“Darren, you won’t regret this!”

“I already do.” I walk past him, pausing only to say, “No more Armani.”

Outside the office, I inform Cheryl to handle the disbursement to Manny.

“Your guests, Amy and Bridget, arrived five or so minutes ago,” my manager says. “They’re up on your floor.”

I head upstairs where I find Amy Liu, a petite young woman who’s lightened her normally black hair, curled up next to JD, but no Bridget.

“She went to the restroom,” Amy explains.

Luckily, JD and Amy are so into each other, I don’t have to make a lot of small talk while I wait for Bridget. After more than ten minutes pass, I wonder aloud if Bridget’s okay. Looking over the balcony, I don’t see her anywhere.

“I’ll go check on her,” Amy offers.

JD turns to me. “So what did Manny want?”

“Money.”

JD rolls his eyes. “What a fucking loser.”

“Not everyone’s born rich.”

“Manny could have a billion dollars, he’d still be a fucking loser.”

Like Drumm. But I keep the thought to myself. JD still wants me to join him as one of the ground-floor investors of the new golf and spa resort that Eric wants to build upstate.

“He’s always been a hanger-on,” JD says. “He’s been tailing us around since we were kids, always that third wheel slowing us down. Remember that time we ditched him in West Oakland back in high school? He wet his pants. I swear, if his mom hadn’t married a Vanguard, he’d be out of here in seconds.”

“Manny just wants to be like you.”

“I always thought he wanted to be like you. Either way, it’s irritating as hell.”

I recall what Manny said about JD’s possible expansion into sex trafficking. Unlike Manny, JD respects my desire to know less rather than more.

Amy returns and tells me, “Bridget wasn’t in the restroom. I’m not sure where she is.”

I look over the balcony again at the dance floor, the dining area, and the bar. No Bridget. I make my way to the third floor, which is a smaller seating area with a few highboys. No Bridget. Where could she have gone?

Chapter 4

BRIDGET

Present

I hate it when he ties me up in asymmetric suspension because I can’t relax into the rope bondage as much. Balancing on one foot—when that foot is in chunky five-inch heels—is no fun. Plus, the sensation of being off-kilter is making it hard for me to think and plan my escape. Every time I wobble, I seem to feel the crotch rope even more against my clit, reminding me of the orgasm that I had come close to having when Darren was fondling me between the legs.

After all these years, after all that I’ve learned about him, my body still goes crazy for him. It’s like my lust is Pavlov’s dog. All Darren has to do is caress me, and I’m a wet, hot mess. Even when I’m freaked out that he might kill me!