"Did I just hear my name?"

Yes. Hell has come to claim me early. Because Bric is standing in the open door of the employee break room looking-looking like a goddamned God in that five-thousand-dollar suit, that subtle stubble all over his perfectly square jaw, and wearing a smile that might knock Michell over dead.

He's staring into my eyes like he wants to fuck me right this second. And Michell does not miss this. Her mouth is open and she is finally speechless.

"Mr. Bricman," she says, snapping out of it before I can even be thankful she stopped talking. She walks towards him with her hand out. "So nice to properly meet you. I'm Michell Stadington, Chella's assistant."

Bric, being the hot motherfucker with all the moves that he is, takes her hand and brings it to his lips. "So very, very nice to meet one of Chella's friends, Miss Stadington. Tell me, you're not related to Victor Stadington, are you?"

"Yes! He's my father." Michell beams.

"Well, this is all very special," I say, moving towards Bric. "But Mr. Bricman is here to talk about his purchase." I shoot Michell a stern, back-away glance. "You remember, his fifty-million-dollar purchase?" And then I look at Bric. "Why don't we take this conversation up to my office, Mr. Bricman? And we can sort out the details."

I press my hands on his chest as I scoot past him through the door and do not look back to see if he follows.

But he does, excusing himself politely from Michell, whom I imagine is standing there looking at him like he's meat.

I finally look over my shoulder when I get to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to my loft office, and yes, Bric is right behind me. I ascend and let him follow.

"Your ass looks fuckable in that skirt today, Chella," he whispers softly, so the gallery visitors can't hear him.

"Shh," I hush him as we climb. My office is not nearly private enough for any conversation I might have with Elias Bricman, but it seems exceptionally open right now as I take a seat at my desk.

Bric settles into one of the two chairs in front of my desk and crosses his legs, like he's gonna be here for a while and he might as well get comfortable.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"My purchase." He laughs. "I need to sort out the details."

"No, really, Bric," I say, looking down the stairs to see if any visitors-or God forbid, Michell-are listening. "Why are you here? It's not your day."

"Is that a rule?" he asks. "We're not allowed to see you? On our days off?"

"I don't know, but it seems logical to me."

"Because it keeps things... simple?" Bric asks.

"Yes," I say. "Exactly. Simple is far better than trying to explain my plural relationship with three men to my co-workers." Three very hot, well-known men, I don't add.

Bric just smiles.

"My assistant said one of her friends saw me at Turning Point Club with Matisse and Smith that night he took me there for dinner. Vanessa Sterling. "

"Is this a problem?"

"It is when everyone knows that Turning Point Club is for well-to-do swingers, Bric!"

"She won't say anything else, take my word on that. I will make a personal phone call after I leave here and make sure of it. She would never risk her husband's membership. She's having too much fun with her new toy, Jordan Wells."

"Oh, great! Well, Jordan Wells is an old fuck buddy of Michell's, Bric. This is all getting very... very..." I can't find the right word.

"Uncomfortable for you," Bric finishes.

"Yes!" I say. "Exactly. Uncomfortable. I don't want people talking about me again."

"Again?" he asks.

"Ever," I say, trying to hide my slip-up. "I don't like it, Bric." My hands start shaking and he leans across the desk to hold one.

"It's OK, Chella. I promise. I'll handle it. Don't worry, we'll take care of you. We won't let anyone hurt you."

Bric has a thoughtful look on his face and I count my blessings that it was him and not Smith who just showed up during that conversation with Michell. But that reminds me. "Why are you here? Does Smith know?"

"Do you want him to know?"

"I don't know. I guess not."

"Why not?"

"I don't want him coming over and starting a scene. He comes across as the type who likes to make scenes."

"He would never embarrass you that way, Chella. But I am here because of him."

I wait for it. But Bric continues to smile as he keeps silent. "Well? What does he want?"

"Did everything go OK last night?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about that stuff?"

"And I told you, I'm in charge of your wellbeing. As Number Three, it's part of my job description to make sure you're OK at all times." He stops to wait for me to say something, but I don't know what to say. "Are you OK, Chella? You're looking a little tired this morning. Did you have a rough night?"

I smile at his smirk. "Well, I did go on a date that had a lot of dirty sex involved."

"True. But it's what happened after I dropped you off that concerns me. I'm fairly certain the dirty sex we had isn't the problem."

"He didn't come over."

"OK," Bric says. "Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Like... Smith practically demanding that I let him watch us fuck next week?

No, I decide to leave that out. Who knows what will happen between now and then, right? The whole arrangement could fall apart and I'd never have to have that conversation at all.

"He made me watch us fuck. On the TV. All night long."

"Ah." Bric laughs. "So that explains it. You spent the night masturbating to the little sex tape we made?"

The words 'sex tape' strike fear through my whole body. "He would never-"

"No, Chella. He would never show those to anyone. Ever. You don't need to worry about that."

"Whew," I say, making an exaggerated gesture of wiping my brow with my hand.

"Did you masturbate to the sex tape all night long?"

"Yes," I say, blushing a little. But I leave out the best part. That it was my fantasy of Smith watching us fuck that got me off.

"Well, he called me this morning and told me to let you know he won't be around this weekend."

"No?" I ask, wondering why that is. "Did he give a reason?"

"He said you'd know why. Which had my mind working overtime." Bric leans forward, both my hands in his now. "I'm just here to make sure he's not fucking things up, that's all. I like you. I want this to work. And Smith can be... challenging to manage at times. Don't let him ruin what we could have. Like I said last night-you can cut him out completely. Keep him on the other end of the cameras. He'll stay away from the apartment if you don't let him watch in person."

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"Because we've done this before. We've been One and Three before. It's not an ideal situation. In fact, Smith is always a challenge. But we can manage him, Chella. If you refuse to let him watch, he will leave you alone. Just like he left Rochelle alone."

I think about this for a moment. Do I want to cut him out completely? Do I want Smith Baldwin to leave me alone?

"Think of Friday through Sunday as your days off. Can you do that? Just stay at your own house and come back to the Club Sunday midnight for Quin. Quin is easy to manage. He's fun, right? He can fuck you all he wants without the games. Be a good friend."

"And you?" I ask, wondering where he's going with this idea.

"I can fuck you all I want too. As long we have a camera for Smith to watch us later. We can pretend he's not there. We can pretend it's just us. I've done it before, Chella. It will work if you allow it to work."

He lets go of my hands, stands up, and walks around the desk until he's towering over me. He's hard just from the talk. His huge cock is outlined in his pants and he grabs it for a second, like he's trying his best to make it shrink.

I look up at his face, doing my best not to beg him to fuck me right now.

"Is this what you want?" I ask. "For me to cut him out?"

Bric just shrugs. "You only have three choices. Cut him out. Let him join us. Or walk away. I just want to make sure you don't walk away." He reaches for my hand, pulls me up so I'm standing, and then kisses it lightly. Gently. His soft, full lips lingering for a second before he pulls away and looking me in the eyes. "I'm enjoying you very much, Marcella Walcott. And I'd like to keep enjoying you for as long as possible. So make your choice. Whichever one is best for you. And I hope that it's the one I suggested."

"Why?" I ask, my voice small and timid. "Do you want me all to yourself?"

"I'll never have that," he says. "I'll always be sharing you with Quin, no matter what. But I certainly wouldn't mind having you without Smith. It's just not my decision to make. So we work with what we have."

Chapter Twenty - Smith.

"So you went to talk to her?" I ask. "Why, exactly?" If Bric gives a fuck that I'm pissed off, he doesn't show it.

"You know why."

"No, I actually don't. So give me more, Bric. Because I'm starting to get mad."

We're sitting up in my private bar overlooking the Black Room. It's Saturday night, I'm here alone, I can't go see Chella because I don't trust myself to adhere to the rules... and then this asshole comes in and tells me he checked up on her today. At least she's at home and not here. One less thing to worry about.

Bric is smoking a cigar, which he hardly ever does and he knows I hate, so I know he's doing it on purpose. Why is he fucking with me?

"I'm just curious, Smith."

"About?"

But Quin walks in just as Bric is about to explain and takes his seat across from me and next to Bric. "What's up?" he asks me. Then, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be upstairs?"

"I'm holding back," I say, trying not to growl out the word.

"Why?" Quin laughs. But then I look at Bric and he presses his lips together and nods. "OK. So we're gonna go through this again? Why can't you assholes just enjoy yourselves and not make things complicated?"

"Says the guy who fell in love with Rochelle and drove her away." I don't know why I just said that. And I don't even know where it came from, because it's not true.

"Nice," Bric says, puffing on the cigar. "Nice going, Smith."

"All right," Quin says, standing back up. "Fuck both of you. I don't need this shit. I don't need either of you to enjoy this arrangement. I get her all to myself. No games. And I only came to go downstairs tonight, so catch you down there whenever the fuck I see you."

Bric and I both watch him walk out.

"Just stay away from her, OK?" I say. "If it's not Wednesday or Thursday, stay away and keep your fucking mouth shut. I don't like to be talked about, you know that. Don't talk about me to her."

Bric is silent for almost a minute before he too gets up from my table and heads towards the stairs. I watch him go down into the lobby. Lucinda is here again. I cannot remember, for the life of me, seeing her so goddamned much in such a short time span.

But then I see why she's here when the newest member, Jordan Wells, brings her a drink and he cops a feel between her legs as her husband watches with eager eyes.

Saturday nights at Turning Point Club can get wild. It's all private. All the shades are closed on the windows facing the street and the restaurant is closed to the public, so you have to be a member to get past the front door.

Bric stops to chat with her, also copping a feel, which makes her whole face light up with delight. She's been after us both for years. But he can have her. I'm not interested. He goes downstairs every weekend. Without fail. And most of the time I have no idea what he's doing down there. Don't care, either.

I went for Lucinda's birthday party two weeks ago because it's something I do to make her happy, but I only came back because I was horny as fuck. Marcella Walcott's pussy was wet when I checked her in Rochelle's closet. Has it only been two weeks?

A few minutes later Lucinda heads towards the back of the lobby with Bric, Jordan, and her husband. Bric's eyes meet mine as he moves out of sight.

"Good for you, motherfucker," I say, raising my glass of Scotch to no one.

He can have that fucking club. He's always been more interested in what goes on down there than I have. Quin as well. Hell, maybe Quin will join in. Lucinda can get the gang-bang of her dreams.

I stew in my thoughts like this for hours. Until it's after eleven o'clock and I'm about ready to call it a night.

And then Chella walks in the front door, wearing a white dress that shows more cleavage than I need right now. For a second I'm enraged, thinking she's going to join Quin and Bric downstairs. But she leans in to talk to the hostess, who smiles and nods at the sentry standing guard in front of the black velvet rope in front of the main staircase, and she is given permission to go upstairs.

What the fuck is she doing?

I watch her with interest as she ascends, and then our eyes meet. I repeat my thought out loud. "What the fuck are you doing?"