Peasants and Kings

by Emma Slate

  With that final pronouncement, Annika closed the door, leaving me alone in a very beautiful suite with nothing but my riotous thoughts.

  I set the binder down on the coffee table and reached for my new cell phone. I unlocked it and scrolled through the numbers. Genevieve, Annika, Security, and the front desk were on speed dial. I added Tiffany to the speed dial list.

  I set the phone aside and then went into the bedroom. A heavy wooden bed rested in the center of the room. A matching dresser sat across from it. I opened the top drawer and the scent of lavender wafted to my nose, tickling my senses.

  Lingerie and undergarments in my size were neatly folded. I pulled out a bra and panties set.

  Lace. Delicate. White.

  I put the garments back in the drawer and shoved it closed.

  The middle drawer had pajamas. A pink satin set with a button down top and bottoms. They were classy and stylish, and not at all what I expected.

  I took out the pajamas and set them on the bed. A knock on the door startled me and I went to answer it.

  “Hey girl,” Tiffany said from the doorway of my suite. “Just wanted to check in on you.”

  I waved her inside. “That was thoughtful. Come on in.”

  She wore a pair of black yoga pants and a faded T-shirt that hung off her shoulder and revealed a red bra strap. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her face was free of heavy makeup.

  She crossed the threshold and took a seat on the couch. Tiffany ran a finger across the leather binder.

  “It’s not completely altruistic of me to visit,” she said. “Genevieve told me to give you a run down. Basic rules, that sort of thing. She also asked me to help you learn the names and faces of the girls.”

  I let out an exhale. “I thought I wanted to be alone. You know, to process everything in silence, but I think it’s better that you’re here.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Annika said dinner will be sent up at seven,” I said, moving toward the bedroom. “I’m not that hungry right now, but I could use a drink.”

  “Ah, one of the rules I have to tell you about. We’re not allowed to drink the night before an event. We need to get a good night’s rest, and alcohol…well, we all know what that can do.”

  “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to sleep tonight.” I left the door of the bedroom cracked so I could hear Tiffany speak while I changed.

  “There’s a light sedative in a medicine bottle by the sink. The same one I gave you the night before your interview. You should take it in a few hours. It’ll conk you out, let you rest, but you won’t feel hungover in the morning.”

  I quickly kicked off my shoes and then slid out of my jeans. The satin pajamas were cool against my skin, and I breathed in the soothing scent of lavender as I adjusted the shirt collar.

  When I came back into the living room, I saw that Tiffany had flipped open the binder and she was looking at the first page. She glanced up when I joined her.

  “What do you want to do first? Memorize? Or get the run down?”

  “Let me look at the photos first. Let them sink in. Then we can talk. I’ll review the photos later again tonight before bed.”

  “It won’t be difficult to learn them all.”

  “Will they all be there at the party tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that standard? Every girl works every event?”

  Tiffany shook her head indicating it wasn’t. She picked up the binder and handed it to me. I took it and sat down in the chair, tucking my feet underneath me.

  “There are some events—events of the season, if you will—where every girl works. It’s non-negotiable. Elite or not. The Mansion party is one of them. Other events are more intimate. Depending on what the client is looking for, The Rex might only send gold and platinum girls. Or even just platinum. Very special requests, they send only Elites, or just a select few girls of the client’s choosing.”

  “What about emotional attachments?”

  “Emotions are messy, and in this business we can’t afford messy. The Rex won’t let you be with a client more than twice in a year. That way no one gets attached. It’s important that we keep the clients happy so they keep returning.”

  I thought about her words and tried to shut out the knowledge that I would be entertaining many different men.

  I’d be sleeping with many different men.

  Gen and The Rex could call us whatever they wanted. They could dress it—and us—however they wanted.

  But I knew what I really was.

  Tiffany gently squeezed my hand. “Look through the binder. We’ll talk more later.”

  Chapter Nine

  I was a stranger to luxury.

  I’d never been to Europe, but as a kid, I’d decorated my school lockers with photos of castles on rolling hills I found in old travel magazines. I’d had dreams of walking the halls of Versailles and roaming the gardens, visualizing the flamboyance of the French court in its heyday.

  And even though I saw the wealth that Tiffany had been accumulating, it didn’t at all prepare me for flying on a private jet from Dallas to Austin.

  I’d never been on a plane in my entire life, and my first experience definitely set the bar high.

  As if being chauffeured in a Mercedes directly to a private jet with fine leather seats and elegant woodwork hadn’t been enough of a shock, The Mansion itself rendered me speechless. It was forty-five minutes from the airport in Austin. It was a tan, Spanish-style home nestled on private acreage. The structure was complete with window arches, columns, and a balcony that overlooked the front entrance, so the owner of the home could stand out and look down, like a king reigning over his subjects.

  It was old-world, titanic wealth.

  Hours had passed and now I was standing in the wings on the second floor of The Mansion with the other Rex girls, waiting to be announced like a nineteenth century debutant.

  “You didn’t tell me we were going to have to walk down a two-tiered staircase,” I hissed at Tiffany.

  Tiffany reached out and adjusted the rose gold key necklace that rested against my warm skin. “You’ll be fine. Trust me, there is no better way to make an entrance.”

  “Yeah, God forbid we just walk among them like the mere mortals we are…”

  “We’re not mere mortals and neither are they. You have to get used to being on display, Eden,” she said.

  The previous night, after I’d memorized the faces of the women in the binder, Tiffany had given me a rundown of the explicit rules followed by a few pointers.

  No drinking the night before an event.

  No drinking at the event.

  If a man gives you a cocktail, find a way to dump it into a plant, excuse yourself to the restroom and “conveniently” forget your drink or find some other way of disposing of it.

  Your key is not to be given to anyone who places you under duress or coercion.

  No boyfriends.

  No discussion of past clients in any form to anyone except Genevieve, ever.

  No discussion about anything you see or hear while with a client ever, to anyone, under any circumstances. These men do not exist outside the events.

  No sexual relationships with anyone who is not a client.

  Any event garments aside from undergarments will be returned to The Fifteenth Floor.

  “You look amazing,” Tiffany said. “You should know that.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “You look incredible too.”

  She inclined her blonde head, the waves of her hair falling over her face in pure Veronica Lake fashion. Tiffany’s persona, Hazel, was announced. She threw a smile over her shoulder and said, “You can do this.”

  As she walked away from our spot toward the top of the stairs, I watched her shoulders rise and her chin lift. She embodied sensuality. I was fairly certain I embodied terror.

  Life or death, I reminded myself.

  I took a deep, calming
breath. When the butler called out the name Eden, I started forward, my ballet slippers sinking lightly into the plush red brocade carpet. As I’d been directed by Tiffany, I paused at the top of the stairs, staring out into a sea of guests.

  My gaze locked on a man with stormy, blue–gray eyes. I held my breath and didn’t look away. I could easily pick him out in a room full of strangers. He wasn’t just tall—he loomed, making the others appear small. Though he was in an immaculate tuxedo that spread the breadth of his shoulders, he didn’t look like he belonged in it and I recognized who it was.

  My hand reached out to rest on the ornate wood banister as I began my descent, our eyes remaining fixed on one another. The crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling made everything twinkle in golden light. The party, the guests, the decor—it was all so civilized, so grand. Not at all the sort of place one would expect debauchery to exist.

  When I stepped foot onto the marble dance floor at the bottom of the staircase, I was immediately surrounded by men in tuxedos all vying for my attention. I was too short to see over the men standing in front of me, and the stranger I’d met in The Rex Bar and Restaurant disappeared from my sight.

  I looked around in a moment of panic, only to find Tiffany plagued with just as many admirers. She caught my gaze and winked, and then mouthed Eden.

  Eden wouldn’t be concerned with the amount of attention she was getting. Eden would be confident. Eden would thrive in this environment.

  I am Eden Smith.

  The men were effusive in their compliments, and I found myself smiling in genuine amusement at the measures they took to woo me. The art of flirtation began to blossom as I wore my new persona.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Julia—who went by the name Pearl—being whisked off the dance floor by two men, her head thrown back in humor as she laughed.

  Suddenly, the men surrounding me parted like waves of the ocean to make way for the Scottish stranger who was clearly out of place and time. He strode toward me with command and purpose.

  When he stood no more than three feet away from me, he stopped. We stared at one another, the people around us fading into nothing. I couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  Finally, he held out his large hand to me. Without pause, I took it.

  There was a collective murmur from the other men as they realized they’d lost the chance to seduce me.

  “Shall we?” he asked, his voice a deep, sensual purr. His brogue was thick and seductive and brushed tingles of awareness down my spine.

  “Bold move,” I murmured when we were off the dance floor standing near a marble column at the edge of the room.

  “You seemed to enjoy it,” he said. His eyes dipped to my throat and his expression tightened.

  I touched the key around my neck and met his gaze. Our eyes clashed and tension mounted, turning tacitly sexual.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation out in the open,” he said, pitching his voice low. His hand settled at the small of my back as he gently escorted me off the main floor to a library. It was a private place, a place of civility and gentlemanly pursuits.

  He led me inside and I heard the door to the library click shut behind me, but the man made no move to come deeper into the room. Instead, he stood by the door, his eyes appearing flinty in the dim, romantic light.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice like a crack of thunder in the silence.

  “Eden.”

  “Not your persona, I mean your real name.”

  “You didn’t care enough to ask me my real name the other day at The Rex. Why do you want to know now?”

  His gaze narrowed. “You’re trying my patience.”

  “Excellent,” I said as I tossed my hair. “But you know I’m not allowed to give out my real name.”

  He took a deep breath. “Let’s start over.”

  “Great, I’m going to go back out onto the floor and—”

  “Eden,” he warned.

  “Excuse me, but you’re acting very possessive of me right now. You don’t have that right. I don’t even know your name.”

  “Hadrian Rhys.”

  My mouth flickered in amusement. “You’re named after a Roman emperor?”

  “Aye.”

  “Your mother certainly had a high opinion of you.”

  His gaze went glacial.

  I was at a loss for what to do, what to say. The man in front of me—Hadrian Rhys—was still a stranger, despite the fact that I’d met him a few days earlier by sheer coincidence, and despite the fact that it had been one of the most sexually charged encounters of my life—and he hadn’t even touched me.

  “You never changed your mind,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “You never left your name with the front desk.”

  I smiled slightly. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Aye, but now I know why you didn’t. You’re a Rex girl.”

  I arched a brow. “You never even considered the fact that perhaps I didn’t want to meet you later that evening?”

  It was his turn to look amused. “Of course, you did. You just weren’t allowed to act on it.”

  “Ah, your arrogance. Back in full force. How could I have forgotten?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you want me, Eden.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I asked in exasperation.

  He took a step toward me. “I’m not a man easily surprised, but when I saw you walking down the stairs, I was. Were you surprised to see me, too?”

  I inclined my head but gave no vocal affirmation to his words.

  “You wanted me that day in the bar—your eyes held nothing back.” He took another small step toward me, like a lion that didn’t want to spook its prey. “When you came down the stairs tonight you looked regal and composed. Until I got close enough to see your eyes. You didn’t do a good enough job, Eden.”

  “Good enough job of what?” I demanded, trying to stem the breath from leaving my lungs.

  He reached up slowly and his large hand gently cupped the back of my head. “A good enough job of hiding the fact that you don’t belong here. Hiding the fact that behind your beautiful face there is fear and anger. You’re so very angry.”

  I was disturbed, and it had nothing to do with the drum of desire beating in my chest. No, it was something else. This man, this stranger, could see through my veneer.

  And it was terrifying.

  “Why are you here, Eden?” he asked again.

  “Why are any of us here?” I countered.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t deflect. I want you to be the woman I met in the bar.”

  “I am. My name is Eden—”

  His hand moved and his thumb stroked my jawline, freezing my speech. I couldn’t stop the shiver of pleasure.

  “Your reaction to my touch is enough truth for me.” His finger glided lower to rest at the rapid pulse of my throat. “Eden. That’s so tongue in cheek.”

  My fake name spilled from his lips like a taunting mockery.

  I smiled. “I’m glad someone noticed.”

  “I’m not just someone.”

  He was so much larger up close and my neck was getting a crick while I stared at him. He was dynamic and I felt his pull. Pride demanded I do something, anything, to get away from him.

  But my body had other ideas.

  I hadn’t expected to feel arousal for a man in this setting. But maybe it would be easier this way. My first time…with a man I already wanted. A man who already knew I wanted him.

  A Rex girl could choose who she gave her key to, and at that moment it was all I could control.

  “How old are you, Eden?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I knew you were young, but I didn’t realize how young.”

  “You’re awfully condescending, Hadrian.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you afraid this crowd will corrupt m
e?”

  “Say it again.” His voice was low, demanding, and his brogue slid over me like mink on naked skin.

  “Say what again?”

  “My name.”

  I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Hadrian.”

  His gaze darkened with heat and promise.

  “Spend your night with me.”

  My breath hitched.

  “You’re safe with me, Eden. Pretend it’s the night we first met and that we aren’t here in this place. I won’t demand anything of you that you don’t want to give.”

  He waited, not making a play to coerce or convince me further. His body was taut with alertness and his gaze was unwavering as he waited for my answer.

  I’d already committed to becoming a Rex girl. Wouldn’t my first time be better if it was with a man I would’ve gladly slept with for nothing in any other time and place?

  He was more arrogant than anyone I’d ever met, yet he wasn’t wrong about his pronouncements.

  This man standing in front of me was not like any of the other men in the ballroom. He elicited something inside of me that I’d never felt before. An emotion I couldn’t name. Some strange combination of desire, fear, and safety that I couldn’t rationalize.

  I wanted to feel the weight of him against me, I wanted to know how his lips tasted.

  There was no point in weighing my decision any longer. Sometimes, you just had to go with your instinct.

  I reached up behind my neck and unclasped my key necklace. I took his hand and turned it over. His skin was warm, rough. I gently placed my key into his palm, and when I did, his fingers curled around it.

  With his other hand, he grasped my hip and tugged me flush against his body.

  My fingers splayed across his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his tailored, crisp shirt.

  “Let’s find Genevieve, aye?” he asked, his voice raspy with desire.

  I nodded, unable to speak. He released me and then laced his fingers through mine. He stalked out of the library, his strides long and confident. I stumbled in an attempt to keep up with him. Hadrian had a purpose and he clearly wanted the business side of this arrangement dealt with.

  Genevieve was standing in the corner of the ballroom, conversing with Annika. We approached them immediately.