I am standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear to this so-called "not a date" with Dylan. I nearly choked on my spit when he said that I had to join him there. Like, how does bringing him coffee and doing the paperwork get me to join him at that club?
I need to figure out what to wear, and I need to maintain a standard. I am no longer Ruth Danan. I need to be Joane Andrews, who came from a normal background, has family back in Maryland, and has just landed a job at Fynder Enterprises. I already texted Marcus about it, and he replied, "Great work, doll, working your magic on your first day? That's what I expected from you; I will text my boss about this and make sure to have fun, Joane."
My skin tingles at that word, "DOLL." It reminds me of who I am and what I have become in the past few years. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling of what I had done with my life and where I was trapped. I have tried running away, but that has always caused me bruises and a few cuts on my body. I can't escape the reality of my past, no matter how far I run. It's a constant reminder of who I used to be and the mistakes I've made. Despite my efforts to move on, the scars remain both physically and emotionally.
Yeah, torture for running away.
I received another text from Marcus: "Dustin's men would be keeping an eye on you." I replied, "Okay, noted." I opened the music app on my phone and played "Needed Me" by Rihanna as I started to look for clothes. It's a posh club, so maybe a light, sparkly dress would look good, and if it's golden, that would be perfect.
One thing I did have was clothes. I was never short on them, but only for dresses. I had more dresses than shorts or tops. This was because I had to dress a lot in the past few years. Most of the money I made from nightstands or from doing tasks would be taken away by Marcus. But I had enough for rent, bills, and food.
I started to vibe with the song and kept looking for a dress until my eyes fell on a golden dress scrunched beneath a few other tops. I pulled it out, and it was quite long, up to my knee length with a slightly low neck but it was flowy and easy to carry.
As I stare at the dress for a moment, I'm convinced it's the perfect choice for the upcoming event. With gentle precision, I carefully iron out any creases, ensuring the fabric flows gracefully. Turning my attention to my hair, I tightly secure it in place, using just the right amount of glue to ensure a flawless hold. To counter any lingering scent, I delicately apply a scented flower gel along the edges, infusing the air with a sweet fragrance.
Slipping into the dress, I admire how the thin shoulder straps delicately frame my figure, and the subtle sweetheart neckline adds a touch of femininity. I straightened my hair again and added a tad bit of makeup. I wore a small necklace around my neck which was given to me by my mother and the only one I owned. I refused to buy another one. No other piece could take the place of this one. I tried flashing a smile to the mirror and then looked at the clock. It was time for me to head down. I wore a pair of heels and went down.
Exiting my apartment and descending the staircase, I entered the hallway and immediately spotted a sleek black Mercedes waiting outside. A well-dressed man approached me, and with a polite nod, he inquired, "Joane Andrews?" Confirming my identity, I replied with a simple "Yes." He graciously opened the car door for me, and as I stepped inside, I was surprised to find Dylan seated in the back, engrossed in his phone without so much as a glance in my direction.
As the man joined us in the front seat and started the car, a palpable tension filled the air, leaving me unsure of how to proceed. I fidgeted with the fabric of my dress, attempting to alleviate some of the discomfort, but conversation remained elusive. My gaze wandered intermittently to Dylan, unable to settle on any one aspect of his presence—the scent of his cologne, the energy he exuded, the way his hair fell effortlessly, or the way his fingers tapped rhythmically on his phone.
With each passing moment, the silence grew more pronounced, enveloping us in its awkward embrace. Despite my best efforts, I found myself at a loss for words, unsure of how to bridge the gap between us. As the car glided along the road, the weight of the silence hung heavy, casting a shadow over what should have been a simple car ride.
Soon after the deadly silence which seemed to be never-ending, we arrived at the club. The driver opened up the door and we got inside, and Dylan came over to my side and said, "Stay quiet and stay close," he said, looking deep into my eyes and getting a bit aside so I could walk next to him. We both went inside the club after Dylan got his identity checked and his whole face darkened immediately, an unpleased look spread over his face, his eyes narrowed and his chest tightened as he breathed.
I was immediately struck by its opulence. Despite the relatively small number of people—around fifteen or so—the space felt expansive, adorned with elegant décor and bathed in a warm, golden glow. Beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a dazzling light that danced across the room, adding to the luxurious ambiance.
The décor was tastefully designed with a golden and white theme, exuding an air of sophistication and class. From the plush seating to the intricately carved details adorning the walls, every aspect of the club spoke to a commitment to luxury and refinement.
Despite working and being in many clubs, I never had to take a client in one of these clubs. They were only reserved for the most powerful men in the country, which included Dylan.
Looking at Dylan, I couldn't help but marvel at how much he had grown since our teenage years. Once a formidable teenager, he had transformed into a confident and distinguished adult. Despite the passage of time, his allure remained undeniable, commanding the attention of everyone around him.
Dylan's intelligence had only continued to blossom over the years. With a keen mind and a sharp wit, he navigated the complexities of adulthood with ease, always staying several steps ahead of the game. His accomplishments spoke volumes, yet he remained humble, never letting his success define him. He had an IQ of 170.
Gone were the days of teenage angst and youthful indiscretions. Dylan had matured into a composed and poised individual, capable of handling any challenge that came his way. Though he still possessed that same air of mystery and quiet strength, there was a newfound depth to him, a wisdom that could only come with age and experience.
Despite our tumultuous past, seeing him now as a fully grown adult stirred something within me—a mixture of admiration, respect, and perhaps a hint of longing for what once was. It made my heart twist for him slightly.
Soon he started walking farther into the club. He came across a table at the very end of the hall which was surrounded by bodyguards. Dylan also had bodyguards who stood close to us. I stood a bit behind him as he spoke in his deep voice, "Good evening, Mr. Bradford," he extended his hand towards him for a handshake, which he took readily and stood up.
In his fifties, Mr. Bradford possessed a distinguished air, his neatly trimmed white beard and hair adding an aura of authority. While I hadn't interacted with him, whispers of his presence loomed large in certain circles. Lucas had once hinted at Mr. Bradford's significant role in the underworld, particularly in the realm of drug trafficking. His reach extended far beyond mere local notoriety; he was a formidable figure renowned even in England, with intricate connections woven deep into the fabric of the criminal landscape. The mention of his strong ties with Russian counterparts only served to underscore the magnitude of his influence and the complexity of his operations. It was as though he operated on a chessboard where every move was calculated and every alliance strategic.
"Good evening, Mr. Fynder," he shook Dylan's hand and they both sat down. His eyes went on me and a small smile spread through his lips. "That's a beautiful lady you have brought with you today."
"That's my secretary, sir," Dylan's voice remained steady as he adjusted himself in his chair. I positioned myself behind Dylan, acknowledging his introduction with a subtle nod. Mr. Bradford's demeanor didn't betray any signs of a womanizer, affirming my initial judgment.
'' Good evening Mr. Brafford'' I said with a light smile.
'' Good evening to you too dear '' he smiled back and looked back at Dylan.
He gestured for me to occupy a nearby table, a tacit acknowledgment of my presence while hinting at the sensitive nature of their impending discussion. It was evident that Mr. Bradford harbored reservations about divulging certain information in my presence, subtly conveying his lack of trust through his invitation to sit at a distance. As Dylan and Mr. Bradford delved into their negotiations, I settled at the table, acutely aware of the delicate balance between inclusion and confidentiality that governed their interactions.
I sat at the table and looked at other people, and I saw a security guard looking right at me and nodding in my direction. I guess those are the guards Marcus mentioned.
I looked down, took out my phone, and texted Lucas, "Hey, what's up?" I waited for his response, and he texted me back, "Nothing much, wbu miss the world?"
"Miss World, did someone sleep on the right side of the bed today, huh?" I texted back. He responded with a quick, "Oh, come on, you haven't texted me in 3 days, and that does not happen often. You okay?"
"Yeah, I am good. Just 3 clients per day, and running errands for Marcus."
"That bastard, are you sure you are okay? Do you need anything? I can help in any way." He texted back.
"No, I am okay for real. Don't sweat it," I replied.
"Sure, if you say so. I'm believing you on this one," he texted back with a smiley emoji.
"You should. You know I'd tell you if anything was wrong. Relax," I texted back with a yellow heart emoji. "Alright, just making sure. Take care of yourself, okay?" he replied. "Thanks; I will. Talk to you soon," I texted back before putting my phone down.
A waiter came over and offered me a glass of champagne, which I took and took a sip. sparkly and relaxing. I put the glass down and looked over at Dylan, whose face was relaxed while looking over to Bradford, whose face was far more serious and slightly pale as well. I tried to keep myself distracted on my phone, but I badly wanted to hear what they were so deeply conversing about and how the hell Dylan could maintain such a calm face;
His facial muscles didn't even bud up a smile or a scoff. His face was just dark and scary, like a mask hiding his true emotions. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on behind those unreadable eyes.
After a long while, he got up from his seat, shook hands with Mr. Bradford, and looked over to me, and I walked over to them.
''It was nice seeing you, dear'' Bradford said.
'' It was nice seeing you as well, sir'' I gave a small smile and followed Dylan's lead as he walked away. The driver brought the car, and we both sat inside. Dylan looked at me and said,' Have you looked at the schedule for tomorrow?''
I replied a bit shocked and confused, as we didn't speak at all the whole evening. '' No, I haven't. I will when I get home,'' I said.
He just hummed and started going through his phone. He looked at me again and said,'Give me your phone number, he said with a blank expression.
'' Uh, why?'' I asked while stuttering.
''God, sometimes I don't know what goes inside a female's head. I need it because you are my secretary. What more of a valuable reason do I need?'' he said, raising his eyebrows.
'' Yeah, yeah, it's 34672287927,'' I said while feeling like an idiot after what I said.
I felt my cheeks blush with more embarrassment than I've ever felt. This is Dylan Fynder, Ruth. You hate him. Stop blushing and act properly. Remember what you need to do to him.