***---Garret---***
By Sunday morning I knew I wasn't getting her out of my head until I did something final and irreversible. I'd tried coffee. I'd tried a run on the treadmill. I'd tried sitting in front of spreadsheets until the numbers blurred. None of it touched the ache sitting under my ribs.
The leather folder on my desk didn't help. It made everything worse. Legal had delivered it before dawn. Clean fonts, precise spacing, clauses that would make a banker purr. It shouldn't have been possible to move that fast, but I'd made a few pointed calls last night and no one on my payroll wanted to test my patience this week. They gave me exactly what I asked for.
A contract. Confidentiality and submission wrapped in polite language. Every boundary spelled out. Every safety baked in. Every exit accounted for. It wasn't romance. It was a blueprint for hunger, neat on paper so I could live with it in practice.
I opened it again even though I could recite the pages. The first section laid out terms that would pass any audit. No recording, no photos, no identifying details shared with third parties. Velour already handled anonymity, this doubled the lock.
The next section was mine. I'd written it in plain language, no legal flourishes. When, where, how. Consent as a living thing, not a checkbox. The same stop words we already used, written again so there was no confusion. What I could ask. What I could never demand. She could refuse anything, anytime, and that refusal would be final. She would keep her job. She would keep her dignity. That was non-negotiable.
I'd put in one more clause I hadn't planned. A salary bump and a guaranteed bonus for the duration of the arrangement, triggered if she ever felt her work life suffered because of me. I didn't know if she'd ever cash it in. I needed it there anyway.
There was an office conduct page. No sex on company property unless she initiated and confirmed twice. No retaliation if she pulled the plug.
If she ended it, the paperwork died with it, locked to my private counsel, never to touch HR. If I ended it, she got a severance on top of the bonus and a signed letter of recommendation for any department she wanted to transfer to. I hated writing that, but I forced my pen to finish it.
The last pages were mine again. Rules that weren't really rules. That she would tell me when she needed softness instead of heat. That she would use my name once I gave it to her, because I was done pretending it didn't matter. That she would keep a red dress for me. That I would ruin her schedule, then rebuild it with us in it.
I closed the folder and stared at the cover until my vision went white at the edges. This wasn't a game anymore. I'd tried to make it one at the club. Masks, aliases, tidy arrangements. Then she'd walked into Room Seven and the ground moved.
I pulled out my phone and called Velour.
Money opened doors there. Discretion held them shut. The concierge answered, and I didn't bother with pleasantries. I gave my member code, asked for Room Seven tonight, and made it clear I needed immediate confirmation. There was a pause while the system checked the calendar. Then his calm voice came back and told me the room was mine.
"Push the appointment to my guest." I snapped. "She'll see it as an invitation for tonight."
"Done." The concierge confirmed.
I hung up and stared at the screen. My own reflection looked feral. The app ticked for a beat, then flashed the outgoing request to Crownless.
The reply took less than a minute.
Crownless: Can't. Busy.
A flat, two-syllable refusal that set my teeth on edge. Busy doing what? Busy with who? I had no right to ask any of it, and it made me furious. I hit the call button in the app before I could think better of it.
She answered on the second ring. Breath in my ear, a small gasp that tightened everything in my chest.
"Crownless." I hissed, the name rough in my throat. "Cancel whatever you're doing. You're coming."
There was a long pause, and then she sighed. "I said I'm busy, Axiom."
I swallowed down a sudden shock of anger. She actually said no. Unacceptable. "I have something for you. Something you need to see and know." I stared at the folder again. "It can't wait."
"Something I need to know?" She repeated, cautious now.
"Yes."
Her breath hitched. I heard nerves. I heard curiosity louder than that. She tried to hide it behind a cool tone. It didn't fool me.
"What time?" There were voices in the background, and one sounded very male. My jaw tightened.
"Two hours."
"That's not a lot of notice."
"I'm not asking for a full night," I cleared my throat. "You'll be in and out. You'll have what you need."
Silence. Then she let out a small sigh that loosened the knot in my chest.
"Fine." Then she hung up.
I didn't breathe for a full count of five. When the air returned it came in a rush that left me lightheaded. I grabbed the folder, checked the pages again, and forced myself to slow down. I needed the room set right. I needed the reveal to be unavoidable, clear, and fair.
The car ride to Velour crawled. Every stoplight was an insult. I sat forward in the seat, tapping a beat into my thigh I couldn't quiet. By the time the driver pulled to the curb my palms were damp. I wiped them on my pants and told myself to get it together.
Inside, the concierge handed me the key and didn't ask questions. Money kept mouths closed here. I took the hidden hall, didn't bother appreciating the art or the lighting or any of the careful design. I wanted the room. Even more than that, I wanted her in it.