Kink Club owner, Zachary Coles would openly tell you commitment and monogamy are for fools and hedonism was the only game he subscribed too.
That was until he agreed to help out his long-time friend, Max Jenson and offer his son, Ellis a summer job...
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☼ Sasha ☼
"Would you like to try on the shoes?" asked the sales assistant in a sickly sweet voice, her smile as fake as those nails which could easily take out an eye.
I was in a boutique on Rodeo Drive. I loved to shop—who didn't? But this place was way too pretentious for me. The moment I walked in, the staff stared at me as if I were about to infect their perfect little world with my mere presence. Maybe it was my yoga pants and vest; clearly, 'athleisure' wasn't part of their vocabulary.
Each one of them stood like statues—or maybe they just had sticks wedged up their asses. Either way, I wasn't too fond of their perceived superiority. Offering assistance almost killed them, and the blonde one who finally did acknowledge me had a voice as frigid as the air conditioning.
"No, thank you," I replied, my tone flat. "I don't like them."
"They're Prada!" she screeched as if I'd personally offended her.
Rolling my eyes, I ignored her shocked face and turned to the full-length mirror reflecting the long silver dress I was wearing. It was Chanel, of course-supremely classy and outrageously sexy. I would reluctantly agree that Helena had good taste. I gave myself another appraising shimmy in the mirror before checking the time, again.
I'd been here for half an hour. She was late.
Huffing loudly, I reminded myself of one of my life rules: make an effort not to hate anyone. Life was too short to waste that much energy on anything or anyone. But Helena, (my mother and trust me I used the term loosely), was testing the durability of that rule.
My phone pinged.
Ah, the woman herself. The message read: Sorry Darling, something came up. I will call later. Ciao.
Was she kidding me?
That was it.
I was done playing this game where everyone apart from me knew the rules. It was answers I needed and if my father was keeping tight-lipped and Helena was a no-show, then I would head over to Jarrod's home and force him to talk even if that meant putting him in a choke-hold, I wasn't leaving until I got some answers.
Shoving my feet into my sneakers, I picked up my pile of clothes and bag and headed out of the changing rooms.
"Miss..." said Miss Snooty hot on my tail. "You need..."
I flipped around with my hair almost whipping her in the face and arching an eyebrow dismissively I asked. "Has the dress been paid for?"
"Yes, but—"
"But nothing. It's mine. And unless you want to wrestle me out of it and lose a nail or maybe a finger or two in the process, then I'm leaving with the dress on."
Her cheeks flushed pink and she drew herself up, clearly indignant. "This is a high-end establishment. We have policies—"
I cut her off, my voice practically frosty. "Your policies don't override the fact that this dress belongs to me now. If you have a problem with that, take it up with someone who cares. Otherwise, I'm leaving."
