My cheeks go hot. “What did you hear?”
She shrugs, watching the men in the gym. “That he brought you in because you were in trouble. That you didn’t want to go to a hospital. That you’re his type.”
“What’s his type?”
Sophia turns her green eyes on me, and for the first time since we met, I see sympathy behind the smile. “Girls who are beautiful. Girls who are young. Girls who are lost, and need someone to tell them what they want.”
I swallow hard, the smoothie suddenly a rock in my stomach. “Is that why you work here?”
She laughs, softer this time. “No. I work here because I enjoy the lifestyle, and I like being taken care of. And because the world outside is scary and huge, and we’re protected at Sanctum.”
She finishes her drink in a single gulp and stands. “C’mon. Let’s check out the dining room. I want to show you something.”
I follow, and we weave past the gym’s glass wall and into another corridor, this one lined with abstract art in primary colors. At the end is the club restaurant: a sweeping room with leather banquettes, polished brass fixtures, and a view of the city that’s better than the one from my suite. The place is empty except for two tables—one with a pair of older men in suits, deep in conversation, and another with a man in a black turtleneck, his attention fixed on a laptop. The servers are all women, dressed in black, hair perfect.
Sophia leans against the bar, her posture casual, but her eyes on the men at the table.
“Notice anything?” she whispers.
I watch for a minute. The servers move with a choreography that’s both efficient and sensual, the little touches—hand on a shoulder, a smile held half a second too long, a napkin unfolded in a lap. The men are casual, but you can feel their attention, their ownership of the women, in the air.
“The servers treat the men like kings,” I say, my voice too loud.
Sophia nods. “Exactly. And in return, the men pay well. Some of them tip more in a night than an average person makes in a month. Some of them just want to talk, or listen. Some want…” She trails off, then gives me a look. “You’re not stupid, Daisy. You know what I mean.”
I kind of do, but ask just to be sure. “So is it like dating?”
Sophia’s laugh is bright. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s nothing at all. Just company, or conversation, or someone to play with for a while.”
I don’t answer, just watch as a server bends to refill a glass, her smile soft and inviting.
Sophia bumps my shoulder. “Don’t worry. No one here will make you do anything you don’t want. You’re a guest, not staff.”
I try to smile. “What if I want to work here?”
She gives me a sidelong look. “Then you talk to Veronique, and she’ll set you up. But honestly? I don’t think you’re like the rest of us.”
“How so?”
Sophia stares at me, really stares, as if she’s trying to x-ray my soul. “You don’t want to play. You want to know the rules before you join the game.”
I look away, back at the restaurant.
There’s a tension building inside me, an itch that has nothing to do with sex or money. I want to know why I’m here, who I am, and why I feel so at home in a place built for people like Hunter.
Sophia senses the shift. She nudges my elbow, her touch light. “Ready to see the pool?”
I nod, and together we walk down another hall, past more art, more closed doors.
As we turn a corner, Sophia stops and puts a hand on my arm. “Daisy?”
I look up. She’s closer than I expect, her green eyes softer. “If you ever want to talk, for real, just ask. I mean it.”
I nod, and she lets go, leading me toward a blue-glass glow at the end of the hall.
Whatever’s coming next, I’m ready for it.
The pool isin the basement of Sanctum, past a pair of locked doors and down a staircase that curves so gently it feels like you’re descending into a secret. Blue light glows from somewhere below, staining the air in gradients of midnight and glacier. My first thought is that it smells like heaven: a tangle of eucalyptus, citrus, and something else, primal and musky.