The Billionaire's Plaything is his Wife
“That’s great. I’ll get you all squared away, honey. I just need your ID”
I hand it over to her and watch as she scans it and types it into her computer, humming softly to the hallway music. She hands me the book in front of her, and she shows me a place to sign and write out my name, which I do. She smiles at me as I shut the book and hand it over to her.
“Your membership has been approved,” she says, handing back my ID. “The new member f*e is fifty.”
I try to mask the shock I feel at the outrageous amount. Fifty dollars just for a night in a club? Am I going to obtain something life-changing? I drop my credit card on the counter without a word and she gets to work scanning it in too.