Page 44 of A House of Gold
Like I’m not still feeling it between my legs.
I force myself to breathe. To focus. To remember why we’re here.
But all I can think about is the taste of him still on my lips.
11
The building’s lobby is all glass and marble, overly aggressive minimalism that screams, we have money, and we want you to know it. Even at this hour, the space is lit up like midday, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, reflecting off polished surfaces until everything gleams.
The security desk sits in the center like a throne, and behind it sits a guard who looks like he’s counting down the minutes until his shift ends. Mid-forties, probably. Wedding ring catching the light. Thermos of coffee within reach. The slump of someone who’s been sitting too long and wants to go home.
Until he sees us.
His expression transforms the moment we walk through the doors, boredom shifting to attention, then to something else. Something that looks almost like...eagerness. Like he’s suddenly very invested in being helpful. His posture straightens. He sets down whatever he was reading. His whole body language changes from leave me alone to how can I help you?
Croesus’s power. I can feel it radiating off him, subtle but undeniable. Not compulsion, but something close. A pull. A want. Like gravity, but for desire.
It makes my skin crawl.
The guard wants to help us. Wants to say yes. Wants to please.
Seeing it from the outside makes me sick all over again. Was this what I looked like just now in the car? Puppy dog eyes and wet lips. It’s eerie watching someone else get caught in an angel’s orbit and not realize they’re being manipulated. It’s unsettling. Disturbing.
“Good evening,” Croesus says, his voice warm and friendly as we approach the desk. He’s still holding my arm, and I’m acutely aware of how we must look, expensive, powerful, exactly the kind of people who belong in a building like this. His suit is impeccable. My dress is silk and designer and completely impractical. We look like money. Like privilege. People you say yes to automatically.
“Good evening!” The guard’s response is too enthusiastic. Too eager. “How can I help you folks tonight?”
“We’re here to see David Barnes. Fifteenth floor.” Croesus leans slightly against the desk, casual and conspiratorial. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just... present. And somehow that presence fills the space, making everything else smaller by comparison.
The guard doesn’t bat an eyelash at the otherworldly-ness of Croesus, the way his eyes have no irises. Zero reaction.
I tug Croesus’s arm and inspect his face. Looks the same to me. Worse, he gives me a wink and focuses on the guard again.
The guard’s fingers are already moving to his computer before Croesus finishes speaking. “Of course. Let me just,“ He pauses, frowning at the screen. “Hmm. I don’t see anyone listed on the visitor log for tonight...”
I tense, waiting for Croesus to push harder. To use more of that overwhelming presence. To compel the guard to let us through.
He doesn’t.
“It’s a personal visit,” Croesus says, and his tone shifts to something softer. Concerned. “Last minute. I’m sure you understand how these things are. David’s been under a lot of stress lately. I’m worried about him, to be honest. Overworking himself. I was hoping to convince him to take a break, maybe grab a late dinner.” He pauses, and I can hear the genuine worry in his voice. The care. “You know how it is with these investment types. They forget to eat, forget to sleep. Someone has to look after them.”
It’s a performance. I know it’s a performance. The concern is fake; the worry is manufactured. But it sounds so real. So earnest.
And the guard believes every word.
“Oh man, yeah.” The guard shakes his head, all traces of suspicion gone. “Mr. Barnes has been here every night this week. Sometimes I wonder if he even goes home. His wife called looking for him last Tuesday, and I had to tell her he was still in his office at ten PM.” He lowers his voice, conspiratorial now. “Between you and me, I think he’s having some kind of breakdown. He looks terrible. You’re a good friend, coming to check on him like this.”
“I try.” Croesus’s smile is modest. Perfect. The smile of a man who genuinely cares about his friend’s wellbeing. “So if you could just point us in the right direction...?”
The guard hesitates.
I watch it happen, the moment where his training says don’t let anyone up without authorization wars with the overwhelming desire to help this nice, concerned man who just wants to check on his friend.
Desire wins.
It always wins with Croesus. It will always win, and it’s something I need to remember.
“Fifteenth floor, suite 1520. Elevators are right over there.” The guard gestures. “And hey, good luck getting him to leave. That man’s married to his work.”
