The Parlour (VDB #1) (2 page)

“Oh, so it was you who helped me. That man, the driver, never said anything. And that woman never says anything or gives me any information and I–”

“What do you do, Lilah?” she cuts across me as she pulls out a cigarette and leans back on her chair with the look of someone who owns the world. She just has that aura about her, the type of look I’ve only ever dreamed of creating for myself. She would have been noticed at Cutlers. Every single person who ever looks at her will be in awe, I’m sure, possibly speechless. Just as I am now. She asked me a question, didn’t she? I just can’t seem to remember what it was. I’m too busy gawping at her mouth as it moves around her inhalation of smoke. “Lilah? Job?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m a... I mean, I was a legal clerk at Cutlers and Associates. Until I got fired, anyway.”

“Do you have to work hard for that figure or is it natural?”

“I used to run. It’s not natural.”
What the hell has that got to do with anything?
I must look like a bemused idiot as I brush my skirt down again to cover my too short legs and look towards the floor in slight embarrassment.

“How much money do you need?”
What?
My head comes up to look at her again. Why is she asking that sort of question? Any money would be good.

“I suppose I’d just like enough to get my own place again, or maybe get back on the corporate ladder, perhaps go home to England. I want to make something of myself. I don’t know. I could...” I don’t know what I could. I have nothing, do I? She stares at me again for a while, this time just studying my face, so much so that I look away again to escape from her cat-like eyes. She laughs the moment I do and stands up.

“Another English rose,” she mutters, moving toward the door and grabbing the handle as if she’s leaving. I’m instantly up and charging towards her. She’s the first normal person I’ve spoken to in weeks, months even.

“Please don’t leave. I’ll do whatever it is that you want me to. I’m so grateful for your help. If I can help you in any way, I will.” She stills her hand and turns back to me.

“There is nothing corporate about you, Lilah. Haven’t you realised that yet?” she snaps. I’m slightly shocked at her abrupt tone and back away a little, hanging my head. I may not have been good enough at my job, but that doesn’t mean I’m not corporate, does it? It’s what I went to uni for, and I’m damn good at research and information gathering. I was the only one who found the useful clauses and paraphrases that broke that Delaney case Stevens worked on. I shake my head at myself and slowly crawl my eyes back up her pinstriped legs towards her face.

“I’m good at what I do. They just didn’t notice me enough. I don’t know why they let me go, but it was their mistake. I’m better than they obviously thought I was.”

“Much more like it,” she says as she twists the handle again and then opens the door to walk through it. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

I follow the swing of her legs along a hall and down a few corridors until we’re met with an elevator. She pushes the button and waits for it to arrive, all the time patiently standing still as if she has all the time in the world. My legs fidget about as I wonder what to do with myself and glance around everywhere, looking for information, or even a way out.

“Do you live here?” I ask out of desperation, needing to break the silence.

“Yes.” That’s all she’s got to offer on the topic. She’s obviously not a big talker.

“It’s lovely,” I reply as I scan the cream hallway and notice all the other doors and flowers lining the route. It looks like a hotel or maybe apartment building. “Which apartment is yours?”

“The top floor.” My eyes widen at the statement as I realize how wealthy she must be, or maybe she rents it. Still, she’d have to be pretty rich to even do that. Not that I’m surprised. I can tell by her face how much she must spend on facials and makeup. She probably spends half her life in various clinics having all sorts of treatments to maintain that level of perfection.

The lift arrives so we step in and descend swiftly to floor one, still in silence. When the doors open, I’m met with a huge foyer area, which seems to match her clothes. It’s all creams and blacks, with an art deco look about it and a large sweeping staircase running off to the left and upwards.

“This is my club,” she says, crossing the marble floor and walking us toward some more doors. “It’s not open yet, and it will be good for you to see it empty. You can get a good feel for it when no one’s in the space.” She pushes them open and I see another large area that looks just like a very upmarket nightclub. There are leather booths and a small stage at the front of it. A long bar runs right down the side, with steps leading down to the dance floor. It’s the sort of place you’d imagine Ella Fitzgerald singing, with that smoky atmosphere and jazz music playing in the background.

“It’s wonderful,” I say, gazing around and imagining it at night. I’ve never been anywhere like this before. I’ve never had the sort of money to pay the fees to get in. “Is it private, members only?” She chuckles a little as she makes her way over to the bar and pours two shots of vodka. My mouth immediately drools at the thought. I can’t remember the last time I had a drink.

“I’d like you to work for me, Lilah. But first I need to ask you some questions and I’d like simple yes or no answers. Do you think you can do that?” she says as she passes me a glass and waves a hand over towards a door in the corner. I down the drink immediately and chase after her.

“Yes, of course,” I respond hurriedly as we cross over toward the door. I try to keep up with her long strides. “Anything.”

“Do remember that the exit is over there,” she says as she points back to the foyer. “You can leave if you like. You’ll go with nothing but the clothes on your back and your pride intact, though. What I’m offering now is a one-time opportunity. I won’t offer it again. I’ll want a yes or no to my last question and I’ll expect it honoured either way. If you say no, you know where the exit is.”

“Okay,” I reply, as if I have any choice.

She turns the door handle and begins to walk us along corridors lined with windows, waving at each as she passes.

“Kink, Lilah. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes.” One word answers.

“Did you know that people pay a great deal of money to get what they need?”

“Sort of. I–”

“One word, please.”

“Yes.”

“I was going to sell you, Lilah. However, I’m beginning to think you might be useful in other areas. Do you think you might be?”
No.
The halting of my feet confirms this. Sell me? Who the hell does she think she is? She turns and smiles, arching a brow back at the doorway we came through, a clear indication that we both know where the exit is, and that I should use it if I want to. But where do I have to go? Nowhere. Back out onto the streets with no money, and no hope of getting any.

“Yes.” It’s the only option I have. She starts walking again and points at a window, indicating that I should look, so I do. It’s a large, grey space, with very little in it besides a desk, a funny looking cross shaped thing on the wall, and some trunks piled in the corner.

“That’s my office,” she says. “It’s what I do. I beat men for money. I have nine other girls working here, and five men. They’re all submissives or Dominants. We tailor to our clients’ needs. Do you know of these terms?”

“Yes.” Who doesn’t?
Fifty Shades
and all that. I’m certainly not a prude, but I wasn’t really sure these sorts of places actually existed.

“I believe you are submissive, Lilah,” she says as she opens the door and slips inside, beckoning me with her hand. “Now, I have two choices. I can sell you…” My eyes widen again. “Please don’t look at me like that. We all have to make a living. Or I can train you. Of course, you do know where the door is. That’s your choice.” She picks up a pair of gloves from the table, slides them on, then holds her hands out to me. “Can you see the bloodstains on them, Lilah?”

“Yes,” I reply, backing away from Miss Fucking-Crazy. Where the hell am I?

“It’s not mine. Mr. Cromwell likes blood play. He pays me thousands of dollars to cut him, to make him bleed. There are others who would pay you a lot of money to bleed for them, although that would come much later. You might just kneel on the floor for them at first and do as they wish. Each person has a different level of kink, and it’s quite pliable to suit the recipient. It’s mostly about trust and confidence in what you are. Do you think you could do any of that?”

“No.” I may not be a prude, but this is unbelievable.

“Then you should probably leave. You’ve answered my questions, and I’m glad I could help you. Thank you for your time,” she says as she pulls the gloves off again and heads for the door. I just stand there staring after her. What the hell do I do now? I have nowhere to go, no money, nothing. At least she’s not selling me. There is that, I suppose. But surely I could help her another way – office work, documents, anything to keep a roof over my head and make a bit of money.

“Roxanne, wait, please,” I call out as my feet scuttle me out of the room and round the corner after her. She keeps striding away towards the exit and doesn’t even acknowledge me. “Please, Roxanne, I have nowhere to go. Couldn’t I help you in your office? I’m great with legals and documents. You must need help on the financial side of the business.” Business? Interesting term for such a place. I’m not even sure if this sort of thing is actually legal. “I skid to a stop beside her as she turns and points back at the room we came out of.

“That is my office, and my business, Lilah. I need someone to help me service my clients. That is all. If you’re serious about making a career for yourself and making money in the process then there is a job here for you. However, be under no illusions – I am not your friend, and I am not likely to put up with weakness or absentminded behaviour. So, answer me with a yes or no, nothing else. Do you believe you could be a submissive for me?”

What choice do I have? The streets or becoming some sort of sex toy. At least I’ll get paid. Maybe if I get some money together I can make a run for it when I’ve got a chance. Hanging my head, I look back down the corridor and wonder what it is that I’m going to have to do for her, or for other people.

“Yes,” I reply quietly, still looking at the floor and chastising the words the second they leave me. Fucking Cutlers and Associates.

“Good,” she says with a clap of her hands as she pushes the door open and heads back to the elevator. “Vixon will come for you at three, and start you on the road to looking a little more elegant than this. Listen to her, and learn from her. Also, work on keeping your head up, and stop blinking your eyes all the time. No real dominant wants a weak woman. They pay me because I offer a quality product – that being you. I expect you to work hard and always be on time,” she says, pushing the button on the wall again and handing me a key. “Go up to floor seven, apartment four. It is yours while you are here. I’ll have someone bring your things to you. Do not leave the building unaccompanied, and always be back here before 6pm. I will see you later.” With that, she turns and heads off in the other direction, leaving me with a key and nothing else but the tapping of her heels. Oh God, what have I just agreed to? Lilah James: sex slave. I snort at myself as I notice the shaking wreck of a woman in the mirror with no idea what any of that conversation was about. And who is Vixon?

The elevator arrives and takes me straight back up to floor seven, where I’m met with a beautifully decorated hallway. Long tables stretch between doorways with vases of flowers on top of them. They look like someone comes in and designs them, probably some uptown florist company that services all the hotels in the neighbourhood. A door opens in front of me and I watch another beautiful thing amble toward me. She’s about 5’10” and quite curvy, wearing a floaty black dress with no bra. She’s got long brown hair cascading down her back and looks like she’s just stepped out of the salon. She winks as she gets closer and licks her full red lips at me.

“You new, honey?” she asks as she keeps walking by. I turn to watch her incredible buttocks sashaying away. “Welcome, I’m Jewel.”

“Lilah,” I shout in reply as she gets in the lift and turns round to face me again.

“Welcome, Lilah. You’re going have a ball here. Enjoy,” she says, waving a hand as the door closes. She must be one of the others. I turn back in the direction of the doors again and eventually find room four. I slip my key in and turn the handle. I’m instantly stunned as I gaze at what’s in front of me. This apartment is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen in New York. I could fit my old apartment into the hall and kitchen alone. It’s not vast or anything stupid, but there’s a cream fitted kitchen with steps leading down to a lounge area, and as I open the other doors, I find a huge master bedroom with en suite and a walk in wardrobe, which appears to be filled with clothes. I frown at it and I turn back around to scan my new home. It’s painted in pale blues and creams with a few delicate touches of femininity here and there, but it’s mostly bare of other things, paintings etcetera. Maybe I’m supposed to go shopping for those sorts of things with my pay-check, the one I’ll get for fucking men. Oh, God. What am I doing here?

I collapse onto the cream sofa and stare out of the window to see another apartment block looking back at me. At least it’s prettier than the view from the room I was first kept in. I can even see plants hanging from the balconies on the Victorian style frontage. A woman is hanging her washing out, airing her clean knickers and laughing at something as she does. She wouldn’t be laughing if she knew what was going on in the building she’s looking at. I’m in some sort of fetish club, aren’t I? Some depraved, disgusting world of highly inappropriate content, and I’ve just agreed to try my hand at being a submissive – whatever that entails. Why? Because I’ve got no other option, nothing. I’m too clever for this shit. I should be out there again, making a name for myself in the right way, not doing this because I have no other choice. My dad would be mortified.
I’m
mortified. But as I sit here and look around my new home again, it quickly dawns on me that I could still be on the streets. I could still be fighting for my life and digging around in garbage bins, trying to find anything to eat. I could still be waking up after each snatched nap, praying to die instead of having to deal with whatever situation I’d gotten myself into now. As I watch the snow filtering through the sky, I realise how cold I could be out there if I’d taken Roxanne up on her offer to allow me to leave.