Page 65 of Terms of Exposure
"Mr. Holt." A grin split the man's face. "Long time no see."
"Marcus." Damien leaned out, clasping his hand. "Been a while."
"Too long." Marcus's gaze slid to me. "And who's this?"
Damien rested his hand on my thigh, squeezing once. "This is—" he paused, hand stiffening. "This is—E. She's with me."
Understanding shifted in Marcus's expression. Or approval.
"Welcome to Veil, E." He stepped back, gesturing to the door. "I'll take care of the car. You two enjoy your evening."
Damien handed the keys to Marcus and rounded the car to open my door.
"E?" I asked, stepping from the car.
His hand came to rest at the small of my back as we walked toward the entrance, guiding me along.
"Some people prefer to use codenames, I didn't want to make that decision for you."
The door swung open before we reached it, revealing a small reception room. Dim lighting. Black walls. The faint thrum of music bleeding through from somewhere deeper inside.
And behind the desk—
I stopped short.
A woman sat there, deep skin and tiny locs, smiling warm and welcoming.
Professional.
Poised.
The chunky leather collar around her throat was the only tell that we weren't in a dentist's office, otherwise she looked like any other receptionist.
"Good evening." Her voice was honeyed, completely at ease. "Nice to see you again."
"You as well, Mira." Damien was already reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet like this was a hotel check-in. Like the woman in front of us wasn't wearing a rubber tire around her throat.
He slid his ID across the desk. I fumbled for my own, fingers clumsy as I extracted it from my purse.
Mira examined Damien's briefly, then handed it back with a smile. When she looked at mine, she typed something into her computer, nails clicking against the keys.
"I have your waiver on file, Mr. Holt." She slid a tablet across the desk toward me. "But I'll need you to sign one before entry."
I stared at the screen. The clauses stacked—liability, consent, confidentiality—
"What is this?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Damien's hand pressed firmly against my back. "Just legalities, love. They need to protect themselves. Same as any business."
"It's standard," Mira added, her smile never wavering. "Nothing you agree to in writing obligates you to participate in anything. It simply acknowledges that you're entering of your own free will and won't hold the club responsible for anything you witness or engage in consensually."
I pulled the tablet closer, swiping through the document. My CEO brain took over—scanning for red flags, hidden clauses, anything that could come back to bite me.
Indemnification clause. Standard.
Confidentiality agreement. Expected.
Acknowledgment of adult content. Obviously.
