Chapter 3
The next morning, a thunderstorm shattered the heat wave that had been torturing the city all week. Lilah woke with a chill, reaching around in a groggy daze for a sheet and blanket. When her fingers brushed against soft fur, and her wrist felt the touch of a wet tongue, she smiled.
“Morning, Smoky,” she whispered, not wanting to wake her sister, even though it was almost nine. Jess worked the late shift at the store again that day.
Giving Smoky a pat, Lilah got to her feet. She’d been staring at the ceiling half the night, burning with a desire she didn’t understand for a man she’d never met. A different kind of heat clung to her skin, her thoughts, her restless fingers.
Stress. It was just stress. Lust was a lot more fun than fretting about her mother, her sister, the dog, her career. Now that it was morning she was able to take action. Waitressing wasn’t so bad. She was good at it, actually. Before the end of the weekend, she’d have something lined up, even if she had to commute out of the city. Hell, she’d love to get out of this town. With the dog, she’d have to find a new place anyway.
But then reality intruded. Jess had a job here. College too. She couldn’t just take off; her sister wouldn’t be able to afford a place by herself. She’d have to stay.
She’d figure it out. Combing her long hair with her fingers, she crept past Jess in her bed to the bathroom to get as beautiful and employable as she could. She shaved and shampooed, brushed and dried, flat-ironed and made herself up.
How many times had she done this over the past year? Trying to appeal to an unknown employer, trying not to show how desperate she was, which would make them wonder what was wrong with her and hire somebody else...
An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted her as she applied a second layer of mascara.
“Phone!” Jess called out. “Lilah? Lilah! Phone!”
Lilah pulled open the door. “All right, all right.” The serious look on Jess’s face erased her irritation. “Something about Mom?”
Shaking her head, Jess handed her the phone, mouthing “job.”
Lilah snatched the phone out of her sister’s hand. “Hello, this is Lilah Murphy.”
“Good morning, Lilah, this is Eva Nagy at Xavier Rand Incorporated.” The woman’s voice was as smooth as a radio announcer’s, rich and confident. She had a slight German accent, or was it something else? While Lilah was trying to place her nationality, the woman prompted, “Lilah?”
“Yes, I’m here.” She met Jess’s curious gaze with a shrug. “Xavier...” The name wasn’t familiar.
“Xavier Rand,” Eva said. “I’ve got your resume in front of me and—forgive me for calling on a Saturday—we’re hoping you’d be willing to consider a rare opportunity that has opened up.”
“You’ve got my resume?” Jess was giving her two thumbs-up, but Lilah was wary. “I don’t remember signing up with an agency by that name.”
“No, you wouldn’t. We don’t accept direct applicants,” Eva said. “We find talent through more private... back channels, you could say. Word of mouth. You came to our attention through your current agency, which is one of our subsidiaries. I believe you’ve just finished an eleven-week assignment at Courtland Mortgage?”
Hope stirred in Lilah’s chest. “Yes. I finished yesterday.”
“So you would be available immediately?”
“I would,” Lilah said, smiling at Jess. “But what’s the job?”
“This position might, at first glance, seem below your qualifications,” the woman said. “But I can assure you, the compensation is quite generous. And the benefits are remarkable.”
“What’s the job?” she asked again, this time with less enthusiasm. It sounded like a sales job. Cold-calling, telemarketing, something soul-crushing with empty promises. No guaranteed salary. She walked over to the window and looked out on the rain. Pouring down in sheets, it flooded the road where the limo had been, where she’d seen him.
Her heart skipped at the memory.
Him.
The dull pain in her scar came back briefly, then faded just as fast.
“Perhaps we could meet in person,” Eva said.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what kind of job it is.” Lilah rubbed her eyebrow absentmindedly.
“Of course,” Eva said, not sounding at all offended by Lilah’s tone. “That’s completely reasonable. But if you could see the site in person—”
“Tell me what the job is, and maybe I will.”
“I’m confident you’ll keep an open mind,” Eva said. “Especially when I tell you the pay is several times what you received at your last position. Plus full benefits, holidays, sick days, and all the meals at the club you would like. The chef there is world-class. Formerly of the White House.”
The words were seductive, but Lilah’s alarm bells were still ringing. “Club?”
Jess, who had come up behind her, snapped her bra strap. “Stripper,” she whispered.
“The Platinum Club,” Eva said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it? They’re looking for one or two new people to add to the waitstaff.”
“The Platinum Club?” Lilah turned to Jess, who’s openmouthed shock mirrored her own. “You mean the Platinum Club?” There was only one.
The Platinum Club was real? Every serious journalist, and even a few not-so-serious ones, had declared that this exclusive getaway for the rich and powerful didn’t exist, that it was only a rumor, an Internet fantasy. Both political parties denied membership in such a club, although the mayor and the governor, each of different parties, had been seen on the street where the club was believed to reside. As had many serious and not-so-serious journalists, movie stars, tech billionaires, baseball players, Nobel Prize winners, and astronauts.
“Yes,” Eva said. “The club is our only client. You understand now why we don’t advertise directly for staff.”
“I thought it was only for men,” Lilah said. “If it really existed.”
“It is most popular among male members, that’s true. But there are some women as well.”
“I bet,” Lilah said, imagining what those women would be doing: on a pole, on a lap, on a rich guy’s dick.
“The exclusivity of the club means there are many misconceptions that cannot be corrected without direct experience,” Eva said. “In other words, you’ll have to see it for yourself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“The waitstaff at the club work in many capacities, none of them you would be ashamed to describe to your own grandmother.”
“How can you be sure that would persuade me? My grandmother could be a hooker.”
Jess gasped and tugged at her sleeve. “What’s she saying?”
The woman’s voice maintained its mild, pleasant tone. “You would serve drinks, although I must tell you upfront that at the Platinum, there is no tipping.”
“Aha!”
“They pay you much more than the equivalent job elsewhere, just to eliminate the need. The members of the club never, ever reach for their wallets. There is no tab, no bill, no credit cards. The cost to join is quite high enough to cover a lifetime of expenses.”