Sparks

Chapter 8

Eight

Approaching the glass frontage of Elite Encounters, my mask was once again firmly in place. It had only been a short hop on the tube, and I spent my time surfing the net. The first thing I researched was Richard Mullane. I'd meant to last night, but I'd been so horny that had flown right out of the window. If James was going to ask me any more questions about him, I wanted to be prepared.

Searching through Google images, I finally found a picture of the man. I winced and then groaned out loud, making the old lady next to me shuffle up a couple of inches. It was a plus - she smelled of stale cigarettes and mothballs. What wasn't so good was the fact that Richard Mullane was about thirty years old and had platinum blond hair. Clearly they started young in advertising. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. So, James Leverett knew I had been lying all along. How did I miss that? He'd given absolutely nothing away, and that tended to indicate the man was as skilled at subterfuge as I was, which meant I was in lots of trouble. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Mullane's face blurred in front of me as I considered my next move. Turn around and go home or brazen it out. I rubbed my forehead as I considered my predicament. So, he knew I was a liar. So what? I bet half of his clients told far bigger lies than I did. Well, a quarter at least. They weren't going to advertise the fact they were kinky, were they? He was probably used to it, which is why he didn't even bat an eyelid. I was just a number. Get a grip, I told myself. Switching my phone off, I tossed it in my satchel and tried not to think about the afternoon ahead.

When I entered Elite Encounters, I was frozen to the bone, even though the ambient temperature outside was close to eighteen degrees Celsius. It must have been my blood pressure plummeting through the floor as the revolving door sucked me in and spat me out. I staggered a couple of steps towards the receptionist, and I swear the twenty-year-old brunette looked at me as if I was drunk.

"Are you okay?" Her eyes looked me up and down, and obviously I was not one of the usual clients that frequented James's sessions. She, on the other hand, was all poised elegance, wearing a fitted navy Chanel suit and high-heeled pumps, accompanied by bright pink fingernails. I immediately felt inferior, and I was wearing red lipstick.

"I'm fine," I said with a weak smile. "It's my first time and I'm a bit nervous." It wasn't a lie. I pushed my black leather satchel over my shoulder and smoothed out some non-existent wrinkles in my skin-tight jeans, wondering what I was supposed to do next.

She smiled at me kindly. "I'm sure it won't be your last. James is very good at what he does." The smile I tried to give her in return nearly cracked my lips. I refrained from telling her that I wouldn't be coming back to sample James's many talents again, however.

"Umm, do I go straight through, or should I wait here for James?" My voice wobbled slightly, and I swallowed.

"You can follow me. I'll show you to the playroom and leave you to strip. There are some coat hooks, and you'll find a chair to the left of the door where you can leave your things. James will expect you to be kneeling on the floor with your arms folded behind your back when he enters."

"Right." Another swallow.

"My name's Annalise, by the way," she said.

I couldn't help but wonder if that was her real name, but I smiled at her back and followed the sharp click of her heels. We moved quickly down a long corridor, and there were large wooden doors to the left and right of me. They were numbered with brass letters, but there was nothing else to indicate their use. I had to go all the way down to the end of the corridor before my room came into view. Number ten. So that meant that ten sessions could be going on at the same time. I wondered if I'd be able to hear anyone else screaming, before dismissing the random thought.