To control? An odd toast, since he’s been trying to get me to give up my control since we met. Then I realize what he means.
His control, as evidenced by the clamps and chain binding me to his will. Just his gaze sends jolts through both my nipples. He hasn’t touched the chain, and already I’m bending to his desires.
“To control,” I echo and take a sip of the champagne. It’s crisp and dry and elegant, and the bubbles effervesce against my tongue and seem to explode as they crawl down my throat.
It’s wonderful.
The room is already full of guests. Braden doesn’t attempt to speak to anyone, and soon I see why. People seek him out, come to him, schmooze him. He doesn’t have to do the schmoozing.
Peter Reardon and Garrett Ramirez sit a few tables away from us. Has Braden broken the news that their firm won’t get his big contract? I have no idea. Peter catches my eye, and I smile. He looks away quickly.
Braden chivalrously introduces me to everyone who speaks to him. I’m in a haze of surreality until I realize I should be listening and taking note. If I’m going to be an influencer, I need all of Braden’s bigwig contacts.
“George,” Braden says, “meet my girlfriend, Skye Manning.”
An older man holds out his hand to me. I know nothing except that his name is George.
“A pleasure, Ms. Manning,” George says.
“Please, call me Skye.”
He nods and continues his conversation with Braden. I listen, but soon the words become a jumble in my mind. The din of conversation hangs around me, almost visible. Men in tuxes abound, and fashion for women ranges from conservative long-sleeve maxi dresses to skimpy cocktail numbers much like my own.
Is anyone else wearing nipple clamps? I find myself staring at women’s chests and wondering. I force myself to stop.
“Tell me about yourself, Skye.”
I jerk. Who’s speaking?
George is making eye contact with me. Who is George again? Braden must have mentioned who he is and what he does.
“I’m a photographer,” I say.
“Interesting. What kind of photography?”
“Mostly social media at the moment, but my dream is to photograph for National Geographic someday.”
“Interesting,” he says again. Clearly, he’s not interested at all. He returns to his conversation with Braden.
And it dawns on me.
I’m arm candy.
Arm candy wearing nipple clamps.
I take another sip of champagne and look around the room once more. Would anyone notice if I wasn’t here? A few men glance my way, but no one will dare approach me with Braden at my side. Not that I want them to, but I’m isolated.
I touch Braden’s arm gently. “Excuse me for a moment.”
He nods.
I leave our table and walk around the room. At one edge of the space, silent-auction items are set up. I skim over them and take some photos. May as well do an Instagram post. This is my job now. Then I take a selfie.
At the Boston Opera Guild Gala! #operaguild #formalball #supportthearts
I can’t think of any other hashtags, so I post. After all, this isn’t a paid post. Almost immediately I get a query.
Love your lips! What color are you using?
I reply instantly.
Night on the Town lip stain by Susanne. Perfect for an elegant evening!
I walk back through the room and notice Peter and Garrett again. Since they’re the only people in the room I know, I amble to their table.
“Hi, Peter. Hi, Garrett,” I say.
They both stand.
“Skye.” Peter looks around, his eyes twitching a bit. “Nice to see you.”
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No.”
“How’s Tessa?” Garrett asks.
“She’s good.”
“Great,” he says.
“You should go,” Peter says.
“Why?”
“Because Black is shooting daggers at us.”
I look toward the front table. Braden is indeed watching. I smile.
He doesn’t.
Peter sits down. “Nice to see you, Skye. Bye.”
“Seriously?” I say.
Garrett sits down as well. “Just the way it goes. Tell Tessa I say hi.”
“Have you called her?”
“Well…no. Not given the…you know. Circumstances.”
“What circumstances are those? Oh, for God’s sake. Never mind.”
I roll my eyes and make my way back to Braden’s table. He excuses himself from the crowd around him and takes me aside, walking me swiftly out of the ballroom and to a secluded hallway.
“What was that?”
“I was talking to Peter and Garrett. They’re the only two people here I know.”
“You know a lot of people. I’ve introduced you to everyone I’ve talked to.”
I hold back a huff. “That doesn’t mean I know them.”
“You know them as well as you know Peter Reardon.”
“Not really. Peter and I have danced. We’ve had a drink.”
He grips my shoulder, not hard but in a way that makes me know he’s serious. “For God’s sake, Skye. Are you trying to drive me to distraction?”
I wiggle against his hold. “I’m trying to have a good time here.”
“Being with me isn’t a good time?”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I just—”
He grabs the chain beneath my silky dress and yanks.