call full on/soul wrenching/wailing while curled in a fetal ball. I can’t seem to get a read on my new bestie Dia.

Dia saw me take another sly glance at Faux-White. “Do you know who he is?” Dia asked. I shook my head in the negative. “Sergio Bryant, another of the ubiquitous angel investors around SF, you might want to chat him up. Shall I introduce you?”

Before I could decline, Dia had started the introductions. “…Brianna here practically ran FullyDateable.com… No, she’s not with Dyle any longer…” I saw Sergio whisper something to Dia, and then “Oh dear, no, it’s her first time here!” And then she laughed the most delightful laugh and walked away. I was left staring into Sergio’s incredibly deep blue eyes.

Sergio leaned over and whispered into my ear “Oh my god, you are the most beautiful woman here.” I felt his breath stir the hairs on my neck. Then it happened, my brain popped. I saw stars for half a moment and decided. There is no way I’m leaving here without fucking this man silly.

Next thing I knew he had me out on the dance floor. His cock was already hard and pressing into my thighs. I boldly leaned into him so he could feel my erect nipples on his chest, then I whispered into his ear, ”Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

Next thing I knew he was leading me to the men’s room. What the hell, I’d never seen the inside of one before.

He pulled up the hem of my dress and found me slick and ready. I decided to tease him a bit. “Angel Investor, huh?”

“What?” he moaned and pressed his cock against me.

“Angel investor…that’s what you do.” I quipped and dripped.

“Yes”. He drew a condom over his engorged penis.

“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to fuck me, we’re both going to love it” I declared boldly.

“Mmmmmmmhmmmmmm” was all he could manage as he tried to flip me over while gnawing on my earlobe. (How did he know I loved that? Must focus…)

“Shawn”, (whoops!) “I mean Sergio, promise me you’ll work with me to get back at Roman and you can fuck me whenever, where ever whichever way you want.”

Sergios eyes lit up. Next thing I knew, I was getting Seriously Fucked from behind and it felt sooo good. But I wanted more and there was something Roman would never do, as he was a whacked out germaphobe. He wouldn’t do anal. Suddenly, I did a quick little maneuver and Sergio’s member was buried balls deep in my ass. I came so hard I almost broke the sink. Sergio grunted something vulgar and foul in another language as he shot his wad into my anal canal.

As Sergio left the men’s room, he shot back at me with a playful smile, ”Welcome to The Diamond Club”. I knew right then that my dreams of sexual and professional revenge for everything I had endured at the hands of Roman Dyle would be realized. Sergio kept his word and helped me get back at Roman in small, insidious ways that made Dyle’s life hell. I found out later from Dia that Sergio hated Roman’s guts and loved the fact that he was my first Diamond Club conquest. Did I say first? That means there must be more than one. Why yes… there was more than just the one, many, many, many, many more…