Chapter 20 – The First Private Party

The taxi app showed a seven-minute wait. Chloe stood in front of her apartment building, nervously tugging at the hem of her black dress for the third time. The evening heat of Valley City still hung heavy and sluggish over the city.

Then the white Toyota pulled up to the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap, eyed her through the rearview mirror as she got in.

“Ventrue Hills?” He whistled softly through his teeth. “Fancy neighborhood. Party?”

Chloe muttered something noncommittal and stared out the window.

“First time up there?” he tried again to strike up a conversation.

“Mhm.”

He finally got the hint and turned up the radio. Some pop song blared as the fancier part of Valley City gradually passed by.

The villa first appeared as a string of lights through the trees, then as a massive white fortress. The driver stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate, behind which a curved driveway led through an extremely neatly landscaped garden.

“Here we are,” said the driver.

She said goodbye, gave him a small tip via the app, and got out. Her heels clicked on the marble driveway.

Other women were arriving too. A redhead in jeans and a tank top nodded to her, and a blonde in a summer dress that showed off her tanned legs. They all looked really good, like models… or well, like porn stars. But they were all wearing casual clothes.

Shit. I’m overdressed.

“Hi Chloe!” Elena Rodriguez was a few feet away, talking to one of the other women. Elena waved briefly, obviously a little surprised to see her here and perhaps a little embarrassed because she had ghosted her. In any case, she made no move to come over to her. Chloe waved back.

The lobby was air-conditioned to arctic temperatures. A young woman with a tight blonde ponytail and a forced smile approached her.

“I’m Heather, I work for Ms. Cruz.” Her gaze slid over Chloe’s dress. “And you must be Chloe Heart. Perfect. Come with me, we need to get you ready.”

Get me ready?

She led Chloe and the other new arrivals into a side room. Clothes racks lined the walls, but there were no normal outfits hanging on them. Instead, identical black bodysuits were lined up, all with “DIRTY DREAMS” in bright red letters across the chest.

“Here.” Heather pressed one into her hands. “Size small should fit. You can keep your shoes on, they should be fine.”

Chloe stared at the flimsy piece of fabric in her hands. It felt thin, almost like swimsuit material, but rougher. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

“Everyone wears this.” Heather’s tone brooked no argument. “Ms. Cruz likes uniformity at her events.”

Around her, the other women were already changing. Routinely, and without shame. A brunette next to her slipped out of her shorts and thong, pulled up the bodysuit, and then took off her top.

Chloe hung her dress on a hook and put on the bodysuit. The fabric clung to her and felt as if it wasn’t actually there. The leg openings were cut so high that they practically reached her hipbones, and the thong cut left her entire butt exposed. Of course, she couldn’t wear underwear underneath this thing.

In the mirror, she looked like an advertisement for Valeria’s studio. Literally, because the words “DIRTY DREAMS” were emblazoned across her breasts. Her nipples, rock hard from the ice-cold air conditioning, were poking through the R and the A.

Great. Fucking great.

“Looks good.” Heather nodded with satisfaction. “Follow me.”

She led the group through a hallway to massive double doors. Bass-heavy music drifted through, muffled, along with lots of laughter. Heather opened the doors.

Cheers greeted them as they entered the gigantic living room, or whatever this room was supposed to be. The lights were dimmed and reflected off crystal chandeliers on the ceiling, which cast prisms across the velvet curtains. There was an extremely expensive-looking buffet that made Chloe’s mouth water and a real bar where a bartender was mixing cocktails.

And men. Men everywhere.

Lots of suits. Armani, Brioni, Boss, the occasional polo shirt. Gray hair, bald heads, gold watches, and many wedding rings. They stood in small groups, drinking whiskey or cocktails and laughing at jokes that, judging by the laughter, were probably at someone’s expense.

Chloe and all the other women wore bodysuits. All identical, all with the same red lettering. They moved among the men, smiling, their heads thrown back as they laughed, and within a very short time they had hands on their arms, shoulders, and buttocks.

It’s like at a petting zoo.

There was Valeria Cruz. She wore a white pantsuit that set her apart from everyone else. With the exception of her assistant Heather, she was the only woman here who wasn’t branded like cattle. Her eyes glided contentedly across the room.

Her gaze met Chloe’s. A brief, satisfied nod. Then she turned back to her conversation partner.

A waiter glided past her, the silver tray perfectly balanced on his gloved hand. Lots of champagne glasses sparkled on it, half of them in delicate pink, the other half in classic clear.

“Champagne, miss?”

He handed Chloe a pink glass and she took it with a smile. The waiter disappeared back into the crowd, silent as a ghost. She raised the glass to her lips and pretended to sip, but didn’t let the liquid pass her lips. She didn’t want to drink alcohol here under any circumstances.

Besides… her eyes wandered around the room. All the female performers were holding pink glasses. But the male guests had clear glasses, if they were drinking champagne at all. That was definitely no coincidence.

The female performers were all being groped shamelessly. Some guests were more reserved, limiting themselves to glances and occasional touches. Others grabbed at them like fruit in a supermarket.

Every now and then, one of the women would disappear with a guest through the heavy velvet curtains at the other end of the room, which was marked as a lounge area.

“You need to mingle more with the guests.”

Heather’s voice made her flinch. The assistant had appeared silently beside her and was smiling coldly.

“I… I am mingling,” Chloe protested weakly.

“You’re standing around watching.” Heather’s tone was friendly but firm. Like a kindergarten teacher admonishing a stubborn child. “Ms. Cruz invited you personally. It’s an honor. The guests here are very important people. Investors and business partners of Ms. Cruz and friends of the house.”

She reached for Chloe’s glass and raised it demonstratively. “Have a drink. Loosen up. Be charming, attentive and available.”

Available.

“Of course,” Chloe said, forcing a bright smile. “I… sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”

Heather nodded and disappeared again to direct other performers. Chloe watched her go and formulated her battle plan.

Keep moving. Don’t get cornered. Don’t drink. Don’t commit. But don’t look unwilling either.

A damn tightrope walk over a shark tank.

She started moving, gliding through the room as she had observed the other women doing. Hips swaying, smile plastered on her face, available but not desperate.

The first shark didn’t take long to appear.

“Well, who do we have here?”

George, as he introduced himself, was an older guy, maybe in his late fifties, with that self-satisfied grin that only people with lots of money and little conscience have. Tailored suit, belly hanging heavily over his waistband, and fleshy hands that immediately grabbed her waist.

“Chloe,” she whispered, placing her hand on his chest. Not inviting, but not dismissive either. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” His fingers dug into her hip. “Valeria mentioned you. She said you were just my type.”

And what exactly is your type, George? Young, broke, and desperate?

“Ms. Cruz is too kind,” she purred instead.

George laughed, a barking, smug sound. “Valeria is many things, but kind is not one of them. She only knows exactly what her friends like.”

His hand wandered lower. Chloe shifted slightly to the side, turning so that it looked like a natural movement, but George’s hand followed stubbornly.

“Tell me about yourself,” he demanded. “How long have you been in the business?”

“Oh, not long.” She giggled, feigning embarrassment. “I’m still very new.”

“Fresh meat, then.” The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. “Valeria was right.”

The next five minutes demanded superhuman patience from her. George talked about his investments, his connections, and in disgusting detail about his preferences in women. Chloe nodded, smiled, made impressed noises, and desperately searched for a way out.

“Oh, excuse me for a moment,” she finally interrupted. “I need to… you know.”

George didn’t look happy, but he let her go. “Hurry up, sweetheart. I’m not done with you yet.”

I was afraid of that.

She fled toward the restrooms, but at the last moment turned and disappeared into the crowd. The contents of her pink champagne glass landed inconspicuously in a potted plant.

The next attempt came from two men engaged in a lively discussion about real estate prices. One of them, a guy with a receding hairline and sweat stains under his arms, pulled her into their conversation without warning.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Is beachfront property still worth it?”

His hand rested heavily on her hip and his thumb caressed her hipbone.

“Oh my gosh, I don’t know anything about real estate,” she admitted, hating herself for the silly giggle that followed.

“Of course not.” The other man, younger but no less sleazy, grinned. “But I’m sure you know a lot about… other things.”

Yuck.

“Maybe,” she whispered, giggling again.

The sweaty man dropped his hand onto her butt and kneaded it like pizza dough.

“Wow, soft and firm at the same time,” he commented, as if he were conducting a fucking wine tasting or something. “Do you work out?”

Five minutes. That was all she could ever manage. Then the next excuse, the next retreat, the next group.

And so it went on. An endless cycle of approaching, small talk, letting herself be fondled for a while, and then strategic retreat. Never staying with one person for too long, but she also had to avoid giving the impression that she didn’t want to play along.

She tried to avoid Valeria’s gaze. The producer usually stood near the bar, chatting with different guests, but her eyes regularly scanned the room.

Am I being too evasive? Does she notice?

As she made her rounds, Chloe memorized the faces. There was a state senator. Chloe had seen him before, but she couldn’t remember his name. She would have to look it up when she got home.

And there was a judge too. His name was Mason, and he regularly appeared in the news because of his harsh sentences. They called him Judge Zero. For zero tolerance. He was leading the brunette toward the VIP area, his hand already deep inside her bodysuit.

There were others who looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place them. She would have to look at a lot of pictures tomorrow to see if she recognized anyone. But they weren’t nobodies.

Half of Valley fucking City’s elite.

And suddenly it all made sense. Why the investigation into Samantha’s murder had been closed so quickly. The police’s lack of interest.

There were men here, friends of Valeria’s, who would just have to make a call, just one word from them and an investigation like the one into Samantha’s murder would have been closed. A dead porn actress? Tragic, but no reason to bother important people.

Her stomach turned, but at the same time she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Despite all that, she was here. She saw it with her own eyes.

Next time I come here, I’ll need a camera. Or at least a recording device.

But where would she hide it? The bodysuit left no options.

A movement at the VIP entrance distracted her. One of the performers, the redhead, reappeared from the lounge area after twenty minutes. The crotch of her bodysuit was slightly askew, revealing a little too much. She quickly adjusted it and then furtively wiped her mouth before hurrying toward the restrooms.

It’s so obvious what’s happening in there.

And eventually, if she stayed long enough, someone would want to take her to the lounge area too.

Fuck that.

She had to get out of here. But how? Just leaving was not an option.

And then she saw Elena.