He couldn't remember the last time he had patronized an establishment like this. The thumping beat of the music, the flashing lights, the naked women. He would have much preferred the quiet of his penthouse. The only redeeming feature of the place was the quality of the scotch he was sipping.
The woman currently gyrating on center stage in nothing but a g-string held no interest for him, so he began to scan the rest of the room from his corner booth. The other patrons were mostly wealthy businessmen with their eyes glued to the stage; the occasional woman in their company looking completely bored.
The room was decorated all in black and white, from the chandeliers to the carpet. Large mirrors in elaborate black frames graced the walls instead of windows. Even the large cages around the outside of the room were wrought iron. In each cage a young woman in either black or white, moved to the pulsing music. One of the girls in a cage across the room caught his eye. She had her eyes closed as if she was trying to forget where she was. Her movements were inherently graceful rather than lewd. Her long chestnut curls were pulled up on top of her head in a ponytail that left tendrils curling against her sweaty neck. He had the sudden desire to find out what that bit of skin would feel like under his lips.
The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only external sign of his self chastisement. That was most definitely not what he was here for. The police chief had requested his help with a case, and the deal they had struck was simply too good to turn down. Not only would the police chief owe him a favor, but he was also being given the opportunity to spy on his most hated adversary.
Taking another sip of his scotch, he allowed his gaze to roam over the girl in the cage. She really was quite lovely, underneath the hideous black outfit she was wearing. The short tight skirt and cropped halter top left very little to the imagination. Pity, as he had a very fertile imagination. Still there was something about her that he was drawn to. After acknowledging this fact to himself, his mind began sifting through possibilities and options. He had almost come to a decision when a voice interrupted him.
"See something you like?" the man standing at his arm questioned. It was the manager who went by the last name of Glass. Slightly ironic that he was managing an establishment called "The Mirror Room."
"Perhaps," was all he said before raising his glass to his lips again.
"I could arrange a meeting in a more private location," Glass offered.
"Very well," he responded before throwing back the last of his drink and getting to his feet. Grabbing his gold handled cane he followed behind the manager with unusual agility for a man with a limp. He was lead to a white hallway that ran perpendicular to the stage and was lined with several black doors down one side. Glass stopped in front of a door about half way down and opened it to reveal a small room that remained true to the establishment's decor.
With his distinctive step, he moved past Glass and over the threshold. Without another word the door was closed behind him. Towards one end of the room was a single black, cane-backed chair. Instead of taking a seat, he moved to lean in the corner next to the door.
Not two minutes later the door opened and the girl he had been watching stumbled in as if she had been pushed. The door slammed shut again just as she managed to find her balance. He could see her hands tighten into fists as her head whipped from side to side. She finally spotted him and moved to put the chair between them. Her defensive posture was definitely not what he was expecting and he found himself intrigued further.
Her eyes widened as he took a step towards her, so he stopped, wondering if he was going to have to race her for the door. Instead of running he could see her square her shoulders and take a deep breath.
"I think there has been a mistake," she said quickly on the exhale of breath.
"Oh?" he queried with an arched brow.
"Yes, I'm not ... I'm not..." she trailed off unable to finish the sentence. Suddenly her air of innocence made sense to him.
"You're not a centre stage girl," he finished for her.
"Exactly," she replied. Thinking she had gotten her point across she smiled at him and moved towards the door.
"I think you are exactly what I'm looking for," he said stopping her dead in her tracks.
"What? N-no," she stuttered taking a step back as he took a step forward. They continued their odd dance until her back met the wall and she could go no further. He continued to close the space between them, but it wasn't until his cane landed next to her booted foot that he realized how petite she was. He was by no means a large man, but even with her heels he still looked down into her eyes. Placing a hand on the wall on the other side of her, he moved his mouth to her ear.
"I only wish to talk with you for a moment, but I assume that there are cameras filming these rooms. Nod for me if you can verify that." So far it seemed she was in no danger; he wasn't actually touching her, merely leaning into her to whisper in her ear. She cautiously nodded her head, her cheek brushing against his. At this range she could smell his cologne and something tightened in her tummy as she breathed in hard through her nose.
"Good girl," he praised. "Now, something tells me that you are not working here by choice." Again she nodded.
"I may be able to help you, if you were willing to share some information with me," he said. He ducked his head in front of her so that she could speak without the cameras picking up what she was saying. He closed his eyes trying not to stare down the deep v of her top. This only increased his awareness of his other senses. He could feel her short puffs of breath against his cheek as she fought the adrenaline in her system. He could smell the shampoo she used, but could detect no scent of perfume.
"What kind of information?" she asked quietly, bringing her hands up to his shoulders. He smiled thinking she was a smart lass. He brought his mouth up to her other ear as he twirled one of her curls around the fingers of his free hand.
"That's not something I can explain here, but if you trust me, my car is waiting outside. We can talk there. If you decide to help me, wonderful, if not I'll have you driven home."
"I can't just walk out," she protested against his shoulder as his hand skimmed down her side to settle on the material covering her hip. He could feel the warmth of her skin against his palm and the slight dampness her exertions in the cage had left behind.
"With your permission, I think I can give the cameras a good reason for you to come with me," he whispered to her. After a long pause, he felt her nod against his cheek again, and it was his turn to let out the breath he had been holding. Leaning a little away from her, he looked down to find her staring at his tie.
"Look at me love," he entreated as he gave her hip an encouraging squeeze. Her chin came up slowly until she met his gaze. He gave her a small smile as he lowered his head once more, but this time his lips brushed against hers rather than the shell of her ear. He waited for a moment while softly brushing his lips across hers, but she seemed unable to act her part; in fact she remained frozen with her hands resting passively on his shoulders.
He hadn't intended to push the kiss further, but whoever was watching this would need more than her chaste response. Moving his hand to the small of her back and then up towards her shoulder blades, he curved her into his body. Her gasp, as they came into contact from shoulder to hip, allowed his tongue entrance into her mouth. He slanted his head to the side for a better angle and then explored her until he felt her hands tangle in his hair.
Breaking for air, he could feel her breasts press against his chest with every panting breath she took. She felt his hand move from her bare back, then his knuckles caressing her jaw. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her with a gentle smile on his face. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and then she was being escorted out the door with his hand on the small of her back.
She was too dazed to listen to the conversation between the man and Sidney, but she watched a large sum of money change hands. It wasn't until she was sliding across the back seat of a black Lincoln town car, that she realized what she had witnessed. The man sliding into the seat beside her had just purchased her. What on earth had she been thinking? She didn't even know his name! She pressed herself against the opposite door as far away from him as she could get.
As if understanding her thoughts, or perhaps reading her body language, the man pressed a button and lowered the screen between them and the driver.
"Take us around the park for right now, Edwards," he instructed before turning to her, but leaving the screen lowered. Not that this was necessarily a guarantee of her safety, but she could feel herself relax slightly. "Now then, I think introductions are in order. My name is Robert Gold, and you are?" he queried offering his hand.
"Belle French," she replied slipping her hand into his.
"I apologize if anything I did made you uncomfortable Miss French," he told her before releasing her hand and resting both of his on the handle of his cane. She couldn't meet his eyes when she spoke.
"I'm not who you think I am."
"I think you are a young lady who got herself into some sort of trouble and is doing the best she can to get out of it," he stated simply causing her to meet his eyes.
"Not me," she almost whispered, "my father. He owes the owner of the club a lot of money. I'm still not sure how that happened. He won't tell me. They hurt him when he couldn't pay it back, and then they came after me. They said they wouldn't kill him if I agreed to work off the debt in the club." She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, a part of her wondering why she was spilling her worst secrets to a complete stranger. "I told them I wouldn't take my clothes off; that I wouldn't do what the other girls do for extra money. Sidney said I could work the cages until I changed my mind. He said I would change my mind eventually." She glanced up to see something dark flash briefly in Mr. Gold's eyes before he turned to look out the window. She looked towards the driver of the car hoping he hadn't heard her sordid confession.
"Perhaps I can be of some help to you Miss French," Mr. Gold said bringing her attention back to him. "I am very interested in who owns The Mirror Room, and certain activities pertaining to the club. I think you may be in a position to provide me with the information I need."
"But I've never met the owner of the club," Belle protested.
"I see," Mr. Gold said with a furrowing of his eye brows. Belle gradually relaxed back against the leather of the seat. The man sitting next to her seemed deep in thought, and she took the opportunity to study him. He was slim, but not slight, and was probably at least six inches taller than her five foot two. He was dressed impeccably in a custom tailored charcoal grey suit with a dark blue shirt and silver tie. Both hands were clasped over the head of his cane, one thumb absently stroking the gold handle. His hair was longer than most business men, but the brown locks suited him; the grey at his temples adding to his distinguished air.
Not wanting to be caught staring, Belle turned to look out the window at the darkened view of the city park. She was sure that, although Mr. Gold had given her a reprieve from the purgatory she currently found herself in, she would be right back in her cage tomorrow night. The sudden image of Mr. Gold paying Glass for her company tonight flashed across her mind's eye causing her to gasp. The soft noise roused Mr. Gold from his contemplations to look over at her.
"How can I go back?" she asked looking fearful.
"Go back?" he questioned, not understanding her train of thought.
"You bought me," was all she could manage to get out around the nausea she was suddenly feeling.
"Ah, I have put you in a bit of an untenable position Ms. French," he murmured in understanding. It was unusual for him not to consider the consequences of every action he took, but he had been so driven to get her out of that club, he had merely chosen the most expedient method. The exact reason behind that drive was something he would have to examine later, when the girl wasn't sitting next to him looking close to tears. Although he was sorry he had upset her, he was not sorry that she found herself in her current position; she would now be more likely to accept his proposal.
"I may have a solution to both our problems, Ms French" he said quietly. When she looked at him expectantly he continued, "I think it's time I took a mistress."