CHAPTER TWO
Two days later, I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of Grey's club, The Red Room, in downtown Seattle, waiting for Mr. Emery-Nathan-to show up for our meeting. We'd decided only yesterday to cease with the formalities and call each other by our first names. I'm still not used to it.
As I sip my venti latte, I wonder what kind of club this is. Glancing up the length of the building, I mentally catalog the club's outward appearance. The building itself is nondescript-several stories high with ornate, turn of the century granite work, black doors, brass handles and windows that look into a large, elegant lobby. It could be anything, though I've noticed the people walking in and out are all coupled up. Through the window I can see them walk up to smooth marble receptionist desk, pause a moment, then continue up a wide, sweeping staircase.
A luxury, membership-only hotel, maybe? That's the only thing that makes sense.
Pulling out my phone, I Google Grey's name. I'd resisted in the two days since meeting him in the jail, but boredom feeds my curiosity and I bend to the temptation.
Several web pages pop up instantly and I sift through them. They're mostly news articles about his many business ventures. This guy owns controlling interest in nearly every high-tech company out there, including a startup that's working on various forms of artificial intelligence. But there's nothing about The Red Room. Online, at least, it doesn't exist.
I stand there for ten more minutes, skimming a few articles about Grey before giving up and glancing at the time. It's four forty and Nathan is ten minutes late. If he hadn't been coming directly from another meeting, I probably would have driven with him. Instead, I'd taken the bus, grabbed a latte, and walked the rest of the way.
I'm about to call him when I hear my name.
"Ana." I turn to see Nathan walking towards me down the sidewalk. He looks decadent, as always, in his fitted Armani suit and shiny black shoes. "Sorry I'm late. I've already texted Grey. Let's go in."
Swiftly, he opens the door and motions me inside. We walk up the receptionist desk and Nathan gives our names to the young woman behind it. She can't be any older than twenty, her red hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail, lips pursed.
"Mr. Emery and Miss Steele to see Mr. Grey."
She checks the screen in front of her. "Yes, Mr. Grey is expecting you." She motions to another young woman, who steps forward. "Rebecca will show you the way."
Rebecca is thin, blonde and looks like she just stepped off the red carpet. Her hair is twisted up into an elegant chignon, and she's wearing a form fitting white skirt and matching blazer. I look homeless next to her, in my simple beige skirt and pale pink blouse, my mousy brown hair brushed straight. Though I was unusually ambitious this morning and put on a hint of eyeshadow and lipstick. Both had likely melted off by now.
Rebecca leads us to the left to the elevator and we step inside. We're whisked up and deposited on the top floor. Rebecca steps out first. "This way, please."
She stops in front of a set of double-doors, knocks once, then opens one of the doors and ushers us inside. At first glance, it looks almost empty. But as Nathan and I step deeper into the room, I realize it's an office. What furnature exists is all white. Glass everywhere. The only splash of color is on the walls. Several vibrant paintings hang at even intervals, giving the room just a hint of warmth. It looks more like a museum than an office.
Grey is standing at the far end of the room, hands in his pockets, facing a window that runs the entire length of the wall-only it looks in on something, rather than outside. I'm not close enough to see what that something is.
"Thank you, Rebecca," Grey says, still facing away. "You may leave."
I catch the suggestion of a smile on Rebecca's lips before she turns and leaves the room.
When the door clicks shut, Nathan steps forward. "Grey," he says by way of greeting. "Let's get started. We have a few things to get through." He glances at his watch. "And I've got a meeting with Judge Corbin in forty minutes."
Grey turns toward us and pauses briefly, almost imperceptibly, before narrowing his eyes at me. I meet his gaze evenly, my heart thundering loudly against my ribs. He's too beautiful. I remember that now, from our first meeting. His sharp cheekbones and deep gray eyes are my kryptonite. And I know I'm staring, but he doesn't seem to notice, or care, so I don't bother looking away.
"She shouldn't be here," he growls. "I told you that over the phone."
That snaps me out of it. I blink. Is he fucking serious?
You don't belong in this world, Miss Steele. It's so fucking obvious.
My gaze slides to Nathan, who isn't looking at me. He never mentioned Grey's objections to my working on his case, and I wonder why. I wonder what Grey said about me.
Nathan shakes his head. "She's sharp." His tone is confident, matter-of-fact, every bit the lawyer. "I need her on this case. She's the only one who can handle it."
It's a lie and Nathan and I know it. There are half a dozen assistants in the office and every one of them is ten times more qualified than me. But Nathan's right. I am sharp. And despite what Grey thinks, I'm not naive.
Straightening, I pin Grey with a fuck you glare.
His eyes narrow again and a I feel a sliver of satisfaction, confident in Nathan's appraisal of me. After a long pause, Grey gestures to the meeting table. "Let's get this over with. I've got shit to do."
Grey sits first and Nathan takes a seat across from him. I slip into the chair next to Nathan, which is as far as I can get from Grey.
"It looks like they're going after attempted murder." Nathan opens his briefcase, and pulls out a mountain of papers. "We have a strong case for self defense, but considering your prior convictions, it's going to depend on our jury. Unless, of course, you want to plead. In that case, we're looking at five years."
Grey titled his head back and pushed out a breath. "It was self defense. There are half a dozen witnesses that can attest to it."
"The prosecutor on this case is a pitbull. He'll eviscerate those witnesses. If there's any reason-any reason at all-why they're not credible, he'll tear them apart. We need facts. Hard evidence that you weren't the aggressor that night."
"We have a dozen cameras inside the building. I'll have Taylor get you the security footage from that night."
"If we go to trial, you have to understand they're going to rip your life apart. They're going to search for anything that will give them an edge in court. You need to think hard about whether or not you want investigators sniffing around this place, Christian."
Grey looks away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. What the fuck is this place, I wonder? Now the curiosity is really gnawing at me. Whatever it is, it's not legal. I'm certain of that much. If it were, Grey wouldn't look so tormented.
"Let me think about it."
"Of course." Nathan pulls out a pen and a few documents and slides them across the table to Grey. "This is the attorney/client agreement. I need your signature on pages three and five."
Grey glances over the documents dispassionately, signs, then slides them back. Nathan hands them to me. "Ana, would you take these downstairs and ask one of the ladies at reception to make a copy?"
With a sharp nod, I take the papers and stand. Though I'm not looking at him, I can feel Grey's eyes on me. It's like a live wire brushing across my skin. The too familiar tingle creeps up my spine, and my cheeks flush hot.
I smooth my free hand down my skirt, then walk to the door. Just as I grasp the handle, Grey's voice reaches out to me. "Don't get lost, Miss Steele."
Without looking back, I open the door and walk out. As soon as I'm in in the hallway, standing outside the elevator, every muscle in my body un-clenches and I push out a relieved breath. Just being in Grey's presence has me on edge, hyper aware of the energy that crackles between us. Outside his office, I'm free of it. For a few minutes, at least.
On the ground floor, I walk the short distance to the reception desk, where I ask the redhead to make a copy of the signed agreement. As she ducks into a back room, I take the opportunity to look around.
Immediately to my left is a elegant staircase-the same one I'd watched countless people ascend just a half hour before. What's up there?
Quietly, I walk up the carpeted steps until I find myself on a small landing. In front of me are a set of huge mahogany doors with the words "The Red Room" etched into a discrete brass plate. Unconsciously, I step toward the doors and tug one open.
It's locked.
What? It's then that I notice the security card swipe on the right side of the door. I would need a security card to get into this room. A security card I obviously don't have. Would Grey give me one, I wonder? As much as he hates me, I'm guessing not.
I stand there for a few seconds, disappointed by my little adventure, when suddenly the door opens and a woman walks out. Quickly, I catch the door and slip inside.
When I look up, I'm standing in a large sitting area, like the lobby of a hotel. The style is lush and modern. Sleek, high-gloss marble floors juxtaposed against rich red fabrics and evoking artwork. The combination is absolutely stunning.
Lured by the artwork, I step deeper into the room.
"May I be of assistance, madam?"
A blond viking leans on the wall next to me-white button down, rolled up at the sleeves and black slacks. He's young and muscular with vibrant green eyes that pull me in instantly. He smiles, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.
"No, thank you. I'm just...exploring."
"What's your name?"
"Ana."
"Beautiful name. I'm Stefan." His smile takes on a more wicked feel. "First time at The Red Room?"
"As a matter of fact, it is."
"Well, allow me to show you around."
"No. Thank you, I actually have somewhere I need to be."
He ignores my weak protest and takes my hand, leading me down a short hallway lined with doors. Every room as a name: The Playroom, the Viewing Room, The Dungeon.
"What is this place?"
With a knowing smile, he tugs me forward and into the Viewing Room, leaving the door open. Even with the light from the hallway, it's dark inside and we're alone. It's set up like a theater with velvet gray sofas instead of individual chairs-all facing a window that looks into an adjoining room.
Curious, I step up to the window. The room beyond has three canopied beds arranged in a semicircle, surrounded by implements of every shape and variety-whips, chains, handcuffs, riding crops. The walls and linens are a deep red, and there are erotic paintings on the walls.
But what catches my eye is the woman kneeled in the center of the room. She's naked, in heels, her arms bent behind her, wrists cuffed to her ankles.
I stare at her, fascinated.
Suddenly, all the pieces come together.
This is a bondage club.
"It's a little early, most people are still at work. But come nightfall, this room will be filled with eager submissives. It our most popular room. We have two others just like it."
"What's she doing?"
Stefan laughs a little as though it should be obvious. "She's being a good sub. She's waiting for her dom to return."
I study her calm expression and her steady, even breathing. "What does being a submissive entail, exactly?"
"It depends on the dominant, but generally, it means complete and total obedience."
"So this place, these women, they all belong to Mr. Grey?"
"The men and women who live here belong to Mr. Grey. The others are members who have dominants or submissives of their own."
"So it's a brothel," I say simply. That's what Nathan must have meant earlier when he'd said Grey wouldn't want investigators snooping around.
"Yes, it's a brothel, a hotel, a bar, a danceclub. It's everything you need it to be. A place to indulge your darkest fantasies."
I look at Stefan. "And what about you? Do you work here?"
He lifts a brow. "It's hardly work when you love what you do."
I nod slowly, absorbing it all. "And Mr. Grey...is he a dominant or a submissive?"
"No idea. I've never seen him participate."
He owns a club that he doesn't enjoy? I find that hard to believe. Maybe he's just discreet about it. Though I suspect Grey is a man who doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks. He says and does what he wants.
"What about you, Ana? Do you crave control or do you crave domination?"
My gaze slides back to the woman on the floor, waiting obediently for her dom to return. What would it be like to have that level of trust in someone? What would it be like to devote oneself utterly to the pleasure of another?
Swallowing, I tear my gaze away. "I have to go."
I have no idea how long I've been gone, but both Nathan and Grey are likely wondering where I've disappeared to. I'd better get back upstairs before they come looking for me.
Stefan brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder, his gaze fixed on my mouth. "I have a better idea. Let's go next door and find out what makes you weep with pleasure."
Wow, this guy is good, and I can't help but feel a tingle of curiosity. But I'm not taking the bait. No way. I shake my head. "I'm okay with not knowing, actually."
Suddenly I feel someone behind us, watching from the doorway.
"Thank you, Stefan." The hard baritone slices through me like a knife, and it feels like all the air has been siphoned from my lungs. We both turn slowly to find Grey leaning against the doorframe, his eyes dark and...amused? A shiver trips down my spine. "I'll take it from here."
There's a split second of surprised silence before Stefan replies.
"Yes, sir," he says with one last lingering look at me. "She's all yours."