Dark Intentions - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,1

lead, the conversation that we have is supposed to be genuine.

We're supposed to make a real connection on this level that is beyond superficial. Because in reality, it's not about their job or what they look like necessarily.

It's more about the spark that you feel when you're in their presence.

Someone bumps into me and I spill my drink on the floor.

"Sorry about that.”

“Fine,” I mumble. I’m annoyed that I now have to scramble to clean this up before someone slips.

But then a waitress in a short, black straight leg suit comes over with a rag and escorts us to a nearby empty couch.

“Please don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” she says.

“The waiters here aren't dressed exactly very sexy, are they?" I say, sitting down across from this new stranger.

He leans back in his seat and looks me up and down very careful.

“That's the point, I guess,” he says. “For all of us to pay attention to each other, rather than them. They're the distraction.”

“And what are we?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little bit nervous at the intensity of his gaze.

“We're the main attraction,” he says without missing a beat.

I take a sip of the new martini that the waitress brings and wait for this man to look away. But he doesn't. His gaze is laser-focused on me.

Suddenly, a little spark wakes up within me, a little spark that I didn't even know I had.

“What brings you here?” I ask.

“No, no, no. That's one of the rules, remember?” He shakes his head from side to side.

Cassandra’s soothing robotic voice comes back to me as I sat in her glass office going over the contract.

"You are forbidden to talk about what brought you here,” she said. “You are forbidden to talk about anything tragic or disturbing, and you are encouraged to make up a fantasy of who you are based on who you want to be. If you project an image of your ideal self, then you will become your ideal self.”

2

Jacqueline

"Okay, so tell me something about you," I say.

"Something true?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. I like this vibe. It’s nothing like that other guy’s.

I nod. This might be part of a game or it might not be. I don't know. "I fly around the world. I never spend more than a week in one place. I run an international company with clients everywhere."

"What kind of company?"

"I underwrite high-risk loans.”

“You can’t do it online?”

“Nope, I have to do it the old-fashioned way. Meet in person, evaluate the head of the company, decide whether financing will be possible."

"That sounds impressive.” I nod.

"Your turn.” He points to me and then there's that intense look again.

"I'd rather not," I say. “I don't think this is working out.”

I can't be this person, I say to myself. I don't know what I'm doing here at The Redemption? Who names a club that anyway?

What kind of redemption?

Besides, I don’t need redemption. I need revenge.

I make my way past small clumps of people just as the music starts to heat up and the dance floor starts to fill. Someone grabs my hand. It’s him. The one whose name I don’t know, who made me spill my drink.

"Dance with me," he says. I pull away, but he tries again. "Please?"

And then as if my body is acting of its own free will, I give in. I let go, and I let him lead me to the dance floor.

The music starts to pump and his hands find my waist and then pull me close to him. We grind. There's no other way to describe it. His body is intertwined with mine. I rub against him. I'm not even a great dancer, but the music sounds like a heartbeat, and we move as one. I let him carry me away. His hands make their way down my hips and then over the small of my back again.

The next song is even more sensual and intense and when he pulls me closer, I don't want to pull away. He slides down my body, pausing briefly to worship my breasts as if they are an altar.

Sweat starts to run down my back and he grabs onto my butt, holding me tightly, telling me how much he loves my body. His is strong. The heavy weight expensive fabric of his slim-cut suit outlines each muscle. Suddenly, the quietness and the demure attitude, the standoffishness is gone.

The music slows down and he presses his lips to my earlobe. I think he's about to