Three Guilty Pleasures (Blindfold Club 6)

“Wow,” he said. “Your place is nice.”

“Thanks. You want something to drink? Come on back to the kitchen, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

As I led the way, I stifled a chuckle. I hadn’t meant for it to sound sexual, but it came out that way.

He followed me into the tiny room, stepping onto the black and white penny tile, and he was so big, he made the cramped kitchen feel even smaller.

“Beer, if you have it,” he said.

I did. I’d bought it on my way home from the studio. I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, passing it to him. There were faint lines in the corner of his eyes, hinting he was tired.

I grabbed a beer for myself. “Long day?”

“Is it that obvious?” He twisted off the cap and drank. “At my job, some days are more of a challenge than others, and today was one of those days.”

I attempted to twist off the top of my beer, but he set his down, took the bottle from my hands, and did it for me, passing it back. I nodded my ‘thanks’ and leaned against the butcher block counter.

“Why was it a challenge?”

His expression was suddenly guarded. He didn’t want to tell me? He sighed, just enough that I saw the subtle slump of his shoulders. “One of my responsibilities is planning the segments we do. The show runner hasn’t been happy with anything I’ve brought him.” He followed my lead and leaned against the counter opposite me. Since the kitchen was so tight, there wasn’t much space between us, and I liked that. I hadn’t had a man in my apartment in ages, and yet it was instantly comfortable that he was here.

“What’s wrong with your stuff?”

His tone was frustrated. “It’s not exclusive, or it’s too depressing, or it’s not hard hitting enough. He told me I need to bring him something big, or . . .” As he trailed off, he tore his gaze away from mine and took a long drink.

Ultra-competitive Grant didn’t like losing, and it was obvious how hard this was for him. It was surprising he shared it at all, and I was touched.

When his gaze returned to me, he forced enthusiasm. “You don’t happen to know about any big scandals I could use, do you?”

My heart launched into my throat, and it sped faster the longer he stared at me.

Three years at the blindfold club had made me a treasure trove of scandals. I knew which conservative politicians were cheating on their wives, which celebrities were dirty freaks like me. I knew several guys in the Chicago police department who looked the other way about how the club operated.

A few of them I knew intimately.

Now it was my turn to look away. I liked what I did, but the people I worked with? They were family, and I wouldn’t sell them out for anything.

As the tense silence hung between us, my stomach became a jar full of fluttering butterflies. I was supposed to tell Grant what I did for a living. I’d had trepidation before, worried he’d bail on performing during the audition, or worse . . . that he’d judge me.

But now, how the hell could I explain I let people fuck me for money? If I gave him even a hint of the illegal club, I didn’t trust him enough to leave it alone. I had little to gain from telling him, and everything to lose. I was so screwed.

I hated lying, but I’d had to do it a few times since I’d begun taking clients, and had no choice but to do it again now.

“Uh . . .” I said finally, needing to fill the silence. “No. No scandals.” God, I couldn’t have sounded less convincing if I’d tried. I had to deflect. “What do you want on your pizza?”

Was I imagining his disappointed look? It was only a flicker and then gone. “Anything, as long as it’s not fruit.”

“Extra pineapple, got it,” I deadpanned.

He shuddered, and I grinned widely, relieved I’d been able to successfully move him to a new focus. I pulled my phone from my pocket and ordered the pizza from an app.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, his gaze lingering over my barely-there top.

I shrugged. “I’m used to it.” I’d spent so much of my life in skimpy dance costumes and cold theaters, I no longer noticed if the air was chilly on my skin. And if I were cold right now, it was a small price to pay for the way he was looking at me. His expression was barely concealed desire.

I gestured to the doorway that opened to the living area, and he nodded.

“Remind me what you do again?” When we crossed back into the main room, his focus turned to the bookcase. “Sales?”