Condoned (Beauty And The Billionaire Geek Book 3) (7 page)

“What happened?”

“He betrayed me. He hired me to do a nude photo shoot which ended up being pretty twisted. I didn’t know it was him until a few days ago. I haven’t talked to him since. I just can’t go there. I can’t play his sick games again.”

“Do you still love him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to. He somehow managed to get the DA of King County to sue my creditors to get all my money back. Now I’m sitting on a butt load of cash, and I have no idea what to do.”

“It sounds like you have a lot to think about.”

“I know. I can’t give it back, so I might as well do something with it. I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to do something with my life. Something I feel really proud of.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Claire said.

I stayed with Claire for a week. Her motherly nurturing filled my soul. With the secrets I’d been keeping from her all this time out in the open, I felt light and free. I spent time at the Briar Café and bought tie dyed t-shirts and sterling silver jewelry from the shops in town. It all made me feel so young again.

Reflecting on my childhood in my hometown gave me a lot of perspective, and ideas for my future started to tumble in. A week later, I was back in Seattle making phone calls for my new plan. 

I hadn’t been playing her. Why did she think this was a game to me? I had to admit, the photo shoot had been a mistake, a serious miscalculation. I’d prided myself on not making miscalculations with people anymore.

Apparently, I was not infallible. I’d become a deviant. I had to admit that to myself. All this time, I’d assumed she’d had an abortion. I’d been using that pain to allow myself to sink deeper and deeper into my fetishes and obsessions.

I could no longer blame her if I wanted to have any chance to hold on to her. It was time to take responsibility. Even if she’d had the abortion, I was as much to blame as anyone. I’d been the one to go on without a condom. I’d been, perhaps, purposefully irresponsible, and I’d expected Zoe to bear the burden of that choice for the rest of her life.

For the next two weeks, I poured myself into work, trying not to think about Zoe. I didn’t want to face that I’d blown it with the only woman I could ever imagine loving.

I didn’t call her or leave her messages on her cell phone. On Saturday night, I snuck into her burlesque show and found she wasn’t there. After the show, I asked one of the other dancers about her. The woman told me Zoe had been sick for several weeks and hadn’t shown up for any practices or anything.

I drove by her apartment in my Porsche and parked outside for a long time, trying to get the nerve to go inside. Instead of going in, I drove away.

A week later, I had another charity event to attend for my friend Lady Diana Saville’s organization. Diana was a French countess and the heir to a great European fortune, dating back to the time of Napoleon. She had been the one to introduce me to the greatest thrills and greatest debauchery I’d experienced since amassing my fortune.

The night wore on tiresomely, and I donated $100,000 to build wells in Africa. Lady Seville was hosting a party at a club downtown and asked me to join her.

I’d been hit with desperation since Zoe left. Every attempt I’d made to win her back had failed. I’d sued her creditors to get her money back. She was rewarded over a hundred-thousand dollars within just a few days. The money was safely deposited back into her bank account, but she still wouldn’t answer my calls.

Lady Saville’s offer to feed my fetishes felt like a balm for my wounded soul. I knew I’d been at fault with Zoe, but I couldn’t do anything to make it better. I’d been entitled. I’d been a prick. I’d always put my own needs above Zoe’s, and now I was paying for it in her absence.

Everything in me wanted to sink back into my old ways and join Diana at the party. I relented and we drove together across town in her limo. We stopped at the exclusive club and walked inside together. She wore a long shimmering black gown with a bundle of black glittery tulle scarfs around her head and shoulders.

The pulse of the music inside the club vibrated through my body, making me instantly horny. The stage show was already in full effect with blue and red lights flickering over the bodies.

A tiny woman was blindfolded. Her arms were stretched high above her as she knelt on her knees. A man in front of her buried himself into her face while a man behind claimed her ass.

I slipped into a private booth to enjoy the show. Diana sat beside me while champagne was poured.

“We have a room in the back, set up just for you,” she whispered in my ear.

“Lovely.” I didn’t really want to be here. I wanted to change. To be the man Zoe deserved. But there was nothing left for me to do. I’d failed. I’d lost her.

I swigged the champagne and followed Diana to the room she’d promised. We passed nude and seminude people in various stages of open copulation. Men in leather penis holsters, woman in leather masks. We made it to the room and slipped inside. A woman was tied down to the bed, blindfolded and gagged.

“She’s for you,” Diana said cheerfully. A year ago, this would have been exactly what I’d wanted. A submissive already ready for me. All I had to do was bring her to the edge of reason with pleasure and pain. She would take everything I dished out and I wouldn’t have to talk to her afterword.

Now, it repulsed me. I didn’t want this. I’d been so resentful about losing an imaginary family that I was too young and foolish to even start, that I’d let myself get dragged down into this dark addiction. This wasn’t me.

An alarm pierced the air and people shouted. I shot out of the room to see what the commotion was. A group of about a dozen Seattle police officers followed by the press burst into the club. This was a private event, they had no right to be here.

My instinct was to assert my rights and make them leave. I approached the oncoming tide of police and barked at them to stop. The music came down to silence as people hurriedly covered their nude bodies.

“This is a private event. What is the problem here?” I said, eyeing the first officer to approach.

“We’ve had undercover reports of drug sales and prostitution, and we have a search warrant. This party is over. Everyone will be taken downtown for questioning.”

Police fanned out around the crowd, escorting the participants into the night. Camera flashes popped around me, and I realized how bad this was. I’d be all over the papers in the morning.

I was taken to the police station and questioned about my involvement. My lawyers came and got me out instantly. Most likely, it’d be the pour working girls to bear the brunt of it.

I went home alone that night. The next day, I went into work at the office to deal with some issues about how people bought advertising on the site.

The gossip from the club bust was already all over the place. David and I had a serious meeting about the implications for our business. It didn’t look good. It was all really horrible PR and not at all in keeping with the company’s public image. In the long run though, we decided it would most likely blow over.

The idea had come to me in a flash while I’d been walking down the street in Leggitville. As a kid, I’d always wished we had a dance studio in town. The closest thing we had to that was a gym that taught a few ballet classes. I’d always wanted to learn jazz and tap and hip hop and there was no place to learn those things.

When I got home I immediately drew up a business plan to open an all ages-dance studio. In the day time we’d teach hip-hop and jazz and in the evenings we’d teach burlesque. My notoriety as a burlesque dancer would bring in enough clients to fund the other classes until we got on our feet. I’d have to hire some more instructors, but with my calculations, the business would be in the black within two years.

I took my plan to a local bank and they were willing to match my financial investment with a business loan. I’d found a location on Capitol Hill near my apartment. If I kept my lifestyle modest, and I saved half the creditor reimbursement, I’d be able to make the business a success.

The day I signed the lease on the studio and started talking with contractors about the reconstruction, I picked up a local news magazine to see William Black’s face plastered all over the cover. He’d been involved in some kind of scandal with prostitutes and a French countess. Typical William. I threw the paper in the trash and tried not to think about it.

I’d picked out a hardwood floor with a high sheen for the dance studios and worked with the contractors for most of the day installing the flooring and mirrored walls. Everything was shaping up well and as twilight fell over the city, I stood alone in the studio looking over our day’s labor. Everything looked amazing.

I stepped out onto the newly installed floors and moved through a new routine I’d been working on. It was modern and emotional, using more skill than I ever had to use in the burlesque show. I channeled all my pain through the movements. Everything that had happened to me since my mother took her own life, my relationship with William, and the loss of the baby channeled through my movements.

The thought of him brought me back to myself, and I came to a dead stop in the middle of a complicated jump. I fell to my feet and slid down to sit on the floor. Curling my knees into my chest, I began to cry. I hated that I felt jealous about his stupid antics. It didn’t matter to me anymore. It couldn’t. I’d told myself for months that it was over. I never wanted to see him again.

In the middle of a quiet sob, I heard a knock at the front door of the studio. I sucked in a quavering breath and shot to my feet, wiping my eyes as I rose. I strode to the front door, squaring my shoulders, expecting a potential customer or one of the contractors from earlier that day.

When I reached the glass front door, my jaw dropped. Of all the people to wind up on my front door today, of all days, right when I was about to open my dance studio. I flung open the door and snarled.

“Hi Zoe,” I said, standing in the doorway of her new business, looking at her scowling face. I had no right to be there.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’ve probably seen the papers.”

“It didn’t take you long to move on, did it?”

“I was only there for a few minutes before the police arrived. I wanted to explain.” The last thing I wanted for her to know was that I’d been involved in clubs like that for years. But I’d have to tell her. I had to tell her everything.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Why don’t we go inside?” I said, hoping I could gather the courage to come clean about my lifestyle and about how I’d stalked her online for the last five years. Part of me didn’t want to do it, but I needed to at least get it off my chest. I needed to finally be honest with her, to give her the respect she deserved.

“Fine.”

I followed her into the studio and stood with her in front of a wall of mirrors. She crossed her arm and tapped her foot. Her strawberry blond hair was back in a braid and she wore capris cargo pants and a tank top with dust on her chest. She looked like she’d been working all day.

“I’m glad you are doing something like this with the money.”

“Believe me, keeping it was not my first thought. I called the bank and the crediting agency to give it back, but they wouldn’t refund it. Since it was my money anyway, I finally decided to keep it.”

“This looks like a nice little studio.”

“It will be. I have a solid business plan. What do you want, Billy? I’m busy. I have work to do.”

“You know how sorry I am, about everything. I never meant for you to find out about the photo shoot.”

“Life isn’t a game Billy. People have feelings. They get hurt.”

“I know. I don’t always understand it. I’m trying. I want to understand you.”

“You need help.”

“Will you help me?” I said, spreading my arms and turning up my palms in an expression of surrender. I’d been studying body language and knew how to show how I felt now.

“What if I believe you are a lost cause?” she asked.

“You don’t.”

She grunted at me and turned away, striding across the polished wood floor to stand directly in front of the mirrored wall. She gripped the dance bar and leaned to rest her forehead on the glass. I crossed the room in several long strides to place my hand on her back. She flinched and turned to face me. I was so close to her I could smell the scent of sawdust and sweat on her body and the slight floral scent of her hair.

She looked up at me defiantly, and I thought she might tell me to go. But she leaned her forehead, just inches from resting on my chest. “I should,” she whispered. “But, maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t.”

“Zoe.” I leaned in to her and cupped her face in my palms, lifting her chin so that she looked into my eyes. Her eyes glimmered with tears. She gasped and I wanted to kiss her mouth so badly I could barely contain myself. Touching her had already crossed boundaries I shouldn’t have crossed. I waited.

“Billy. I don’t think I can forgive you for what you’ve done. It was just so twisted.”