I squirt some cream cleaner into his Belfast sink. “Ok, so he likes pornography. Anything else I should know?”
“He has cases full of sex toys in his dressing room, all lined up ready to go.”
“Ready to go where?”
“It’s none of our business. I’m just telling you so they don’t shock you too much. Some of them are… yeah, you’ll see.”
I decide to chance my luck. “Harley’s Tavern,” I say. “What is it?”
She smirks. “Maybe not so much kudos for Sonnie’s big mouth after all.”
“She told me to ask you.”
“Seriously, you don’t want to be getting any ideas.”
But I’m getting plenty. Ideas of dashing into the TV room and scrolling through that browsing history, rushing upstairs and looking through all those toys. Rolling naked in his bedsheets and waiting for him to come home, and then begging him, begging him to–
“Harley’s Tavern is a venue for upmarket room hire. The kind of room hire you rent by the hour, no questions asked. He buys women and takes them there,” she says. “Fuck knows why, the guy could pick up whoever he wanted.”
It really wasn’t what I was expecting. The idea seems absurd. “He pays? For sex?!”
“Pays a lot of money for a lot of sex from what I can make of it. This isn’t any vanilla shit, either. You’ll see soon enough, just like I’ve seen. Pictures on his laptop, when it hasn’t shut down properly. His bedside drawer has… paperwork… pictures of some of these women… what they’ll do…”
“What will they do?” My eyes feel like saucers.
She sighs, then digs in the front pocket of her apron. “I gathered these up when we walked in, right before you saw them. See, this kind of shit, this careless shit, this is new. Six months max.”
She hands over some folded paperwork. I hold my breath while I open it.
Five girls. Pretty girls. Really pretty girls.
My poor heart pangs.
There’s a load of checked boxes underneath. Hard limits, the text says.
Anal. BDSM. Pain. Watersports. DP. Fisting. Multiple partners.
Jeez.
There really are skeletons in the closet. I’m tingling all over, and I shouldn’t be. I really shouldn’t be, but I can’t stop.
“He keeps the ones with fewer ticks in the boxes, just so you know.” Cindy holds out her hand. I give her the paperwork and she shoves it back into her apron.
I still absolutely can’t imagine it, Mr Henley paying for sex. I mean he’s… gorgeous. Perfect.
I tell Cindy so and she laughs, shakes her head. “He’s gorgeous, alright. Gorgeous and talented and sharp as fuck. But he’s broken, just like I said. The guy has some serious issues. His wife told me.”
“His wife told you?!”
Cindy looks really pleased with herself. “Bits and pieces. I’m only telling you so you know what you’re walking into. You signed some pretty hardcore non-disclosure shit, don’t even think about blabbing this around.”
“I wouldn’t,” I tell her, and I’m not lying.
“I’ve said enough. The rest you’ll pick up for yourself.”
She heads for the utility room and drags out a vacuum, and I feel bereft, desperate to crawl inside her mind and soak up every single thing she knows about Alexander Henley.
“You don’t seem put off any,” she comments, and I realise I’m still gawping at her.
“The guy has kinks… that’s ok.”
“The guy has more than kinks. The guy’s seriously messed up.”
Skeletons in the closet. The adrenaline is pumping, excitement fizzing, and I shouldn’t be like this. I really, really shouldn’t be. Because I’m just a silly cleaner who managed to bag a promotion, not one of these girls, I don’t know anything, I’ve never done anything.
But I want to.
I want him, if I’m being paid for it or not.
“Seriously,” Cindy says. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. I mean it’s pretty tragic, losing his kids and all that, but he’s… dark…”
“Damaged…” I repeat.
“Yeah, all fucked up.” She sighs. “Such a shame, the guy is fucking gorgeous and fucking loaded. Guess he had to have some pretty major flaws to balance all that out, right?”
I’m not interested in loaded. I’m not even interested in gorgeous right now.
I’m interested in all fucked up. Damaged and dark.
Broken.
Like me.
But I don’t pay for kinky sex in some weird pub on the outskirts of London. I don’t have a closet full of sex toys and a browsing history bad enough to come with a warning.
And those girls on the pictures are so pretty… so perfect…
And I’m so… not.
Cindy groans. “Sonnie said you wouldn’t give a shit about my warning. I guess she was right.”
I stare blankly. “What do you mean?”
She eyeballs Brutus as he comes into the room, edges around the island to keep him at safe distance. “I mean that you’re already thinking about it, how to get to Harley’s Tavern. How to be one of those girls.”
Even the thought jabs me in the ribs, because I’m not one of them. I couldn’t be one of them if I tried.
I laugh it off, but my voice sounds pained. I tell her I could never be one of them. They’re beautiful, with great hair, and perfect makeup, and manicured nails and… other bits. I feel a billion miles away from that in my crappy uniform, without so much a drop of foundation on my face.
She closes the distance and pulls the cap from my head before I can blink. She yanks my hairnet loose and tousles my hair, then tips her head and pulls a face.
“You could be one of them, if you tried.”
I shake my head, cheeks burning, and gather my hair back up. “You’re being kind.”
“I’m being honest. You could be one of them, but you’d need your head examined if you went in for that crazy shit.”
The thought pricks.
Hope.
It’s both beautiful and dangerous.
Like Alexander Henley himself.
“So what? I just rock on up at that tavern and put myself up for sale?” She laughs and I fold my arms. “What?”
I flinch as Brutus grumbles in the doorway, but he settles just fine.
“You think you just roll on up with your pussy on show and hope Alexander Henley turns up for a good time? That really isn’t how it works, honey.”
“So how does it work? Do you know?”
She grins at me, and then she tuts. “You really are batshit. Sonnie told me you would be.”
“Sonnie knows me pretty well.”
“Yeah, and I know Mr Henley pretty well for someone who’s never officially met the guy. And you will too.” She vacuums before she says anything else, being careful not to venture too near the resting Brutus. I finish up the sink, wondering, thinking. Hoping.
One day in his place and I’m already going insane. More insane.
Christ help me. Sex toys, and prostitutes and hardcore pornography. I haven’t even seen his bedroom yet and I’m tumbling in deep.
Cindy finishes up and I squeeze out my sponge.
“Sonnie says you’ll find a way to get to Harley’s Tavern whether I help you or not. She says it’s only a matter of time. That once you set foot in this place you’d be on some crazy mission. I may as well set you straight, she said.”
“Sonnie’s probably right,” I admit, holding her stare.
“Is that why you’re here? To get close to Alexander?”
Alexander.
I can’t imagine being as close to him as she has for four years, and never even exchanging a simple hello.
The thought is unbearable. The torture of being so near and still so far.