Page 144 of Pandora's Pleasure
“You’re a trained submissive?”
“Of course.” She glanced at my necklace. “You too, right?”
“Meet me tomorrow at the Emissary Café at four. Do you know it?”
“On 21stStreet?”
“That’s it. We’ll talk more there.”
“I didn’t want to do it. This place is everything to me. But Galante told me he’d ruin my life. I’ve seen him do it to so many people.”
“We’ll get you away from him. Hang in there, okay?”
“He’s dangerous,” she whispered. “I think he’s going to sabotage the election.”
A chill slithered up my spine. “How?”
“Later. I have to go.”
She ran from the room.
My chest tightened. The voting booths would open in five days. What did Galante have on Senator Godman? Had Phoebe overheard a threat?
I hurried out of the spa, and found Damien waiting for me at the end of the hallway.
“Everything all right?” he asked. “I was close to coming in there.”
“Just freshening up,” I said calmly. “Can we go home?”
“We can do anything you like, sweetheart. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Every moment,” I said wistfully, taking his arm.
He glanced at his watch. “Tamer’s coming back at midnight. We can sit by the pool until he’s here.”
“I know it’s your last time here.” Cutting it short felt unfair, but still.
“I have you now. You’re as good as it gets.”
I nudged his shoulder playfully. “We don’t need this place to get kinky.”
“We certainly don’t.”
With a brave face, I walked beside him out to a garden with a sparkling pool. Guests were scattered about enjoying the evening air, as well as the steady flow of free drinks being served by the masked staff—a few of which were scantily-clad.
It was too soon to tell Damien what I knew. His involvement would put him and his family at greater risk.
Handling this myself was the only way.
I sat in Damien’s BMW watching the café door.
It was overwhelming to think the election might hinge on the actions of the two of us. Senator Gregor Godman was an arrogant man, but he was also capable of doing so much good. He had the ability to help so many people in so many ways. People are complicated and Damien’s father was a testament to that fact.
If Phoebe realized I was a Bardot, she’d be able to bribe me. I’d kept my mask on the entire time at Vanguard and I felt certain she hadn’t guessed my true identity. Meeting with her now was reckless—even though I was wearing my Charleston flapper, bobbed wig disguise.
Damien had once accused me of being self-centered and having no influence on the world. Here, now, I had my chance to prove him wrong.
My phone buzzed with a text. I cringed at his timing.
