A Complicated Client

10 minutes earlier

A figure emerged from the elevator. His hair, thick and as dark as the midnight canopy, curled subtly at the ends, framing a face that bore the traces of worry and an unflinching resolve. He wore his casual attire - a tweed blazer over a slightly faded corduroy vest, paired with well-loved jeans. His gaze swept across the office reception like radar scanning in twilight darkness - intense and impossible to ignore.

"Hello! You must be Mr. Wilson, it's good to see you," Amanda said, stepping aside to allow him entry into the office. Her expression was polite and professional, but there was a glint in her eye that didn't quite reach her smile.

"Yes, and you must be Amanda, the one that doesn’t pick up the phone. I'm here to see Mark Nichols," George replied, his voice firm and determined.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Wilson, we’ve had some issues with our mobile provider, and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark impatiently stopped her, his eyes roaming across the room. “As I said, I want to speak with Nichols.”

"Of course, please have a seat. He'll be with you shortly, right after he finishes his current session," Amanda offered, gesturing toward a plush chair near the desk.

"Actually, I'd rather get straight to the point. I need to know where my wife is." George's jaw clenched as he spoke, his irritation evident.

Amanda blinked, feigning surprise. "Oh, as far as I know, Mrs. Wilson is still busy with the study. These things can run longer than expected."

"Cut the crap, Amanda. I've been calling you for days and you responded only after I got the Police Department involved. I know something isn't right here. So where is she?" George demanded, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

"Mr. Wilson, I promise you, Julie is fine. She's probably just finishing up with the last session of the study. I know it can be concerning that she’s been absent for so long, but I assure you, she's perfectly safe." Amanda's voice was soothing, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

"Then simply take me to her. Now." George's patience was running thin, and his determination to find Julie was only growing stronger.

"That is not possible, she’s not here at the moment," Amanda objected, her tone taking on a hint of irritation. "Mr. Nichols can explain you the details."

“Well, then go get him, please. I demand an explanation.” George insisted.

“Alright, just give me a second.” Amanda relented and marched down the hall towards the doors with the sign gallery on them.

As he waited, George couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread. He knew something was off about the whole situation, and he couldn't shake the feeling that Julie was in some way involved with these people in something suspicious - maybe even voluntarily. He was **** to find her, and Amanda's bland responses only fueled his resolve.

The clacking of her heels announced Amanda’s return. "Alright, he's ready to talk with you. Follow me, please."

As they walked down the opposite hallway, George's heart pounded in his chest, and his palms grew slick with sweat.

"Mr. Nichols' office is just up ahead," Amanda said, her voice taking on a sultry tone that seemed out of place given the circumstances. She turned to look at him, her eyes dark and unreadable. "I'm sure he'll be able to put your mind at ease, George."

"I certainly hope so," George muttered, his jaw clenched as they approached the office door.

"Here we are," Amanda announced, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious, luxurious office.

"Please, have a seat," she gestured to a plush leather chair positioned before a large mahogany desk. As George hesitated, Amanda pressed on. "Mark will be right with you."

"Fine," George finally relented, sinking into the chair as his nerves threatened to consume him. He couldn't help but feel like a pawn in an increasingly twisted game, and the weight of his concern for Julie pressed down on him like a heavy fog.

"Try to relax, George," Amanda cooed, her voice dripping with seductive politeness as she sauntered back toward the gallery door. "I'm certain everything will be resolved shortly."

"Relax?" George scoffed, his hands gripping the armrests as if they were lifelines. "How can I fucking relax when I’m getting nothing from you?"

"Patience, Mr. Wilson," Amanda purred, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

“Yeah… fuck you too,” Mark murmured to himself.

"Listen closely," Mark whispered to Amanda outside the office. "That idiot is getting too close for my taste. We need to put Plan B into action. I’ll go talk to him and afterwards I need you to take care of him while I handle Julie."

"Understood," Amanda replied, her voice steady and mysterious. “But isn’t it a bit risky? What about the cops?”

“No need to worry about them yet,” Mark shook his head. “If we handle this right, no one we’ll be snooping.”

The two shared a knowing glance before Mark pushed the door open and stepped into his office.

"Mr. Wilson, I sincerely apologize for taking your time and for the lack of information from our side," Mark said, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the turmoil roiling within George as he slowly descended onto his huge swivel chair . "I understand your concern for Julie, but I assure you there's nothing unordinary happening here."

"Then where is she?" George demanded, barely managing to keep his voice level. His heart pounded in his chest, the urge to lash out at Mark growing stronger by the second.

"Julie's precise whereabouts are currently unknown to me," Mark admitted, though the smoothness of his delivery did little to assuage George's fears. "But I promise to look into it and see what I can find-"

"What do you mean, currently unknown? Are you serious! Aren’t you the head of this stupid study? How can you not tell where the participants are then? I demand to know where the hell my wife is!" George muttered through clenched teeth.

Mark held his gaze steady on George, a self-satisfied grin playing at the corners of his mouth. It was a touch more arrogant than he'd intended, but he let it linger nonetheless. He weathered George's storm of questions and accusations with an irritating tranquility, finally cutting through the tension in a smooth, even tone. "Please, Mr. Wilson," he began, his voice like silk over gravel, "there's no call for aggression here. You didn't let me complete my explanation." His smile broadened slightly as he continued, "The experiment isn't being conducted here, as you might have surmised. As per our timeline, your wife should be undergoing her final medical evaluations right about now." He shrugged nonchalantly, adding a layer of uncertainty to his words. "I can't predict when these procedures will conclude - it could take a few more days or perhaps not. She might already be en route back home as we speak." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness before concluding, "Consequently, I'm unable to provide you with her precise whereabouts at this time."

"So, what you're implying is that… it’s over?" George's voice was laced with a mixture of relief and skepticism as he leaned forward in the plush office chair, his knuckles white from gripping its armrests. "Julie has completed the experiment?"

"Indeed, she has concluded her involvement without a hitch, apart from the final tests," Mark's voice was smooth as silk, a hint of pride seeping into his tone. "And let me assure you, her dedication and collaboration were truly commendable." A sly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before he proceeded. "Now, I'm intrigued. Could you perhaps shed some light on the purpose behind your unexpected appearance? After all, if my memory serves me right, your wife made it quite clear about the nature of the experiment and the communication restrictions that come with it. So, if you don’t mind me being blunt - what exactly is the problem here?"

His voice wavered slightly, a tremor of concern lacing his words as he spoke. "I... I came here because I needed to confirm that my wife is safe," George confessed, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the armrest of the chair. His dark eyes, mirroring Julie's in their intensity, searched Mark's face for any sign of deception. "I appreciate your willingness to disclose information," he continued, his tone measured but insistent, "but what I really need is tangible proof of Julie's well-being." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard against the knot of worry lodged in his throat. "I am not going to leave without it. So, could you possibly put her on the phone? I've been trying to reach her incessantly, but all my calls have gone unanswered."

Mark released a theatrical sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling dramatically under the crisp cotton of his shirt. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met George's with an understanding nod. "I get it," he said, his voice a low murmur in the vast expanse of the office.

His fingers drummed rhythmically on the mahogany desk as he continued, "This is irregular, but given your concern for Julie's welfare, I think we can make an exception." He paused momentarily, letting a small smile play at the corners of his lips. His words were dipped in honeyed diplomacy, making them sound almost sincere.

"We'll provide you with some solid proof that she's okay. But," he added quickly, leaning back in his plush swivel chair that creaked under his weight. The overhead light cast long shadows across his face accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jawline. "I have to wrap up my session with another client first. So, if it's alright with you," Mark continued smoothly, "just hang tight here for a bit longer."

The suggestion hung in the air like an unspoken command as Mark rose from his chair creating an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of bookshelves lined with thick volumes.

"I'll ask Amanda to keep you company while you wait." And with that final statement laced with casual indifference, Mark left George alone amidst the quiet hum of anticipation hanging heavy in the room.

George was not entirely convinced by Mark but was left with few other options. He had **** but to trust that Mark would come through – at least, for now. And as his mind raced with thoughts of Julie and the situation she'd found herself in, he couldn't help but feel an unsettling mix of dread, longing and also jealousy.

Mark was a smooth talker, no question about it. And damn, the guy had looks to match. A lethal combo if there ever was one. Toss in those allegations of him playing fast and loose with the ladies, and George's unease spiked into overdrive. The thought of his Julie spending a whole month under this charmer's spell? It was enough to send chills down his spine.

The door opened, and Amanda stepped in, her high heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She carried a delicate china set, steam wafting from the liquid inside. Her eyes were full of sympathy as she approached George.

"Here, I brought you some tea," she offered, placing the tray on the huge mahogany desk. "It might help calm your nerves."

"Thanks," George muttered, accepting the tea without breaking eye contact.

"Can I ask you something?" he blurted out before she made an attempt to leave.

"Of course," Amanda said, her eyes cautiously trained on him.

"Tell me, how is my wife faring in this... smoking study of yours?" George couldn't hide the sarcasm that seeped into his voice.

Amanda shrugged nonchalantly and took a seat across from him. "She's doing well, considering. It's been a month since we started the program and it began with a single cigarette –"

"I know all that," he cut her off abruptly. "But between you and me, how's she really doing? I mean, it must be tough for a non-smoker to suddenly pick up the habit." He poured the tea into the cup, leaving it to cool down a bit.

Amanda pursed her lips, weighing her words carefully before she spoke. "I can't disclose too much due to confidentiality reasons but...," she added with a wry smile, "Julie's an overachiever, I'll give her that.”

"Really? She didn't struggle at all?" George's voice was thick with disbelief. "I know my Julie, she had a deep-rooted disdain for smoking. And she isn't exactly the adventurous type."

Amanda bit her lip, like she trying to suppress a certain image flashing before her eyes. "No... not at all." She **** a casual shrug, trying to keep her face neutral. "From what I've observed, it seemed like she... enjoyed exploring new things."

Something about Amanda's guarded answers and Julie's sudden enthusiasm for smoking didn't sit right with him.

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he was just being paranoid – after all, he had no real proof that anything shady was going on here.

But then again, Mark was involved in this study – a man who had no problem seducing an elderly woman to gain a lofty inheritance and who somehow manipulated the woman sitting in front of him to leave her husband. Could it be that Julie was just another one of his conquests?

Meanwhile, Mark strode down the hallway back toward the gallery, a self-assured smile playing on his lips. He stopped briefly at Amanda's desk, opening a hidden drawer and retrieving a small bottle of whiskey. His fingers traced the glass as he pocketed it, excitement sparking in his eyes.

"Time to wrap up all this," he murmured under his breath, his thoughts turning to Julie and the delicious debauchery that awaited her once his plans were set in motion.

But as he entered the gallery, he immediately noticed the secret panel door, leading to his personal section of the gallery, being open wide. “Fuck…” he whispered a growl through his teeth. As he cautiously stepped through the panel door, he saw Julie watching the pictures of all the women he took photos of from the previous attempts. This was going to complicate things, surely. But not all was lost.

Unaware of his presence, he coolly voiced, "You weren't supposed to see this, Julie."