Page 22 of Fragile Twisted Vows

I want to ask what Damien owns, what his main line of work is, slyly of course. I can’t just blatantly ask what types of drugs he traffics or if he’s the lead member of a Mexican cartel. I just want to snoop around a bit, but I know how much Damien hates snooping. Clearly. That’s why I’m in this position. So instead I ask, “Where are we going?”

“We have an appointment with Gabriella,” he says as he taps a finger on the steering wheel and leans back casually in his seat.

“Which is?” I ask.

“My girlfriend,” he responds.

Of course this man isn’t single. He’s a Greek god. Not like I would stand a chance anyway. I’m wearing jeans two sizes too big and there’s rips all over them. Not to mention, I’m supposed to marry his boss.

“Why are we going to see your girlfriend?” I ask, feeling like a child on a road trip.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem annoyed.

“She’s a hairstylist. Damien wanted us to meet with her first,” he says with a small smile.

Ah, that’s right. The rat’s nest on my head.

Such an asshole.

I let silence pass in the car, but I grow impatient. My head hurts and I want a cup of coffee, but I’m not sure if asking for that is on the table. Actually, I don’t know what is on the table. I just know I’m not allowed to talk back or escape. Basic conditions of any prisoner.

“So, how long have you worked for Damien?” I ask as I rub my sweaty palms over my denim clad thighs.

My question doesn’t seem to bother him. It seems to amuse him.

“A while,” he says and I nod as I chew on the inside of my cheek.

“Do you work all day and night?” I ask, remembering the time he took me from the bar last night.

“Not always. Sometimes I have some free time,” he says as he weaves in and out through traffic.

“And you spend that how?” I ask, picking his brain.

He shrugs then as he turns at the next light.

“By taking my woman to dinner and then fucking her after,” he says simply and I gasp as my face heats.

This makes him bark out a laugh.

“Oh, don’t be a prude, Lucy. You work at a sex club,” he teases and my face heats even more.

“I bartend at a sex club,” I clarify as he slows the vehicle along several store fronts.

“Same difference,” he says, and I shake my head as I look out of the tinted window.

“Not really. I’ve never even seen any of the rooms,” I say as we stop in front of Linclair Salon, one of the most luxurious spots in NYC.

Every celebrity stylist has rented this space out for their clients. It’s widely known and also incredibly expensive.

“Of course,” I sigh as Bruno hops out to open my door for me.

“Something wrong?” he asks as I step onto the sidewalk and stare at the gold and glass storefront.

“Nope,” I say as I walk to the doors.

He opens them for me and we are immediately greeted by a tall, slim and smiling brunette with golden eyes and beautiful makeup.

“You must be Lucille,” she says as she grabs my hands and greets me.

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