3. Bridget

brIDGET

"These sketches are fantastic, Bridget."

I smile, hoping it's not obvious how nervous I am. "Thank you."

Deborah looks out from under her dark-framed spectacles at me for a brief moment, then back at my sketchbook. "I really like how bravely you shift your dynamics between your pieces."

Deborah Angelise complimenting the dynamics of my drawings? I feel faint.

She continues to page through my sketchbook as I try to ignore the club around me.

I've been trying to get an audience with Deborah for months now. She's very busy, a tycoon of the fashion industry, famous in her own right, even if most of her money comes from her French billionaire husband.

And right now, she's looking at my sketchbook.

Is everyone watching us wondering if Angelise will give little Bridget Vance, daughter of the Lyons Club CFO, a chance?

I want to get things on my own merit, however the connections made through the club are invaluable. Besides, even if I can get an audience with some of the most powerful people in the world doesn't mean they'll just give me what I want.

"Oh! Well, this is surprising…"

I snap my attention back to the design she's looking at, and my heart stops. "Oh, oh, that's not part of the collection I wanted to show you." I reach for the book.

Deborah smiles, lips full of mischief as she slides the book out of my reach and leans back in her seat to take a closer look at the page. "This is closing in on fetish wear, I'd say."

"Yes, that's why…it's more experimental." I half-laugh.

"Bridget, please. Let your work speak for itself. Don't do it the disservice of qualifying it."

I nod. "Very well."

"Good."Deborah flips the sketchbook around and shows off the design.

One of my favorite pieces.

In the sketch, the model wears a pair of see-through black pants that look light and flowy, but on top, she's strapped in by a harness with metal rings. However, instead of being made of leather, it's lace.

"Tell me about your inspiration."

I clear my throat. "Well, my philosophy on lingerie first and foremost is to make the wearer feel beautiful. And I'm interested in the intersection of physical beauty and power. It's like a chicken and the egg almost. Does beauty make you feel powerful or does power make you feel beautiful?"

"And that's what you're playing with?"

I swallow. "Yes, with my last few sketches."

Deborah flips through the last few. "You see this as being marketed toward the average woman?"

"The average sexually enlightened woman."

I almost cringe at my own words. Because how dare I say that when I've never had sex myself?

But that is the goal. I want to be that woman. "Women who understand what they want and what they like from their encounters."

"Hmmm…" Deborah pinches her lips that are painted in a barely-there nude color. She's silent as she flips through my sketchbook. From the beginning to the end. "You're certainly versatile. That's important in a world where anyone can be anything."

I shrug. "I just have a lot of interests."

"Do you?" Deborah's eyebrows waggle.

"I –" My throat constricts. "When it comes to fashion and trends, yes."

The older woman readjusts her glasses and scratches the back of her close-cropped gray pixie cut. "I like it, Bridget. I like it. You've got a vision. But it's not overt. It's being cultivated. All you need now is the power to stand and say what you mean."

"Working on it." I half-laugh.

Deborah flips the book closed and places it back on the table between us. "You said you have samples?"

"Yes, I do." I touch the garment bag beside me. "They're made by my own hand which is to say if they were done by an actual garment house, they'd be much more well-crafted, but –"

"Bridget! Stop selling yourself short." Deborah's hands tap the air in front of her like bongo drums.

"Would you like to see them?" I take the zipper of the bag in my hand.

Deborah shoots up out of her seat. "Yes, I would."

But then she just begins to walk away from our table and cluster of chairs in the main hall of the club. What is happening? Did I miss something?

Deborah turns and jerks her head toward the stairs that lead down to the Underground, her chunky necklaces clacking. "Come along. We need models, don't you think?"

I blink a few times. "O-of course! Of course, we do!" I grab the bag and the book and follow her down to the Underground.

"Hazel!" Deborah calls out to the sub manning the front desk.

Hazel smiles. "How can I help you, Mistress Angelise?" Hazel leans to the side and smiles at me. "Hi, Ms. Vance."

I want to crawl out of my skin.

I know they have to refer to us that way in the Underground, but I've spent enough time with Hazel up in the Lyons Pride, the night club that's open to the public, to call her a friend. Feels weird to be treated as though there's some power dynamic between us. "Hi."

"Do you have some people available who might want to play dress up for a bit? I'll pay if I have to."

"No, if any payment is involved, it's on me." I step up to be even with Deborah.

"Nonsense. This is my idea. It will go on my bill. Or, more specifically, Michel's."

I can't argue with the bank account of Michel Angelise.

Hazel calls out two women who are just hanging around close by. One is Mistress Morgona, a Domme, and the other is a sub, Penny.

"I have a couple of pieces of art here that I think may be of interest to the both of you, and I'd love to see how they would fit a body. Would you be willing to try?"

Penny smiles, her head down as she nods. "Yes, Mistress."

"And you, Morgona?"

"Sure, I can play along. Let's see what you have there."

Deborah hands a piece over to each of them to put on. "We'll do a little fashion show out here when you're done." She gestures to the stage in the main room of the Underground where often times there are burlesque shows or public scenes.

When they return, they get up on the stage and show off the goods.

And I'm stunned. Truly.

I've actually never seen this side of my work on anyone but me. I do well on social media selling unique, reproduceable pieces. But I've never had room for the more "edgy" looks. Probably because my brand is billed as "sultry for sweet girls" even if I also get customers more interested in having little rosettes and bows on their pieces than leather and latex.

Penny wears one of my earlier designs, a matching green set with a garter belt and stockings. Morgona wears something closer in attitude to the black number Deborah pointed out in my book, except this one is a dark blue corseted piece with a pair of leather pants that snap up the sides so they can be torn off in an instant.

"How do you feel, ladies?" Deborah asks.

Morgona shifts in her hip, swinging her long box braids to the side. "Hot. And comfortable."

"It's so comfortable, oh my god," Penny agrees with an almost erotic eye roll. "I mean, I like a little pain and discomfort here and there, but not when it comes to clothes."

They both laugh.

"Comfortable and sexy, that's good." Deborah gets up on the stage and begins to circle the models. "You've sold your tailoring abilities short, Bridget."

I blush. "Well…"

"These leather pants, especially, I mean that is not easy to accomplish." She lifts a hand and makes eye contact with Morgona. "May I touch?"

Morgona grins. "Only if you want me to punish you later."

Deborah clutches her chest. "That shouldn't turn me on as much as it does."

We all laugh.

Risking a lost hand, or eager for the punishment since she is apparently a switch, both Domme and sub depending on her mood, Deborah runs her hand down the length of the leather pants. "Sleek. Intense. Yet delicate." She lifts her eyes to me. "Powerful, yet beautiful."

My heart flutters. "You think it works?"

"Absolutely. And these stockings–" Deborah moves on to Penny.

I grin. "I can't take credit for the embroidery. I had them done by an expert fiber artist. The filagree is placed so that–" I get up on the stage next to her and point to the way it swirls around the Penny's thigh, "—it accentuates the curves of the body. To heighten the beauty that's already there."

"And green is a powerful color. Even your softer designs encapsulate your artistic vision."

I've never thought of myself as having an artistic vision.

One of the Doms emerges from the back room. The one I was watching just the other day. He's wearing a harness today and pants so tight his junk is basically out.

"Heard there was a fashion show?"

"What do you think, Lex?" Morgona says. She grabs the front of the pants and rips them off, leaving her clad in a scandalous little thong.

Lex laughs. "Wow, those are amazing." He looks at me. "You made those?"

The glint in his eye tells me he knows. He remembers me watching. However, his smile is affable and real.

"I did."

"Damn, I want a pair…"

I shrug. "That can be arranged."

Lex's eyelids lower, and his smile goes from friendly to frustratingly charming.

Before I can reply, though, the girls start in on more conversation, questions I have to answer, details I need to point out. Deborah has me on my toes, but I can tell it comes from a place of confidence in me rather than trying to trip me up.

Amidst the conversations, I can't help but notice the door to the Underground open.

Seth.

God, I can't catch a break.

Since dinner went sour the other night, he has left me alone, thank god. Then again, I haven't been in the same place with him, so he hasn't had an opportunity to annoy me with his controlling antics.

Our eyes meet. I don't smile. I don't give him any indication I'm trying to be nice, which is hard for me as resident nice girl. As a sub with the need to please.

Seth looks away.

Though I'm glad he's respectful of my coolness, I can't lie. It hurts.

I wish it didn't. However, it's taken me ten years to push him away. It had to happen sooner than later.

He might blow my cover.

Or worse. I'll be unable to resist him.

Seth goes over to the desk to talk to Hazel. Another appointment today? God, he really has no shame, does he?

"Bridget–" Deborah calls my attention.

I flip back to the task at hand. "Yes?!" I say with more urgency than the situation needs.

Deborah points to Penny and Morgona. "I want them to try on a couple more pieces."

"Sounds great. Your call."

The older woman furrows her brow, but I can't manage control right now. Not when my nerves are starting to tremor, and my mouth is growing hot.

Jeez, just being in the same room with Seth is painful.

She doesn't question me, though, and moves on with Penny and Morgona to pick out the next round of looks.

As they go, Hazel laughs from her spot at the desk. I glance over at them.

Seth is making her laugh. How come he's so nice to everyone else but only gives me grief?

Hazel leans on the desk, her hands clasped under her chin as they discuss…whatever.

Seriously? Doesn't he have an appointment or something?

Hazel lifts her phone. "All available subs to the reception area, please."

So, Seth is going to look at a line of women and get his pick…I see how it is. No wonder he doesn't want his mom to know. He's a veritable manwhore.

Amelia doesn't need the horror of knowing that.

Fine. Two can play at this game.

I pull in a deep breath and turn back to Lex. "You really want a pair of those pants?"

He nods. "You kidding? The drama involved in that would be too good to bear."

My cheeks get hot. "I bet."

"You could make them, and then we could give them a trial run?" Lex winks.

My eyes widen.

Lex holds up his hands. "Only if you wanted."

He flirts with everyone. It's his personality. It's not about me. Still, I can't ignore the way my stomach drops. "That might be good. Durability test."

He laughs, loud like Hazel. I can't help but hope Seth is looking.

"Yes, exactly. We need to know just how sturdy your work is."

I bite my lower lip.

I'm not going to do anything with Lex, but the banter is fun. And pushing Seth's buttons is more enjoyable than it ought to be. "I have a measuring tape. We could get started on them now if you like."

"Bespoke tearaway pants? For me?"

"I've wanted to get into men's intimate wear. You can be my guinea pig."

Lex steps back and spreads his arms.

God, he's ripped. Muscles bulging out from the harness, thighs threatening to rip through the pants. A perfect specimen.

Perfect…but not Seth.

No matter. I reach into my purse and grab the rolled-up measuring tape. "Let's start with the inseam."

Lex raises an eyebrow. "You want to get familiar fast?"

"Alright with you?"

"Always, Ms. Vance."

I want to tell him to call me something more familiar. Like Bridget. Or something even more…intimate. But he's not my master. Wouldn't be fair to cross boundaries. Unfurling the measuring tape, I give him a sweet smile. "Just doing my job."

"Sure you are."

I crouch down to the floor, level with his dick. My heart pounds as I place the measuring tape at the top of the inside of his thigh, mere centimeters away from his package.

"Don't make it too roomy in the crouch," Lex says. "I like the challenge."

Okay, Lex might kill me. He really might–

"What's going on?" Seth voice comes from close behind me.

I look up over my shoulder. He's abandoned the front desk in lieu of confrontation. "I'm measuring Lex for a pair of pants," I say with an innocent air. "Is there a problem?"

Seth's jaw tightens, and his usually bright blue eyes darken.

As he stares down at me, I feel smaller and smaller.

Overwhelmed by his power. His dominance.

Dear god. I'm panting. And it's not because I'm close to Lex's cock.

I'm at the mercy of Seth's gaze.

And that alone has made me wet.

This isn't good. Not at all.

"Get up off the ground, Bridget. You're making a fool of yourself."

Seth's words compel me to obey. As I stand, I try to tell him to leave me alone, not to talk to me. But I can't.

"You don't have to speak to her like that, Carlton," Lex says. "Alright? We're all just here to have a good time."

"Are we?" Seth asks.

I keep my eyes downcast. The annoying tickle of tears is beginning.

Why is he doing this to me?

But beyond the shame, there is something I…I crave. I crave being under his control. It's why I've had to push him away. When he checks on me, tries to rein me in, it makes me feel like he cares.

Like he might want me.

Like he is my master.

What a silly thought, though. The truth is he's just an asshole.

Before I can answer Seth's question, Penny and Morgona reemerge from the back in new outfits. I don't have the wherewithal to clock what they are. I'd just like to get out of here to deal with these swirling feelings of shame and want.

"I really like this one," Penny says with a bold grin.

Before I can respond, Seth abandons our conversation, goes to Penny, and grabs her by the wrist. She lets out a gasp of laughter. "I'm already booked, Master Carlton."

"Not anymore," he growls.

As they walk away, Penny looks over her shoulder at me with an apologetic smile.

I swallow back the jealousy, except it sits at the base of my throat, threatening to make me sick.

"What a jackass," Deborah says. "But I guess it does the job. I mean, he pounced on her."

I force a smile. "Yes. Yes, he did." I wish now with all my heart I wasn't a good designer. I wish I couldn't manage more than a paper bag.

I turn back to Lex. "Let's get you measured for these pants, huh?"