La bailarina del mafioso

There’s no explanation for it.

I love my day job, really. But there’s something about my evening activities that just ignites everything in my soul. It’s as though everything in my life, all the crap, all the shit, once I step foot in that building at 10pm, it all fades away. The only thing left is excitement, adrenaline, anticipation.

And I am completely in control.

But like I said, I also love my day job. Especially the person I work directly for.

As the secretary for Mr. Reid, the CEO of Reid Global, a multi-million conglomerate that has a hand in a lot of sectors – energy, science, politics, sales, I’m exposed to a lot of the business, but I also know that there’s a lot that I don’t know, a lot that I’m not important enough in the hierarchy to know.

Spending a year working for him though, I feel like I’ve come to know him somewhat, and I definitely know his reputation. His reputation paints him as a stoic businessman with no serious attachments, some thinking he’s too young for the job at only 31, but nobody can fault that he gets results where they’re needed.

Personally, I know that he’s kind. At least, he is to me.

I walk into his office without even knocking, a gesture that quickly became forgotten after my first few weeks. David and I (or Dave, as I call him when it’s just the two of us) connected quickly and easily, and here I am a year later, having never regretted a second of it.

He’s on the phone, as he usually is, but I set about my usual duties. Replacing the cold cup of coffee on the table with a new one, that he'll likely still forget about, tidying up the files on his desk as he paces the room yelling to whoever he's on the phone to, and setting his schedule for tomorrow beside his computer.

I glance up at him as I finish up, reminding myself of the other reason I enjoy the job so much.

Mr. Reid is hot.

His suit jacket has been discarded on one of the chairs, but he's still in his shirt, waistcoat, dress trousers and smart shoes. He is the epitome of what CEOs look like, but his dark hair makes his sharp blue eyes stand out from across the room, and I secretly love the fact that he always seems to buy shirts in the wrong size, making his muscles stretch the fabric slightly.

He catches me looking up at him, and smiles, then rolls his eyes and holds up a finger, telling me to wait, which tells me that he's already mentally over whatever conversation he's having.

I stand patiently behind his desk, my arms clutching the old files that he no longer needs, one hand clutching the two-hour-old coffee mug, waiting for him to finally hang up.

“I'm not telling you again, Owen, you were supposed to get this done two days ago. If the signed deal is not in my hands by one o’clock tomorrow, consider it your last day.” David snaps into the phone, before finally hanging up.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I told you weeks ago not to let Owen on this, Dave.” I say. He opens his eyes and chuckles, then heads over to me.

“I know you did, but I can’t let the heads know that I take strategy advice from my secretary. They’ll think I'm going soft.” He replies with as he picks up the fresh coffee and takes a sip.

“Well, your lowly secretary is on the floor more than you, so maybe you should listen to her in the future.” I reply, walking round the desk and passing him. “I’ll even let you take the credit.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He responds, putting his coffee down, then turning to lean back against his desk as he watches me walk towards the door. “All finished for the day?”

“I am, yes.” I say as I stop walking. “I’ve left the Vance file out for you though, you need to–”

“Ugh, I know.” He groans, rubbing his face over his hands.

“He wants a meeting next week.”

“Tell him I'm busy.”

“I’ve told him that for two months.” I laugh, walking back over to him. “He just wants your initial proposal, so put aside your distaste for him and deal with it.” I order as I come to stand in front of him.

He licks his bottom lip as he looks down at me with a raised eyebrow.

Any other bosses, and I’d be terrified of talking to them this way. Dave and I though? This is normal for me, the friendly banter. The eyebrow and the lip thing is also just a habit for him, one that I never want him to stop.

“I’ve done a draft for you already.” I add, making his face drop.

“You have?” He asks as he reaches round to pick up the file and scan through it.

I laugh as I start heading back to the door. “Of course I have, because you were never going to.”

“This is shit, Nora!” He frowns, pointing at the pages.

“Oh, I know, I made it shit so that you’d be motivated to correct it.” I explain with a grin. He rolls his eyes.

“Sneaky. You up to much this evening?” He asks, even though his attention is already back at the crap proposal, and he is already picking up his pen to edit it. It means that he doesn’t notice my body tense slightly.

“Not really. Same old. You?” I ask politely.

“Pretty sure it’ll be some more of this.” He says with a slight sigh as he sits down in his chair and dumps the file onto his desk. He looks up at me with a small smile on his lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning.” I echo, and then I leave.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Four hours later, I'm walking into the other building that I spend the other half of my life in. I breathe in the familiar scent, observe the familiar faces, and enjoy the familiar feeling of excitement starting to spread through me. There's just nothing like it.

At my day job, I'm acting a role. Nora Ellis, secretary to Mr. Reid. Seen but not heard. No one I'd think to look at twice.

Here though? Here, I go by a different name, a different part of my personality, and I certainly am not overlooked, especially with my iconic purple and black lace mask that everyone has come to know so well.

It's a simple mask, covering the area around my eyes, lace falling delicately over my cheeks, the ribbon tied at the back with droplets of black gems adorned over the edges. It stands out against the red wig I also wear, another aspect that everyone has come to know me by.

I nod to the guards at the staff door, allowing them to open it for me before walking through. I head straight to greeting and hugging the others that also work here, before we all start filing out to the main room. I quickly take note of the regulars, the newbies, each girl’s area to cover for the night, and give a nod to the bartender, who instantly starts on my drink.

I don’t own the place, but others regard me as being third in charge. Selena, the real red-head, is in charge. She owns the place. Second in charge is Nico. He stays behind the bar, acting like a regular bartender, but if anything happens, he's there in a split second, and can chuck out anyone, even if they're twice his size.

After that is me, unofficially. I have simply been here long enough that everyone assumes I'm part of management, and my close relationships with Sel and Nico strengthen that assumption. Either way, I think of this place as my second home sometimes, losing count of the times that Sel, Nico and I end up sleeping over once the doors are closed, bunking in her office when I'm in between rental apartments, knowing that if I ever need anything, this place is here.

I take a deep breath, smiling to myself as I lean on the bar, preparing myself for a fun-filled night of debauchery.

I really love working in a BDSM club.