The Exposé 3
By Roxy Sloane
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Copyright © 2015 Roxy Sloane
Cover Design: British Empire Design
Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Design
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
DAX
Secrets have always been my
strong suit. They bring me power. Control.
As the owner of the most
exclusive sex club in New York City, people trust me with their
darkest confessions, their wildest fantasies. Without total secrecy,
my whole empire is at risk.
But when it comes to my personal
life, secrets are the enemy.
I
need to know what people are hiding. I need to trust them with my
life. And when someone lies to me, betrays the faith I put in them,
that person is dead to me forever.
“I’ll ask you one
more time,” I say, my voice ringing with rage.
I look at her, the one woman who
has gotten under my skin like nobody else. The woman who almost made
me lose control. But who it turns out has been lying and manipulating
me since the very first moment we met.
She looks so innocent. I came so
close to trusting her.
What kind of fool does that make
me?
“Tell
me who the hell you are,” I demand again, furious. Just moments
ago, she was coming in my mouth, moaning in ecstasy, but now—
just the sight of her is making me dangerously pissed off.
“Please,
Dax, I can explain.” The girl swallows, afraid, looking around
for escape. But there is none. It’s just the two of us alone in
my apartment. Her drink on the table. My bedroom down the hall.
I
pictured tonight going very differently. Now, I can’t believe I
ever let her set foot in this place.
“You
told me your name was Kate Kendell.” I fight to keep control.
“You said you wanted the hostess job to make money while you
interned in the city. But that was my head of security on the line
just now. He says Kate Kendell is off volunteering in Africa, and has
never even been to my club. So what the hell is going on?”
“I...um...
may not have told you the whole truth,” she babbles.
Still
naked under my bathrobe, her luscious body peeking through the
fabric, she was about to get the fuck of her life. I was five seconds
away from owning her, licking every part of her body til she came
over and over again, but now I can’t wait to put as much
distance as possible between us.
But
not before I get answers.
I stride over and grip her arm
tightly. “What’s. Your. Name?” I grind out with a
clenched jaw. “Your real name, none of this Kate bullshit.”
“Zoe,”
she admits. Her eyes flash with fear. “Zoe Warren. It’s
the truth, I swear. I’m sorry.”
I don’t care about her
apologies. “And who’s Kate?”
“My
roommate, from college,” she confesses, looking miserable. “I
took her identity to get the job. I thought that if you knew my real
name, you’d never give me the gig.”
“Why
not?” I keep hold of her. Zoe doesn’t reply. It takes
everything I have not to shake the answers out of her. “I’m
not fucking around,” I warn her, my voice low. “If this
was some con game, I could call the police right now--”
“No!”
she protests quickly. “It’s not like that. The thing
is...” She takes a deep breath, and finally meets my eyes. “I’m
a journalist. At least, I want to be,” she adds quickly. “I’m
working on a big story. I got the job so I could go undercover at the
club.” She exhales, looking guilty. “I’m sorry.”
I
release her, turning away. A journalist? So all this time, she’s
been snooping around the club trying to get information for some big
exposé.
I
feel a chill. Just what is she planning to reveal? Any one of my
members getting outed would be a massive scandal, the kind that
brings down politicians or CEOs.
“What
information do you have?” I turn back to her, forcing myself to
stay calm. “Who have you told?”
“Nobody.”
Zoe shakes her head vigorously. “I mean, except for my editor
at the paper. But even then, I don’t have much. You keep
everything under lock and key, so I don’t have my big scoop
yet. I’m still trying to get my break.” She looks down,
like she’s genuinely ashamed. I won’t fall for it. This
girl has no remorse.
“If you’re lying to
me...” I step forward. She skitters back.
“I’m
not. I promise.”
“Excuse
me for not trusting the word of a lying, cheating snoop,” I
spit back at her.
Zoe
looks up at me. “I really am sorry,” she says. “I
didn’t plan on this.”
“Which
part exactly?” I ask, icy. “Seducing me for information?
If you’re trying to convince me you have any sense of ethics,
I’m afraid it’s a little late for that.”
“Hey!”
Zoe protests, folding her arms. “I didn’t mean to get
involved, but
you’re
the one who chased
me
.
And if you want to talk about ethics, screwing around with your
employees isn’t exactly above board.”
I
glare. “Don’t even try to make this about me. Enjoying
the company of a
willing
employee is nothing like fucking your way to a story.” Her face
tightens and I know I’ve hit her where it really hurts. Good.
“You lied to me, you manipulated me, and it was all so that you
could dig up some dirt and get your fifteen minutes of fame. Don’t
you realize this would destroy my reputation, my whole business? Or
are you too self-absorbed to think beyond your own byline?”
“It’s
not like that—” Zoe protests again, her voice gone soft,
but I’ve heard enough.
“Get
out,” I command her. “Get your things and leave, right
this minute. Before I reconsider and call the cops. I bet they’d
have a few things to say about you impersonating your friend. Fraud,
for starters.”
Zoe
looks like she’s going to say something, but then thinks better
of it. She picks up her clothes; they’re scattered across the
floor, where only moments before we were stripping as part of a sexy
game of truth or dare.
Now,
I realize how close I came to losing much more than a game.
Zoe
quickly pulls on her skirt and tank top, and zips up her boots. She
looks around again, and I see her purse on the side table.
I
beat her to it and toss it towards the elevator. “This story of
yours is dead, do you understand? If I so much as see a word in print
about me or my club, I’ll—”
“You’ll
do what?” Zoe whirls back, looking pissed. “Is that a
threat? Because I’ll quote you on that.”
I
narrow my eyes. “Read it however you want. But I have an army
of lawyers, and you signed a non-disclosure agreement.”
Zoe’s
face changes.
“You
forgot about that, huh?” I give her a cruel smile. “The
devil’s always in the details, Miss Warren. Say one word about
anything you’ve seen at the club, and I’ll sue you back
to the Stone Age. You think you’ve seen me mad? You can’t
even begin to imagine the hell I can raise when I put my mind to it.”
I
would have thought she’d have the good sense to flee right then
and there, but Zoe pauses in the elevator doorway. She pulls herself
up to full height, and stares me down.
“Just
so you know, I wasn’t seducing you to get the story. What
happened between us...that was all real.”
Then before I can find another
come-back, she pulls the grate shut, and descends out of sight.
Damn it.
I
back up against the wall. I’m furious at her for lying to me
for so long – but even more angry at myself for falling for her
games.
I pride myself on being able to
read people, anticipate their every move before they even think of it
themselves. It’s what’s helped me grow my business from
one dive bar to a night-life empire, but right now, all that good
sense counts for exactly nothing.
Because I almost believe her.
I
go pour myself a stiff drink, and then another. Right from the start,
something about her drew me in: that smart mouth, the stubborn smirk
in her blue eyes. And the chemistry between us was unbelievable.
At least, I thought it was.
Now
I wonder, was she telling me the truth? Or was it all just a lie to
get my guard down? Thinking back over every moment we’ve spent
together, the sexy hook-ups and hot-as-hell encounters at the club, I
can’t believe she was pretending the whole time.
No woman is that good at faking
it.
It doesn’t matter if her
orgasms were real. She lied, manipulated, and plotted to reveal the
secrets at your club. Imagine what would have happened if she’d
gotten her way?
No
way. It’s unthinkable. My resolve strengthens again. Zoe, or
Kate, or whoever the hell she is, just made her last excuse.
She’s history.
ZOE
I don’t know which is
worse: riding the subway home with my underwear still strewn
somewhere on Dax’s floor, or the feeling of total shameful
guilt eating away at my stomach.
No,
it’s easy: the guilt is worse. At least the other people in the
subway train don’t know what a scummy person I am. But when I
think of the look of anger and betrayal in Dax’s eyes...
I wish the earth would open and
swallow me whole.
I slink home, certain my guilt is
written all over my face. I didn’t mean to get in so deep. My
assignment at the start was simple: go undercover at the club, dig up
a juicy story about corruption or illegal dealings, and secure the
journalism job of my dreams. But one look at Dax, and I knew I was in
trouble.
And
with just one touch, I knew there was no going back.
I pull a business card from my
pocket – I managed to grab it from Dax’s desk as he was
throwing me out.
Dimas
Developments.
There’s
a handwritten note on the back:
YOU
KNOW WHAT I WANT.
The handwriting’s not the
same as the threatening note, so this is somebody else. Just how many
threats is Dax juggling? And what do all these people want from him?
Back
at home, I can’t sleep; there’s too much running through
my mind. In college, they drilled us about getting too involved with
our sources. We’re supposed to stay detached and objective at
all times. But you try staying objective when the sexiest guy you’ve
ever met is pushing you down over his desk and making you come your
brains out.
I couldn’t help myself. The
sexual connection between us was impossible to ignore -- and the last
thing I expected was to actually like and admire the man. Behind that
‘master of the universe’ thing, Dax is smart as hell,
driven and moral. I’ve never met a guy like him before, a real
man who walks the walk instead of just paying lip service to ideals
like integrity and trust.
But that’s no excuse. I
lied to him. He hates me now, he made that pretty clear. And after
all that, I’m no closer to my story than before.
I’m
a total failure.
*
The
next morning, I’m planning to do some epic wallowing, but a
voicemail from my editor at the paper, Charles Granger, wakes me up
fast.
Hi Zoe, just checking in on
your investigation. Swing by the office when you get a chance, I’d
love to hear about your progress.
My
stomach drops. Oh shit. I built up the story to get him excited and
secure that precious job offer -- and now I need to tell him I have
nothing, that I’m left with zero angles. But there’s no
avoiding him. My reputation is on the line.
I
get dressed and head into the newspaper office, bracing myself to
share the bad news. I can only hope that Granger doesn’t ask
too many questions about why the story is a no-go now. I may be just
starting out, but I’m betting that confessing, ‘I slept
with my source and now he hates me,’ isn’t the best way
to secure a future job offer.
As
usual, the minute I step through the front doors, I’m hit with
the buzz and activity of the place. All around me, reporters are
working on stories, the phones are ringing, and everywhere I look,
someone is typing away with a fevered look on their face, desperate
to make their deadline.