Taken By The Beast (The Forbidden Fun)

1

Bridget

* * *

It’s late on Friday afternoon, and I’m bouncing on my toes.

“We haven’t had a customer in hours,” Marcy, my coworker, whines with a pout. “Why does Pamela have us both here? At least one of us could be at the Summer Bacchanal right now, living it up.”

“Ugh, I know,” I say, sighing. “Seriously, I wanted to go this week so badly because who knows what they’re doing?” I giggle. “Naked games? The horizontal push-ups? But here we are, just the two of us,” I shrug.

Marcy grows even more despondent.

“Not that I don’t love you, Bridge, but seriously, you don’t compare to the hot men I could be meeting right now if we were at the party. Instead, we’re stuck here, staring at our reflections in the glass counters like a couple of morons.”

I nod. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job selling cosmetics at an Estee Lauder counter, but on this point, I absolutely agree. I smile, trying to make things better.

“Oh well. Well hopefully Pamela gets hit by a truck soon because she deserves it in my opinion. My request to have this week off was denied even though I put it in an entire year ago. She said it was important that I ‘show team spirit’ and that I ‘play by the rules.’” I wave my arms around the empty department store. “What rules? What team spirit? What people? We have no customers because it’s Friday night, and everyone’s having fun. They’re clearly not shopping for make-up because … da da dum … they already have their games faces on!”

Marcy sighs heavily again, her pretty features disappointed.

“Yeah. Think of all the wild times we could be having at this very moment. All those gorgeous, virile men. God, I just can’t get over it.”

I’m about to say something comforting when the sound of high heels clicking on tile greets my ears. My mouth snaps shut and I spin around to find Pamela mincing towards us in an 80’s style padded-shoulder blazer and pencil skirt. Her pointy nose and haughty expression make her look like Meryl Streep from that fashion movie where she tortured Anne Hathaway, her intern. Seriously. Pam’s look of distaste alone could kill.

“Hi Pam,” Marcy pipes up in a cheerful tone. “Happy Friday!”

Our manager merely sniffs.

“Look sharp, ladies. You never know when a customer will appear out of thin air,” she says before stalking away once more.

I straighten my shoulders and smile brightly, but as soon as she’s out of sight, I slump again. Again, I enjoy this job and it’s fun to play with cosmetics all day, but our manager just makes it so hard. Plus, at the moment, all I can think about is getting off work. I really want to get to Sanctum’s Summer Bacchanal, and to be honest, it’s all Marcy and I have been talking about for months. After all, it’s a once-a-year experience where Sanctum members get to enjoy themselves in the privacy of a huge estate in Long Island. We could be there right now, and yet we’re here instead. What a let down.

But the good part is that even though we’ve missed the first six days of hedonism already, there’s still tonight and then a few activities over the weekend. As a result, as soon as our shift ends, Marcy and I are going to grab an Uber and then head over. Like fanatics, my friend and I stare at the clocks on our phones, our eyeballs moving in unison. Finally, the timer hits six and our heads jerk up.

“Yay,” my friend mutters under her breath. “Come on, Bridge, let’s bust this joint.”

With that, the makeup counter is officially closed, and we practically run towards the break room before grabbing our bags. Then, I summon an Uber on my phone while Marcy uses the bathroom and within minutes, we’re ensconced in an SUV on our way to Long Island.

The scenery passes by in a blur, and to be honest, we’re too excited to talk because Sanctum’s known for its no-holds-barred parties. Both of us struggle into sexy outfits in the backseat, and then we sit practically vibrating with energy as the SUV finally pulls into a gated neighborhood. Mansions roll by, as well as huge estates that look fit for a king. Finally, however, we arrive at a long driveway before stopping in front a huge stone castle. Literally, the place looks like something from the Middle Ages with its grey turrets and stained glass windows. All they need is a drawbridge and some horses out front. But it’s time to party, and Marcy and I look at each other with excitement.

“This is it,” the driver announces.

“Perfect. Thanks much!” I wave before hopping out. Marcy merely scrambles out of the SUV without a word, and then we stand there in the circular gravel driveway. It’s dusk already, the sky a deep purple-blue, and stars can be seen twinkling dimly in the night sky.