Page 1 of Owned

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Rowan

I did not like sex clubs, not at all, and standing in front of the dark blue front door, looking at the discreet gold plaque on the brick beside the door frame, I was pretty sure that this was a sex club.

‘Arcadia’, read the gold plaque. Very discreet. As well it might be considering its clientele. I’d heard the rumors — most everyone in New York had — that Arcadia was an exclusive, members-only club providing any kind of entertainment you could imagine. Entertainment, AKA sex.

No one knew the criteria for membership — many thought it was earnings or fame — but everyone knew someone who had a friend, or a friend of a friend who’d gone there one night, and oh my god, do you know what goes on there? Like, actually??

I didn’t listen to rumors and I didn’t care about sex clubs, but I knew one thing, and that was I didn’t want to be here. Except my boss — a sleazy ass on a good day — had asked me to drop a file to him on my way home from the office, and this was the address I’d been given. So here I was with the file like a good little intern.

Of course, what I wanted to do was go straight home to the apartment I shared with my mom, kick off my not-very-high kitten heels, change into sweats, and sit in front of the TV for the next three hours.

Mom would complain about me spending too much time watching TV and not enough with her, but she could deal. This week had been hell on wheels and I desperately wanted to marinate in front of the box in a hazy fog of cheap wine and ice cream.

First though, I had to get this file to Mr Jordan. It wouldn’t take long. Five minutes tops.

Straightening my black suit jacket, I pressed the little button next to the plaque and waited.

There was a pause before the door opened soundlessly, a handsome man in a dark blue suit standing on the other side. He gave me an impersonal up and down look, then smiled politely. “Miss James, I presume?” he asked.

Mr Jordan had told me that he’d let them know I’d be coming so I could gain entry because of the whole members-only thing. I’d have preferred to hand the file to this guy so he could pass it onto my boss, but Mr Jordan was very particular about his files. Client information, privacy, don’t-let-it-out-of-your-sight etc, etc, blah blah blah.

It wasn’t my place to question him, so instead I gave Mr Handsome a polite smile in return and said, “Yes. I have something for Mr Jordan.”

The man inclined his head and gestured for me to step inside.

I did so, pausing beneath the huge crystal chandelier that hung in the high-ceilinged entrance hallway and glancing up at it. The crystal drops glittered and sparkled, casting reflections onto the thick, dark blue carpet and the crimson wallpaper.

A pretty effect. I didn’t care for the over-the-top decor, though. It felt too dark, overpowering, and a little suffocating. Like the too-strong perfumes my mother used to favor before her mental health finally collapsed and I ended up looking after her.

Not that I was looking at the decor. The club didn’t interest me, no matter how high-end it was supposed to be.

“You’ll find Mr Jordan upstairs,” the man said, gesturing to the sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors of the club.

“Thank you.” I made as if to go past him, but he held out his hand.

“Your phone, please.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Any non members who aren’t here as guests need to surrender their phones.” His smile continued to be polite. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

“But Mr Jordan?—”

“Mr Jordan is well aware of the rules, I assure you.”

There didn’t seem to be any other option than to surrender my phone, which appalled me. I needed it for Mom, because what if she had a panic attack and couldn’t reach me? She’d been doing well recently, but anything could set off a backslide, and I didn’t want that.

“I’ll only be five minutes,” I said.

The man’s smile didn’t falter, and he didn’t lower his hand. “I must insist,” he repeated.

I tried not to pull a face. “Fine.” I grabbed it from the depths of my purse and held it out to him. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He took it. “You may retrieve it from me when you’re ready to leave.”

Which would be in five minutes, and hopefully, my mother wouldn’t have a panic attack in the interim. With Mom you never knew. She was fragile at the best of times and always had been.

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