Bound by Her Best Friend (A Club Smex Story) (3 page)

Chapter Three

Friday morning, as she always did, Freya texted Zak to thank him for the night before and to make sure he’d gotten home safely. He replied with a simple smiley face.

On her lunch break, stressed beyond belief after another incident with one of the older kids, she messaged him a joke she’d found on one of their favorite websites. He replied with another smiley face. There was no reciprocal joke or quirky story, which, admittedly, disappointed her a little. His wry humor would have gone some way to making Freya feel a little better about the rest of the afternoon.

That night she sent him a weird news story that had gone viral and was clocking up about a hundred thousand YouTube views an hour.

Zak did not reply.

Zak did not answer a single one of her texts following that, and by Saturday morning Freya was worried, more than worried, she was panicking. He never kept her waiting for more than a couple of hours before replying. Okay, sometimes more if he was in a busy meeting, but never a whole day.

Despite the knot of panic in her belly, she let it lie all Saturday morning as she met a friend for breakfast; mostly because she thought maybe he had something going on, something that would explain his weird intenseness of Thursday before. But by the time Saturday afternoon came round and he still hadn’t replied to her texts, emails or messages, Freya knew that something was
very
wrong.

She debated with herself all afternoon over what to do. There was no point heading to his office because Zak kept very strict Monday through to Friday hours. He did not like his staff working weekends, although he often did himself from the office in his apartment, and so shut the building down at five sharp every Friday.

If she was going to check on him, his apartment was the only option.

Freya’s stomach gurgled in a nasty way as she got herself dressed into jeans and a chunky knit sweater. It churned and flipped the whole bus ride there, and then again as she nodded a hello to the doorman and walked the flights of stairs that led to the top floor.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d come to Zak’s place over the last few years. They tended to meet at hers because it was just easier, and because—if she were really honest with herself—Freya was intimidated by how fancy his space was.

The double doors that led to his apartment were resolutely shut as Freya approached. She tried the handle, more on an impulse than anything else. It did not budge.

She knocked the door. No one answered.

She knocked again, harder. Still no answer.

“Zak? It’s me, Freya.”

Nothing. Clearly, Zak was not home.

Freya gritted her teeth, checked the screen of her cell again—still no messages—and then, because what choice did she have, Freya pulled Zak’s key out of her pocket. This would be the first time she had ever used it. He’d left it for her one Thursday when she had complained about him keeping hers. She’d told him she’d never have a need to use it, but he’d insisted.

She was grateful for that now.

She opened the door slowly, holding her breath as she entered his cavernous hallway, its vaulted ceiling flooding the space with the last of the day’s light. To her left was an oval table, to the right a jacket hanger thingy. It was British, Freya knew that much, Zak had it imported over from London. A significant portion of his furniture was imported from various places across the globe. Zak travelled extensively, had even tried to convince Freya to join him on some of his trips. She’d always refused, mostly because she could not afford to go and did not want to assume he would simply pay—which he would.

The trouble with rich friends, she thought, and felt her heart thud.

“Zak?” A pause and then, “It’s me, Freya. Are you here?”

Unlike her apartment, Zak’s hallway branched off to a number of rooms. Freya checked the living area, the dining room, the kitchen, the study, the gym, the only door she paused at was his bedroom. Part of her was scared she’d find him unconscious on the floor, the other part was worried he’d be fast asleep with a blonde curled up in his arms. How embarrassing would that be? Freya hadn’t met many of Zak’s girlfriend’s over the years, not since she’d stopped attending parties and such with him. The ones she
had
met years before hadn’t lasted long, so Freya had never tried to make a friend out of them. Plus there was the whole jealousy thing. Despite Freya reassuring many of those girls that she and Zak were just friends, they’d never believed her. Their relationship had been the cause of more than one breakup. For both of them.

Taking a deep breath, Freya pushed the bedroom door open. It was empty. Her chest tightened and the worry that had sat deep in her gut began to combine with something else.

Anger.

“Where the hell are you, Zak?” she hissed, striding through the bedroom to check the en suite. It too was painfully silent.

She slumped down on to his bed, surprised in an absent sort of way, how hard it was. She’d always imagined Zak sleeping in a sinfully soft bed, full of luxurious pillows and decadent satin comforters. But no, it was stark, tidy, efficient.

“Just like you really,” she muttered. “I should have known.”

Sighing Freya made her way into Zak’s kitchen, disappointment now joining the worry and anger. How could he leave her hanging like this? He was bound to know how concerned she would be. Scenarios danced through her mind as she poured herself a glass of water. Zak hurt somewhere. Zak unable to reach her. Worse, Zak so busy that he hadn’t even considered that she was anxious.

She placed her glass back down on the counter, wondering what she should, or could, do next.  Her gaze danced around the room, not really settling on anything but once again noticing how austere Zak’s space was. The walls were beige, the fixings either metal or wood, and there were no trinkets, no plants, nothing that seemed unnecessary…apart from… 

Without really thinking Freya picked her glass back up, moved across the room and zeroed in on the only splashes of color in the room. Two picture frames and an envelope. They sat on the counter, just by the coffee machine. One frame held a picture of Zak and his extended family. He had three sisters, a mom and a dad, all of them still living in the same small town they once had. The picture was fairly new. Freya could tell by the house behind the smiling family. It was a huge farmhouse, newly built. Zak had bought it for them when he’d made his first million. They’d both gone home for the occasion and it had been such a fun trip. Zak’s family had been so proud and he’d responded with a sort of subdued pride himself. She knew how much it had meant to him to be able to do that for them.

Oddly enough, Freya had returned to find her mother’s apartment was different also. A new manager had bought it and renovated extensively. Where once the windows had been roughly cut, allowing in cold air, and the doors had been paper thin, she was now nice and snug. The kitchen and the bathroom had been updated, not to mention the landscaping around the building. All the tenants—most of them elderly—had been beyond pleased with their new living quarters.

Freya had known without a doubt who that new manager was. She’d never said a word because Zak wouldn’t have wanted that, but it was just like him, to not only take care of his family but hers also. And because it was for her mother, a woman whose life had been struggle after struggle, Freya hadn’t been offended in any way, just super grateful.

The anger that had filled her dissipated as she thought about all the things Zak had done for the people they’d left behind, all the things he had done for
her
. Millionaire extraordinaire he might be, but at heart he was just Zachary Harker. Her very best friend.

She picked up the other picture as she took a sip of her water. This one was in a smaller frame, the picture in it blurry compared to the sharpness of the one next to it. It was of the two of them on prom night. Zak dressed in a suit that had been his dad’s and she in a dress that had once been her mom’s. If she squinted, Freya could just about make out a hive on Zak’s chin—the last of them from the ‘lavender incident’. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, a whole head taller than her already. She was curled into his chest, beaming at the camera, her hair still a funny shade, thanks to the green hair dye.

That night had been fantastic.

A couple of months later Zak had left for college, and she’d spent the next couple of years missing him with something that felt like acute pain. Freya sighed slightly as she placed the picture back down and looked at the other splash of color in the room. It was an envelope, bright red with an intricately curved S intertwined with an M, about the size of half an A4 sheet, it looked like it had been tossed on the counter. She placed her glass down next to the prom picture and turned the envelope over in her hands, a little surprised by the weight of it. Zak’s full name was printed across the front, and it was open.

Could this envelope have something to do with Zak’s absence? Freya bit down on her lip, knowing full well that it was none of her business. That prying into Zak’s personal mail was crossing one of the few lines they had put between them. And yet…she was no longer angry, just anxious, even a little bit scared.

With her free hand Freya pulled her cell from her bag and called Zak once again. It went straight to voicemail. She checked her texts, her messages, even her own voicemail—despite knowing there wasn’t going to be anything waiting for her.

“You have to look inside,” she whispered to herself. “It’s the only option. What if he needs help?”

She squirmed slightly, unsure what to do. One more call, again through to voicemail. That lack of response was enough to make the decision for her, and before she could talk herself out of it, Freya flipped the envelope around and pulled out the contents. It was a letter, written on stiff, thick paper in some sort of cursive script. Perhaps even handwritten—who did that anymore?

“
To Mr. Zachary Harker
,” it began. “
We look forward to welcoming you back to the club this weekend with a special invitation
.”

The club? Freya frowned. Zak had never mentioned joining a club.

“
As always
,” the letter continued, “
we have reserved room five for your personal usage...”

“Okayyyy…” The frown deepened. What the hell was this? A club? Room five? Freya read quickly, and with each new word she felt her mouth drop open bit by bit. Her heart started to thud double quick, her hands clenched around the paper as phrases jumped out at her, none of them really making any kind of sense.

Whatever you desire…Waiting to fulfill your needs…

By the time she had read it through once she went straight back to the beginning and read it again. The phrases joined together now, understanding dawned.

“No…” she whispered. “Zak, no.”

This had to be meant for someone else, she thought frantically, or was some sort of marketing trick. It made no sense at all Zak having this!

She read the letter again, as if a third go would make something clear that she had missed! But it told her the exact same thing. Zak was a member of Club Smex, an exclusive gentleman’s pleasure club. This letter was an invitation for him to bring along a female companion of his choosing any weekend for the next month. A room had been reserved for that very purpose, could he please let them know what refreshments and
equipment
he desired…

Freya stepped away from the counter, her heart racing. Equipment? Shock flooded her entire body, and she simply stared at the words, unable to believe they were true. Zak didn’t, couldn’t, belong to a…pleasure club! It was misogynistic in the extreme. Outdated. Ridiculous…

Zak couldn’t…

She dropped the envelope in front of her and took a step back from the counter. For some reason Freya couldn’t stop her gaze flickering between it and the picture of her and Zak. The two did not compute. They shouldn’t be in the same space.

What was he doing? Why was he doing this? Zak in a gentleman’s club? It did not fit! Her thoughts scrambled, her mind moved in about a million different directions. Freya simply stood, rooted to the spot, unsure what to do, where to go, what to say.

The front door opened. The sound unnaturally loud.

Freya jumped, almost knocking the water over. She reached out to steady the glass before it fell, picking up the invitation as she did so. A moment later and she heard his voice.

“Freya, what the hell are you doing here?”

She turned, her heart still thudding and her hands clenched tight around the paper. Zak stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His hair was ruffled, his tie pulled loose around his neck. Abruptly is occurred to Freya that he might not have even come home last night or the night before. Might have been at this club? Had she worried for nothing?

In the service of your deepest desires...

Freya looked down at the letter, still clenched in her hand and then back at Zak. She knew he had a sex life for God’s sake, knew he dated, but this was a whole other ball game. The idea that Zak went into a club where the only reason for going was to have sex…

Freya swallowed the lump in her throat and perhaps for the first time since they were kids, since they had become such good friends, she did not know what to say to Zak. She simply looked at him, almost like she was seeing a stranger.