The Billionaire’s Secret
Why the mask? Well, it wasn’t for style. I could give a crap about looking like I was a refugee from Carnivale. No, it was to disguise my identity. No one, and I mean no one, in the club knew who the hell I was. And I planned to keep it that way. The twelve hours a day I worked my hedge fund firm were not exactly relaxing. But the few hours a night I spent at the most secretive sex club in San Francisco allowed me to be a different person, something I craved the way a man needs air. Here at Club Silk I had no responsibility, no fortune, and no celebrity as San Francisco’s wunderkind financial brain. I didn’t even have a goddamn name. For a few miraculous moments, Varden Gallagher didn’t exist. And it was fucking amazing.
But like the saying went, you gotta keep your dick out of the company inkwell. Of course, Silk wasn’t my company, per se, but it was my home away from home. I wasn’t about to risk any drama with the one person who could keep me away from it. I’d seen her pissed before, and rain down her wrath on some dumb fuck who didn’t mind his place.