Page 17 of Tempting Kat
“That's it.”
“And he's paying six figures for that privilege?” I can't keep the disbelief from my voice.
“Some men find the forbidden nature of seeing what they shouldn't to be incredibly arousing.” Vivian shrugs one elegant shoulder. “It doesn't violate any of your stated limits. I knew you'd be perfect for this.”
The elevator doors slide open to reveal a dimly lit hallway with plush carpeting that muffles our footsteps. I follow Vivian, mulling over what she's just told me.
“So I just…hang out? In shorts and a t-shirt? While some rich dude stares?”
“Precisely.”
“And that's worth a hundred grand to him?”
“More, actually.” Vivian glances back at me with a knowing smirk. “Much more.”
I fall silent, thinking it over. It sounds too good to be true—a ridiculous amount of money for basically doing nothing.
“Fuck it,” I shrug. “Okay. This will be one hell of a story to tell Frankie.”
Vivian's steps falter slightly at the mention of my sister's name. She sighs, a hint of genuine emotion cracking through her perfect facade.
“I miss her. She was one of my best girls.”
“Yeah, well, she hit the jackpot with Alexander,” I say, feeling a twist of something—not quite jealousy, but close—in my stomach.
“She earned it,” Vivian says simply. “Perhaps you will too.”
We reach the end of the hallway where a single door waits, unmarked except for a small brass number 7. Vivian waves her bracelet in front of another discreet panel, and the door unlocks with a soft click.
“After you,” she says, gesturing me into the room where I guess we’ll let our freak flags fly.
I step into the room, and my jaw nearly hits the fucking floor. Holy shit. This isn't just some sleazy back room with a hole cut in drywall—this is luxury. The space glows with soft amber lighting that makes everything look warm and inviting, like I've stepped into some fantasy suite.
“Damn,” I breathe, turning in a slow circle.
The walls are covered in rich burgundy silk, and the floor is black marble with gold veins running through it. But it's the furniture that makes my eyes widen—or rather, the single piece of furniture dominating the room. It's a chaise lounge that looks like it belongs in a museum, upholstered in deep crimson velvet that practically begs to be touched.
And at the end of the chaise, where your legs would normally rest, there's a circular opening in the wall. Not some crude, splintery hole, but a perfectly round portal trimmed withintricate gold filigree that curls and twists like frozen flames. The craftsmanship is ridiculous—this isn't some DIY gloryhole; it's a fucking work of art.
“This is where you'll be positioned,” Vivian explains, gesturing to the chaise. “Your lower half will go through the opening. Mr. Gallo will be on the other side, observing.”
“Just observing?” I can't help asking again, running my fingers over the velvet. It's so soft it almost feels wet.
“Just observing,” Vivian confirms with a slight smile. “Though I should mention he's paid for the privilege of speaking to you as well. There's an intercom system.”
She points to a small gold button near the head of the chaise. “Press this if you wish to communicate. Release it when you're done.”
“Like a drive-thru speaker,” I snort. “Want fries with that ass?”
Vivian doesn't laugh. Instead, she reaches into her tiny purse and pulls out a slender silver bracelet. “This is for you.”
I take it, examining the delicate chain. There's a small charm hanging from it—what looks like a sapphire encased in silver filigree.
“It's beautiful, but...”
“It's not just decorative.” Vivian takes it back and fastens it around my wrist. “Press the stone firmly if you need assistance. It's a panic button. Security will be here in under thirty seconds.”
I blink at her. “Is that necessary?”
