Page 123 of Beauty
“It doesn’t make sense,” she muses. “She was invited by a girlfriend, and she was pretty apprehensive about going.”
“Wouldn’t you be apprehensive about showing up at a sex club your ex owns?”
Hannah winces. “Uh, yeah. Talk about awkward. Shit. What are you going to do?”
“What I didn’t do that night. I’m going to speak up. I’m going to make sure she knows that he’s not her only option. Hell, I’ll beg. I’ll get down on my knees if I have to?—”
With a pump of her fist, Hannah hoots. “Yeah, you will.”
I pin her with a glare, but it does nothing to curb her excitement.
“What? I can’t let a good sex pun go unused.”
I rub at the back of my neck. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary. I can’t lose her again.”
THIRTY-NINE
SIENNA
Before I’ve even seenthe place, I consider turning around and going home.
But as I step into the lobby of the Londoner, I keep my head high and my shoulders back. I’m Sienna Fucking Langfield. Not the Sienna Langfield who used to blush when men would flirt, and not the Sienna Langfield whose life was recently in shambles. Tonight, dressed in a curve-hugging black dress and a pair of red-bottomed stilettos, I’m the Sienna Langfield who lived in Paris for five years. The woman who had sex in public in the Bahamas with a man I barely knew. The woman others would kill to take the place of. The woman men would kill to have on their arm.
With that mantra playing in my mind, I stride across the marble floor like I belong.
Inside, I’m a big ball of nerves, seriously freaked out about what I might be in for.
I spot Cat immediately. Her long dark hair is pulled back and twisted up into a braided bun. Her black leather pants are tight and her bustier top is practically see-through. Her lips arepainted a deep red and curled up in a wicked grin as she wiggles her fingers in greeting.
“You are the hardest woman to nail down,” she teases.
“Once again, your ability to make any phrase sexual astounds me.”
She leans in and kisses my left cheek, then my right. “Please, you are so not my type.”
“Rude.”
She loops her arm through mine and guides me toward a host stand at one end of the lobby. The blond man stationed there is dressed in an expensive black suit and wearing an earpiece. Behind him, crushed velvet curtains flank a lacquered black door.
As we approach, the man nods once. “Mrs. B.”
“Evening, Lars. I’ve got a guest tonight. Put her under Ms. P.”
I side-eye my friend. What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger shit?
She only smirks at me.
The man taps at the iPad on the host stand, and the machine beside it lights up. It beeps quietly, then pushes out a black and gold card.
He hands it to her, and after she’s taken it, she surveys me, tapping it against her lips. “This is your play card.”
“My play card?” I parrot.
With a smirk, she leads me toward the curtains. Though before she pushes through, she tips the card in my direction. “Men aren’t allowed to approach women here. We hold all the cards. Literally.” She grins. “So if you see someone you’re interested in, hand them the card. If they want to play, they’ll accept, and off you go to the room designated for that card.”
My insides war, half intrigued and half terrified. Though when I consider just how many people have probably used those rooms?—
She glares at me as if she can read my thoughts. “Don’t judge.”
