Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

cases, each with distinctive metal contraptions inside, frame the painting on either side. Where had I seen those devices before? History class? Something like them maybe, but never with those spikes or— was that a leash ? The left display case held the device with the spiked, leash-like apparatus, while the right display case featured a pair of clamps of some sort, rusty with age, the once shiny iron now corroded.
    Fascinated, I couldn’t help imagining where and how you’d use those items. An image of the spiked collar around the neck of the woman in the painting popped into my head, her eyes shining with pleasure. She enjoys the pull of the leash and— whoa! I pinched the side of my thigh sharply.
    I have to admit Calvin Chambers’ lobby took me by surprise. The only thing I knew about Chambers was that he owned a multi-billion-dollar hedge fund (thank you, Google), so I had expected some extravagant pieces to punctuate the decor, but not… this . To say the least, it contrasted starkly with the light and airy entrance of any corporate office I’d ever visited, including my dad’s law firm where I spent summers. The gray, almost black, walls, softly lit by warm bulbs, created an intimate dusk-like feeling in the room, as if it were 7:00 in the evening instead of 9:30 a.m.
    I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, wondering how long I’d wait. A loud knocking on the door of my hotel room earlier this morning had awakened me. Blurry-eyed, I had reached for my phone—what time was it? No instructions had been left for me after my arrival, only that Mr. Chambers would be in touch. How? I’d wondered. It all seemed so businesslike, as if I were traveling for an employer, rather than, well—a virginity expedition.
    My room in Manhattan was like the room in Vegas—luxurious and lavish. I’d tried to get some sleep, knowing that I should be well rested for whatever ensued, but I’d tossed and turned for hours in the sinfully soft linen, unable to get comfortable. I think I dozed around 4:00 a.m., finally reaching deep slumber as the sun crept through the curtains signaling daybreak about 6:00.
     
    My phone read 8:32. Housekeeping this early? I thought grouchily, willing the pounding to stop. Wait, what if this was it—contact from Chambers ? That thought jolted me awake. As I stumbled toward the knocking, my toe kicked a large, flat, white envelope, clearly slipped under the door. Whoever was on the other side of the door stopped their clamoring, satisfied. I tore into it, eager to learn more about the deal I had entered. So far, it was all so secretive, like a clandestine operation.
    Sabrina, welcome to Manhattan. A car will be waiting in front of the hotel at 8:50 a.m. Don’t be late. No signature, but I knew it had to be from him.
    He expected me to be downstairs at 8:50? That gave me twenty minutes to kick it into high gear and somehow find a way to make myself presentable. For what, I wasn’t sure. A romantic rendezvous? A meet-and-greet breakfast? I had been half-expecting Mr. Chambers to appear in the doorframe in the middle of the night, ready to claim his winnings. With that possibility clearly out the window, all I could think about was shaving my legs.
    I ransacked the small bag I had packed two nights earlier, desperate to find something that would suit the occasion—whatever it might be. Settling on a simple black cotton skirt and a light camel-colored cashmere sweater, I dressed quickly, heart pounding a mile a minute.
    Twenty minutes later, I arrived panting in the lobby. The concierge greeted me as if we were old friends and escorted me to the valet stand where a sleek black Mercedes-Benz waited. The car ride was long enough to keep me wondering where the hell we were going.
    Clearly, I already knew Calvin Chambers was wealthy—rich enough to have an extra three million dollars to spend—but Carmichael said that all other information was confidential, which only increased my interest. My Google