Page 24 of Meet Me In The Dark

I open my mouth, then close it, flailing for language.

“Lilian, you just handed me an invitation to a secret sex club, and now you want to talk about floor plans?”

“Time management, Celeste. I’ve found focusing on work helps when you’re feeling overwhelmed.”

“Oh sure,” I mutter.

She finally breaks and laughs. “You’ll be fine. You’re resilient. Now I need those files by three.”

I rise slowly, take the invitation from the table, and walk out in a dazed fog.

Just another normal Wednesday.

Besides, if Farmer Jim can handle it, so can I.

Right?

Seven

The invitation said to arrive at 9 p.m. sharp.

At 8:56, I’m sitting in the back of a cab with my hands clenched so tightly around my clutch that my fingers are starting to ache.

“What the hell am I doing?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but the words slip out anyway.

“You meeting someone?” the cab driver asks.

“Uh, just an event.”

He nods as if he’s heard that before. Maybe he’s dropped people off at places like this before, watched them climb out in fancy clothes and return later looking different.

The cab pulls up to the curb. The street is eerily quiet for a Friday night, tucked between a high-end boutique and a sushi place with floor-to-ceiling windows and no customers.

“Here you go,” the driver says, and I look up at the building.

There’s no sign, no music, no flashing lights. Just a discreet black door tucked into a recessed alcovebeneath a single red bulb.

If I didn’t know exactly what I was searching for, I would have walked right past it.

I pay the fare and step out, my heels clicking on the pavement as the cab pulls away behind me.

It’s 8:58.

Two minutes.

The breeze catches my coat, and I pull it tighter, standing outside like I’m casing the place for a robbery.

Just as I approach, the light above the door blinks once. With a soft click, the lock disengages.

No knock, no buzzer, no doorman.

Just an unlocked door and a silent, eerie welcome.

I swear, if this turns out to be organ harvesting, I’m going to be so pissed.

When I step inside, the entrance resembles any upscale corporate lobby with walls the color of espresso, brushed metal trim, and a faint scent of something warm and luxurious. Sandalwood, perhaps, or amber, or whatever cologne smells like sex and money.

A woman stands behind a curved reception desk, with perfect posture, dressed in a black tailored suit and deep red lipstick.