Page 84 of Turning Back

So Bric was my goal when I came to town. And there I was, twenty-four years old, sitting in a private sex club in Denver, talking to three men about sharing.

Not cheating. Sharing.

It was such an interesting idea for me. And Lindsey made it out to be a pretty sweet deal.

Looking back, I decide it was a sweet deal. Still is.

Bric can be summed up in three words. Self-absorbed, self-obsessed, and self-serving. They almost mean the same thing, but Bric is so egomaniacal, he deserves all three, even if it’s just for poetic reasons.

Add in a dark Machiavellian psyche that likes to twist people’s perception, and you get one messed-up man.

But most people don’t see that side. I’m not even sure Quin and Smith see that side. If they do, they just go along with it. But I see it. I have always seen it. You have to be a certain kind of person to make an offer like that.

I think he’s so likable because you see him coming a mile away. He’s like a bulldozer with a blinking neon sign that says, me, me, me. And he’s set his life up in such a way that he never has to hide that from anyone.

Or maybe people are just pretending? He’s rich, powerful, handsome—and isn’t that all you need to be liked in this world? It’s only what’s on the outside that counts in society.

There are no women in his life except for the game players and the wives the members of his club share with him downstairs.

And the game players are managed using Quin. He’s the one who keeps them together. I realize that now. Bric is too selfish. Smith was never invested enough. But Quin… everything about Quin is the real deal. If he’s in, he’s all in.

When I saw Quin at the first meeting he was sitting across from Smith looking like the perfect contradiction. That same night I was inside that top-floor apartment making myself at home.

One week into the little Taking Turns game and I was falling for Quin Foster. For them, really. Not Smith. Never, ever. But Quin is like a kinky perfect gentleman. He opens doors, he likes to buy me gifts, he’s never late, and he’s fun. We hit it off immediately and even though the rules of the game were challenging, we got around them. Eventually we ignored them, but that was much later. We played by most of the rules for more than a year. Hell, even Smith played along for a while.

But Bric was another matter altogether. Yes, he was the first of them I was with. But I didn’t fall for Bric until this past weekend. Four years after we met, he showed me something real. And I can’t even say I was waiting for it, because I wasn’t. I wasn’t looking for any kind of gesture from him. And never in a million years did I ever imagine that Elias Bricman cared enough to try for a second chance at a first impression.

The car pulls up in front of Turning Point and a valet rushes up to my door to open it. I’d forgotten how nice it was to have a driver take me places, but I still have to take a moment to unlatch Adley’s car seat, and he waits patiently.

“Good morning, miss. Are you having breakfast with—” But another valet is there, whispering in his ear. “Ooohhh,” he says, smiling. “Come this way, Ms. Bastille. Mr. Bricman and Mr. Foster are waiting for you.”

I wrapped my arms and legs around Quin so tight this morning to try to make him stand up Smith for their stupid Monday morning breakfast date, he had to pry me off him. I lost, obviously. But we laughed, so it was worth it.

An hour later Bric woke me with the sound of the shower going. He said I could go into the Club with him, but who the hell wants to get up at six AM if they don’t have to?

Of course, Adley woke up two minutes after he left, so joke’s on me.

But the clothes from my Saturday shopping spree were delivered promptly at eight-thirty, so I’m glad I stuck to my lazy schedule. Because I look fantastic right now.

I’m wearing a cream-colored, oversized, cable-knit sweater dress that hits me at the knee, cream-colored knee-high socks, and some brown leather chunky-heel, below-the-knee boots. None of which were purchased at a thrift store or in the t-shirt department of a Pagosa Springs tourist trap. I even have a matching cable-knit scarf that is so long, it hangs down to my hips after it’s wrapped.

Adley is trying to show me up, because we match in color and knitted textures—except she’s got on a sweater coat, tights, and little furry booties—and she’s cuter than me by miles.

Mondays are always busy in the White Room. These damn rich people can’t wait to get back to work, and what better way to start your week than Monday morning bacon with your business bros?

Quin and Bric are both at the table—laughing at something—as I walk up, lugging Adley in her seat. Bric gets up to take her, and she smiles brightly at him as he wedges the carrier into the booth.

I lean down and kiss Quin, who is looking me over like he might throw me down on the table and fuck me right here.

“I approve,” he says, finally finding my eyes.

“Thank you.” I curtsey, holding my sweater dress out with fancy fingertips. “And you’ll be happy to know, Mr. Bricman, everything was purchased new.”

“Love it,” Bric says. “And love the pumpkin’s outfit too.” He doesn’t look at me. My little girl really is showing me up in the eyes of Elias Bricman.

The waiter comes and I order a plain pancake for Adley, and a bacon and cheese omelet for me.

“I’m glad you got new clothes,” Bric says, still making stupid faces at Adley so she’ll giggle. “Because you and Quin are going out on a date tomorrow night.”