Enthrall Read online

I gave a wave of thanks, assuming she’d have plenty of people to choose from amongst her kinky circle of friends. Grieving for those diamonds that never were, I made it halfway down the hall. Richard’s voice rose from behind his closed office door.

  Cameron’s voice rose over his. “Because I know what you need and you need this.”

  Glancing both ways, I checked to see the hallway was empty and neared his door.

  “Back off, Cameron,” it was Richard’s voice.

  “Let’s talk,” said Cameron.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I want her gone.”

  “Keep your voice down,” snapped Cameron.

  I cringed, hating to hear such tension between two people who were meant to be friends, and feeling for the poor person they were talking about.

  “Don’t make any decisions until we’ve had a session, understand?” said Cameron.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Richard slammed a cabinet drawer. “Did you even read her resume? She has no experience. She’s at risk here.”

  “Protect her. That’s what you do best,” Cameron’s tone sounded soothing.

  “For fuck sake,” said Richard. “She doesn’t even know what Venus balls are.”

  I jolted back.

  WIPING TEARS AWAY, I tried to work out if I’d be able to drive.

  Richard had fired me. Although nicely and with two week’s pay, after reassuring me this generous offer came as an apology for their error in hiring an inappropriate candidate.

  I cursed my ineptitude for not Googling sex toys before. Those pesky Venus love balls had given away my lack of knowledge. Anyway, didn’t Google record everything you searched for, holding it back and waiting until you married a governor before they revealed the documented proof to the world? Why yes, you are a kinky bitch and your husband’s run for the presidency is now dashed because of your twisted fuckery.

  More tears fell. My inability to impress my boss had lost me my job. I shoved my Mini Cooper into reverse and backed out—

  After jolting forward, there came an awful grinding of metal and my foot slammed on the brake. I spun around to see an open topped silver sports car stuck to the back of my Mini.

  Oh no...

  My moan filled the space around me. I pulled forward, heart racing. It threatened to burst out of my chest and render me unconscious.

  I buried my face in my hands. “Grrrr.”

  I climbed out, psyching myself up to face the other driver and what damage I’d done to their car. Brave their wrath.

  Oh shit.

  Cameron Cole swept his hand over the large dent in his front side door. He tilted his head when he saw me, his expression lacking any anger, which I found strange considering his car was the most amazing thing on wheels I’d ever seen.

  A wave of panic hit me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it.”

  He narrowed his gaze as he took in the back of my car. Unable to stop my tears, my aching chest threatened to burst wide open and I sucked in a sob.

  “Are you hurt?” he said.

  “No. Are you?”

  “Of course not,” he said calmly. “Are you insured?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then.” He shrugged. “Though don’t be surprised if your insurance broker cries too when you tell him you hit a Porsche Spyder.”

  Although I had no idea what kind of car that might be, his vehicle looked even more expensive close up. I broke my gaze from it as though the car might spring to life and chastise me. With a trembling hand I reached into my bag and felt for my wallet.

  “This really has been a horrible day for you,” he said, “hasn’t it?”

  I looked up at him.

  “Richard told me.” Cameron neared the back of my Mini to examine the damage. “You’ll need a new bumper.” He peered around toward the front. “Is your oil leaking?”

  Unable to wipe the tears away fast enough, I started to shake.

  “You can’t be in shock,” he said. “It’s a bump. The body shop will knock that out in less than an hour.”

  “I could have killed you.”

  “I’m sure your insurance would have covered that too.”

  That was bad enough, but my mind spiraled and I wailed with the thought it could have been a woman with children.

  “Where do you live?” he said.

  “Studio City.”

  “You can’t drive in this state. Let me take you home.”

  “No.” I shot my hand up.

  “Well at least let me buy you some tea to calm your nerves.” He pointed to the Coffee Bean across the street.

  He hopped inside his Porsche and parked it beside mine. My Mini looked tiny next to his car. Although I insisted this wasn’t necessary, secretly needing to get home and cry in private, Cameron wouldn’t take no for an answer. Within minutes he’d led me across the sidewalk and opened the door to the cafe for me. He ordered two Earl Greys and found us a table by the window.

  Mistress Scarlet warned me to stay out of Cameron’s way, or as she’d put it, off his radar, and yet here he was being nice. I wondered why she’d given the warning. I braced myself for when he’d realize what I’d done to his car. Maybe he was in shock too. More than likely a chastisement was brewing as well as the tea. There was no question I deserved it.

  “Better?” said Cameron, his face full of concern.

  I bit my lip; my way of bringing this punishment on quicker. I hated the tension of waiting for it.

  “Please don’t bite your lip.” He let out a long sigh. “It’s distracting.”

  Caressing the ache out of my lip with a fingertip, I wondered what he meant. Cameron broke my gaze and shook his head, amused by something.

  It was hard to pull my stare away from him. His features were striking, and from the looks the other customers gave us they thought so too. Cameron gave a kind smile as though aware of all this attention and not in the least bit thrown.

  The taste and aroma of the Early Grey soothed. I wondered why I’d never tried it before.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “You’re very hirable.” He dipped his teabag a final time before resting it on his upturned lid.

  “I meant about your car.”

  “It’s only a car. What happened with Richard?”

  “I spell checked that letter twice,” I said. “I really did.”

  “Did Richard fire you over a misspelling?”

  “Yes. The letter was for a senior client. Apparently they’re particular about that.” I gave a shrug. “Who knew the British spell differently.”

  “Richard made you type a letter to an English client using English spelling?”

  “Yes. But he’s British, not English.”

  Cameron narrowed his stare. “Same thing, Mia.”

  I frowned at him.

  “If you’re British you could come from Wales, Scotland, Ireland or England. If you’re English, you come from England. Kind of a fun fact. Not that anyone cares. No one can understand what they’re saying half the time anyway.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip.

  “What’s it like?”

  “Cold.” He smiled. “Though they have striking architecture and a fascinating history.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry Richard is such a Mr. Grumpy pants.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, tears flowing again.

  Cameron reached for a napkin. “Sorry. It’s a bit scratchy.” He stared at me under long, black lashes. “Here.”

  I took it from him and dapped my face, scrunching it up and holding onto it in case I couldn’t suppress these tears.

  Cameron handed me another napkin. “I want you to know that I talked with Richard.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He feels heroic about you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Richard’s not sure you’re quite ready to work at Enthrall.”

  “I so wanted to make it work. T
here’s no other job that pays as much.” There, I’d admitted why I took the job, kind of.

  “Minimum wage sucks.”

  “And I need the benefits,” I said. “All the other places I applied for didn’t pay benefits until you’d been there for at least three months.”

  “Corporate America.” He twisted his mouth. “It can be pretty tough on the middle class and verging on cruel to the lower.”

  Cameron probably watched a little too much CNN, by the sound of things.

  “Are you a member of Enthrall?” I said.

  “Not exactly a member.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist.”

  “A doctor?”

  “They generally are, yes.”

  “Oh.”

  His gaze settled on my mouth. “Please don’t go and clam up on me. I’ve not finished analyzing you.”

  I must have looked horrified.

  “I’m kidding,” he said.

  I wondered what Cameron had been doing at Enthrall if he wasn’t a client. From the way he’d argued with Richard they seemed close. My tea tasted nice and it made me realize Cameron knew a thing about calming people.

  “Did you study medicine at UCLA?” I said.

  “Harvard.”

  It was too late to pull back on impressed.

  “That’s where I met Richard,” he said.

  “What did he study?”

  “I’ll let him tell you that.” He sat back. “He’s very private.”

  “If I worked in a sex club so would I be.”

  “I thought you wanted your job back? Enthrall isn’t a sex club.”

  “Don’t people have sex there?”

  “That would be illegal.”

  I squinted at him, wondering if he’d dodged the truth.

  “So you’re from Charlotte?” he said, and on my reaction added. “Lotte told me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your family there?”

  “I have some cousins and a few other relatives.”

  “So everyone else is here?”

  “Um, my dad died in a motorcycle accident. My mom died a few years before.” I rested my hand on my chest to let him know I was fine with it all. “My step-mom’s here.”

  “That’s pretty rough.”

  “Not really. There are people worse off.”

  “Like who?”

  “Those people dying in the Sudan.”

  He broke my gaze, his frown deepening.

  “This is delicious.” I took another sip. “Thank you.”

  His attention drifted to a customer at the register who argued with one of the young baristas about his wrong order. Cameron glowered at him and when the man caught it he shut up, took his drink, and left.

  I blinked at Cameron, marveling at his ability to intimidate with merely a look.

  “Where were we?” he said.

  “Do you think Richard’s still angry with me?”

  “No.”

  A Chihuahua barked at us from the other side of the window. His owner threw us an apologetic wave and tried to get the mutt under control. Cameron chuckled and shared an amused smirk with me.

  “Where do you live?” I said.

  “Venice Beach.” He shrugged. “For now. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the place but it’s pretty loud at night.”

  “I have a friend who surfs in Venice.”

  “It’s great for surfing.” He peered out of the window at the dog. “I take a board out there in the mornings.”

  Cameron reminded me of Richard in a way. They both shared an unwavering confidence. Something they’d picked up at Harvard, no doubt. Though Richard did seem more guarded. I wondered how long they’d been friends. They’d certainly look striking out together. Women-magnets for sure. You’d have to be pretty confident to approach these two with romance in mind. Anyway, they seemed more the hunting and trapping of perfect female specimens kind, and would very likely get anyone they set their sights on. They’d probably mastered the one-night-stand thing, leaving a bunch of heartbroken lovers behind them.

  Maybe that was why Scarlet had told me to stay away from him? She feared I’d start crushing on this unobtainable sex god.

  As if.

  “Please talk to Richard again,” I said. “I have to stay employed. It’s life or death.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” He gave a nod. “I’ll tell you what, write the most amazing letter to Richard. I’ll get you in the room with him tomorrow evening.” He pointed a finger at me. “Write something compelling.”

  “I can do that,” I said, knowing full well I couldn’t.

  “Let’s meet back at Enthrall tomorrow at six. I’ll stay in the room with you and cheer you on.” Cameron smiled. “Let’s see if we can get you your job back.”

  I let out a long sigh of relief that hope had returned.

  Cameron glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting Richard for tennis in an hour. I’ll loosen him up for you.”

  “Thank you so much.” My tears fell again.

  “No tears tomorrow. You need to be confident.”

  “Confident,” I said. “I can do that.”

  He squeezed my hand. “You’ll do great. I can feel it.”

  Through the window I watched him head off back across the street and realized I’d not given Cameron my insurance information. I’d have to give it to him tomorrow.

  With my cup of Earl Grey in hand, I made my way along the crosswalk and took another look at my car. I would need a new bumper.- Cameron had been right about that. Mulling over whether I’d had my fair share of bad luck, I hoped Cameron might persuade Richard to give me my job back. He certainly seemed to think he could convince him. After what I’d done to his car, he’d shown exceptional kindness. Though after what Mistress Scarlet had told me about him I was still wary.

  Traffic south made the ride home to Studio City grueling, though it gave me more time to think. This job was worth fighting for. If I was going to stand any chance of convincing Richard, I’d need help with that letter. Instead of going home I headed to Bailey’s apartment, which was only ten minutes away from mine.

  She answered the door in her silk P.J.s.

  “Sorry to visit unannounced,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She bounced back into her living room.

  What with me balancing two jobs and now starting a new one, and her nursing shifts at UCLA, we’d hardly seen each other lately. Bailey didn’t seem fazed by it. She was all flowing long titian hair, big white smile and easy breezy attitude.

  I followed her into her two-bedroom apartment with its spacious living room decorated warmly with Pier One furniture, and a few pieces of Z-Gallery thrown in care of Tara. Out those double doors, straight ahead, led to an enormous balcony which overlooked a large pool. No one ever seemed to swim in it, which seemed strange. I’d be in that pool every day if I lived here. There certainly were benefits to sharing the rent.

  Up against the hallway wall leading to the bedroom rested Tara’s faded mermaid surfboard. Bailey’s birthday was coming up and I’d hoped to buy a board for her. Though my financial future looked shaky again.

  “Want one?” said Bailey, holding up a bottle of Chardonnay.

  I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter. “Sure.”

  “I’m celebrating,” she said.”Tara isn’t going to Australia now. She told me this morning.”

  “Yay.” I waved my hands in a cheer.

  “I know right.” Bailey glugged wine into a fresh glass.

  “Is she enjoying nursing school?”

  “Loves it.” She handed me the drink. “Stay here on the sofa tonight.”

  My lumpy bed certainly wouldn’t be missed.

  “How’s your mom doing?” she asked.

  “Better.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “She lost her hair yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “She’s always been particular about--”

  “Her looks.
I know. She’s coping okay. I chatted with her last night on the phone and she seemed fine.”

  Over the last couple of weeks, color had returned to Lorraine’s cheeks and she gotten some of her energy back. I’d managed to wrangle time off work to sit with her during her chemo, hold her hand, and even read to her when she’d stopped throwing up long enough. Lorraine was obsessed with all things celebrity and took great pleasure from watching TMZ. She couldn’t understand my lack of enthusiasm for wanting to watch B-actors walking in and out of airports, filmed on shaky cameras, and rarely saying anything interesting. Still, it made her happy and took her mind off the beeping machines and endless rounds of meds. If anyone could survive this, she could.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Bailey, shaking me from my daydreaming.

  “Good. Where’s Tara?”

  “The gym.”

  That’s right, this place also sported its own gym. Again I reflected how bad I had it in my studio. Still, it was home and I’d managed to decorate it with odd items I’d found at thrift stores. My carved brass headboard being an amazing find. Even if it did squeak each time I rolled over.

  “I don’t think I’ll stay,” I said.

  “Sure you don’t want a girl’s night?”

  “Wouldn’t Tara mind?”

  “Of course not. How’s the new job?”

  “Great.”

  “Seriously?” She threw me a knowing look and led me back into the living room.

  We plopped down on her golden chenille couch.

  I ran my hand over the fabric, coveting this piece of furniture as always. “I got fired.”

  “What?”

  I set the glass down on the coffee table. “I made a mistake on a letter. A typo—”

  “Oh Mia, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

  “I’m only the secretary, Bailey.”

  “Still.”

  “Tara worked there.”

  “Not anymore.”

  I gave her a look. “It’s not all bad. Cameron, a friend of my boss’s, told me to write a letter to express why I believe I’m a great fit. I’m going to literally beg for my position back tomorrow evening.”

  “Well that’s hopeful,” she said. “Want help with the letter?”

  “American’s Top Artist is on tonight. Don’t want to ruin your evening.”

  “I’ll record it.” She jumped up and went for her remote.