“No wonder he’s been a dick,” Kirby says, shaking his head as if this explains everything.
I want to ask more, to question him and find out what’s been going on with Hale, but whatever he tells me will only make this harder. I need to move on.
“Are you okay with everything?” I ask. “I just want to make sure we’re good.”
“Of course we are, ladybug.” He takes my hand and squeezes.
The role Kirby has filled in my life is coming to a close. We’ll always be friends, but I don’t need him; I no longer yearn for his love and approval like I once did.
I experienced the real thing with Hale. And I want to figure out what is next for me.
• • •
Late one afternoon a few days later, my intercom buzzes, and since I’m not expecting company, I’m curious about who it could be.
When I open my front door, there’s no one there, but my gaze is drawn downward. A ripe, plump peach sits atop a manila file folder. Glancing down the hall, I see there’s no one there, but I know it has to be Hale.
I pick up the fruit and bring it to my nose, then inhale. The scent is fragrant and wonderful. After picking the folder, I shuffle inside my apartment, shutting the door behind me. I set the peach down on the table and remove the stack of documents from the folder, spreading them out before me as my mind works to make sense of what I’m seeing.
There’s a handwritten note on top of the first page.
This is me.
Cameron Alexander Hale had concealed his name and identity from me, and it appears he’s now an open book. His résumé lists the name of the law firm he works at, along with where he interned and his alma mater. Next are bank statements showing a modest checking account and a sizeable savings account. His immunization records, showing that he’s up-to-date on all vaccines and gets his flu shot every year. Performance reviews from his last three years of work.
In awe, I continue leafing through the pages, wondering how much time and effort it took him to pull this all together. I stop when my fingers touch a glossy photograph of a woman. His ex-fiancée, Tara, the note says. I look down into her dark brown eyes, hating that she was the one responsible for damaging this man, making him feel the need to guard himself so completely.
Taking a deep breath, I set the photograph aside. This isn’t about her. This is about Hale wanting to share a piece of himself with me, however scary that might be for him.
There’s a tattered paperback copy of A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, which I’m guessing from the well-worn spine is one of his favorite books. I flip it open and see a few passages have been highlighted with blue marker.
“The past has no power over the present moment.”
“Only the truth of who you are, if realized, will set you free.”
Overwhelmed, I sink into the chair as the words on all the pages before me start to blur together. There’s an obituary from his hometown newspaper that speaks of his parents in the past tense. I imagine this was one of the more painful pieces of his story to include. It took courage and trust for him to leave this packet for me, just as it took courage and trust for me to submit to him.
There are pages and pages to sift through, and at the bottom, an envelope filled with cash. A note tucked inside says he’s returning the money I paid him for his services.
Unsure what to do with all of this information, I recall a whispered conversation between him and Chrissy, the woman I sold that house to.
“Is she someone you know from Crave?” Chrissy asked him.
“No, nothing like that.” He scoffed at the idea.
At the time, I was so overcome with confusion and heartache that I dismissed it. But now I’m curious what Crave is, and soon I’m Googling “Chicago + Crave” and scrolling through the search results.
I know the moment I’ve stumbled across it. Crave is an exclusive BDSM club in the heart of Chicago. I click to visit their website and find I can’t look away from my screen.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brielle
Gone is the unsure, timid girl who first met Hale in the jazz club that night. It’s not lost on me that the first time we met, he brought me so close to his club, yet kept me so far away from his life all that time.
Radiating confidence all the way from my stiletto heels to the cups of my lacy bra, I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I’ve chosen a black leather miniskirt and a silky blouse in the most beautiful color of soft peach. I feel pretty and calm.
“You look really nice tonight,” Kirby says, admiring me fondly.
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Absolutely.”
Hale has no idea I’m coming tonight. I can’t even begin to imagine what his reaction will be when he sees me. When I researched Crave online, I saw that tonight they are having a New Year’s Eve party. The club is rarely open to guests, so it seemed like a sign that I was meant to come here.
After the doorman checks our IDs and we pay a steep entry fee, Kirby and I enter a large room with chairs and sofas scattered around a fireplace, and a bar area for mingling. I’m not sure why, but I was expecting something more sinister. It’s more like a lounge with darkly sensual music, and lighting designed to make you feel hidden in shadows. There are two women playing out a scene in the wide-open play space at the room’s center.
For every exhibitionist, there’s a voyeur, I suppose. Something tells me that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what I might see tonight. Transfixed, I watch as the woman holding a burning red candle tilts it and lets a trail of wax drip onto her partner’s cleavage. I’m reminded of the scented candle and the beautiful fragrance that floated around Hale and me as he pushed me to my limits time and time again.