by Nadia Lee
“Keep your money. I’m not for sale.”
“Everything’s for sale.” The small smile on his face is insolent, the kind that would earn a slap in one of those old black-and-white films. “Three grand.”
I blink at him. “Are you seriously insane?”
“No. I just happen to like your mouth and want to know what it feels like wrapped around my cock.”
Something hot fists itself around my throat. My entire body ignites, and sweat mists over my skin despite the A/C in the penthouse. I should kick his ass right now, customer or not. But despite the arrogant note, there’s genuine want underneath his voice, and laser-like intensity in his eyes as he looks at my mouth like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever seen.
And I can’t help but respond, and I don’t even know why. It’s usually no problem at all to ignore men, even the good-looking ones…but not Elliot. He’s making me throb in places I never suspected I could throb.
But there is no way I’m doing it.
I hug myself. “Look, this is a big misunderstanding. So I’m going to go now, if all you want is sex.”
“You won’t even attempt to negotiate? I can up my offer.”
“No, because I’m not going to have sex for money.” Then Mr. Grayson’s demand pops up in my head. I recklessly add, “Next time I have sex, it’s going to be with my husband.”
Elliot shifts, his gaze cooling. “You have a fiancé?”
“No. But I’m not interested in casual sex. I want someone with a serious commitment to me, and I’m afraid money doesn’t prove that commitment.” I wet my dry lips. “Anyway, sorry about the singing. I’ll talk with…‘Madame G.’ and see if you can get your money back.”
Then I flee the penthouse before I actually give in to the heady, bone-melting heat pulsing in my veins.
Chapter Six
Annabelle
I’m still so pissed off by the time I get home that I barely even nod at Caroline’s parents before I drag her to my room. “What the hell was that about?” I hiss at her.
She gives me a grimace of sympathy. “Oh no. Was he a total perv?”
If commanding me to give him a blow job while looking at me like I’m the most interesting and desirable woman in the universe makes a man a perv, yes. “You said I wasn’t expected to have sex with the guy.”
“Oh. Well.” She shrugs. “I kind of hinted. And I told you about the tip—”
“I didn’t do anything. No sex.”
“Seriously?” She grips my wrist. “Why? Was he that old and gross?”
“No!” I yank my arm from her grasp. “I don’t care if he’s the most gorgeous man in the world. I’m not going to…sell myself like that.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “Uh, drama much? Men want it more than women. Why give it away when they’ll pay? Honestly, it’s a lot more fun than waiting tables. You know that.”
“Really? Then why did you need me to sub for you just because your parents are here? Did you tell them about what you do?”
Her face scrunches like a wadded piece of paper and her voice drops an octave. “Don’t be a hypocritical bitch, Annabelle. I know you have a sugar daddy you’re fucking on the side.”
“What?”
“You think I’m stupid? That job you had couldn’t possibly have paid enough for the rent, utilities, food and everything else for you and your sister. Just because you only fuck one guy doesn’t make you better than me. I happen to prefer variety. Sorry if I offended you. I just thought you might appreciate a new dick in your cunt.” She gets in my face until her nose grazes mine. “Now if you breathe a word about this to my parents, I’m going to tell your sister. Wonder how she’ll react.”
A sneer twisting her mouth, she marches out.
My knees shake, and I plop down on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. Caroline is right about the money I was making at the restaurant, damn it. And she’s obviously vicious enough to follow through on her threat.
The most frustrating thing is that I can’t get rid of her since there’s nothing I can afford on my own in the city, and I’d rather die than ask Mr. Grayson for anything now.
Breathe deep. This too shall pass, I tell myself. Nonny and I have survived worse. We’ll get through this as well.
* * *
Elliot
I’m standing on my penthouse balcony, drink in hand, gazing at the evening traffic. Caroline. I keep rolling that name around, but for some bizarre reason it doesn’t fit the redhead.
It’s been four days since my birthday, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Even as she bristled, her eyes were bright, her pupils dilated. The flush in her cheeks and neck betrayed her. I’m certain if I’d slipped a hand underneath her G-string, my fingers would’ve come out slippery and hot.
Wonder if she would’ve succumbed if I’d gotten up and actually touched her, turned up the charm until she had no choice but to give in to her need. But I wanted to see how far she’d go for money. Lots of it. I told her as much…that I could offer her far more than three grand.
Girls who work for someone like Madame G. often play coy, but they all ultimately want one thing—money. It’s the key that opens every pair of female legs in the universe.
So I wonder why she left, while saying all that stuff about a husband.
Would she let me fuck her if I married her for a year? It’s a tempting thought. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed for a while, provided she didn’t get all meek and boring.
But even if she did I might bear it as a “fuck you” to my dad. There’s no dick move he hasn’t made against me. Then he has the gall to preach about “upstanding behavior”. Fucking hypocrite.
My phone pings. It’s the doorman, informing me that my “guest” is here.
Madame G. is sending Caroline again, at my request. This time I plan to fuck her brains out before I let her leave.
I slip into the living room. Just as I settle on my couch, the girl walks in, a light trench coat around her. She’s in knee-high boots with stiletto heels that scream sexual availability.
What the hell?
She’s not the one from before. This one’s taller, with long coltish legs, and her hair is dyed. The makeup around her eyes gives her an obviously practiced, smoky look. But there’s nothing but dollar signs in their depths. Even her smile is bright with calculation as she drops the coat and reveals a young body clad in a lacy black bra and matching thong.
“Just because you have a cunt doesn’t mean you’re the one I want to fuck,” I say coldly as she starts toward me.
She falters. “What?”
I make a circle with my index finger. The girl turns obediently. Her body’s nice enough—big tits and slim hips—but it doesn’t do a thing for me. I might as well be reading an article on local crime statistics. “Are you Caroline?”
“Yes.” Her answer is too swift and firm to be a lie.
“There must’ve been a mistake. I requested the girl who came here before.”
“Oh.” There is a moment of quick calculation. “Do you want to punish me for not being the one you wanted?” She gives me a coy smile, looking at me through thickly mascaraed eyelashes. “I can make it extra good for you, if you don’t make a big deal about last time.”
I watch the display, then make a snap decision. “On your hands and knees.”
Licking her lips, she does as I say.
“Crawl.”
She does, making sure to arch her back and hold my eyes to get me excited. It’s not a bad show, but I’m still not interested.
When she’s at my feet, I say, “Stop.”
She pauses.
I merely look at her. I’m seriously pissed off that this girl, who I did not ask for, was sent to appease me.
“Now I’m going to call Madame G. and tell her how disappointed I am that the girl I requested isn’t here.”
She snaps her head up. “But I’ll do anything you want. I’ll make you forget all about what didn’t happen on yo
ur birthday.” She wriggles her ass and spreads her thighs suggestively. “Please?”
“You do not possess a special magic cunt that can make me forget what happened before. All pussies are the same,” I say, intentionally crude.
“Then why do you want her?” she says. “Mine’s just as good as hers, right?”
No, not when it doesn’t do a thing for me. But I’ll be damned if I admit that to anyone, especially this girl.
“Look, she’s practically frigid. You really don’t want her. Now me…I’ll make it up to you and then some.”
The girl’s insult grates on my nerves. My birthday girl is anything but frigid…just for some reason unwilling to give in to what her body’s telling her to do. “But you’re boring.”
She pales like I just struck her. I pull out my phone to ream Madame G.
“Please, don’t call!” Caroline shrieks.
“Why shouldn’t I? I got dissatisfactory service.”
“Okay, look. I had my roommate sub for me because I couldn’t make it for your birthday.” The words tumble out in rapid succession. “Please. Madame G. doesn’t know.”
“Did your roommate know what she was signing up for?”
“Well, yeah…I sort of told her.”
I let the silence stretch. Sweat beads above Caroline’s upper lip. Her throat works, and she says, “Please. I’ll do anything. I won’t mind if you want to get rough or want to—”
I raise a finger. “What’s her name?”
“What?”
“Your roommate. Her name.”
“Annabelle.”
It’s like getting sucker punched. I inhale sharply. “What did you say?”
“Annabelle. Her name is Annabelle Key.”
Chapter Seven
Annabelle
It’s been a little over two weeks since the Friday. Caroline is sulky, and she ignores me, which is actually nice.
I applied for every server position available, no matter the pay or hours, but nobody’s called me back yet. It probably takes a while to review applications, but I’m sure I’ll get a call back. I have a lot of experience waitressing.
Since I don’t have anything in particular to do, I shred the leftover chicken thigh meat from last night for the creamy mushroom noodles Nonny loves so much. It’s almost five, and she should be home soon from band rehearsal. She plays the piccolo, and according to the teacher, she’s very talented.
By the time I toss the chicken into the mushroom sauce—made with a can of cream of mushroom soup—Nonny is home.
Mom called her an “accident” baby because Nonny was the result of failed birth control. But our parents never loved her any less for it. She was the little princess of the house until everything crashed and burned.
Looking at her bright brown eyes and flat golden-brown hair, I wish she would never let what happened to our parents affect her. She was a kid back then—and she’s still a kid, just turned fifteen—but appearing so much younger because of her round face, soft with the remnants of baby fat. She’s in a black T-shirt that reads Keep Calm and Let It Go and a pair of faded jeans that are too tight. I should get her a new pair, but money…well, lately money’s always a problem. Even with Mr. Grayson’s monthly help, it’s not enough for everything without me working.
“How was school?” I ask.
“Eh, not bad,” she says, dropping her backpack next to her chair at the dining table.
I search her face. “No trouble with the Evil Squad?” The Evil Squad is our code name for the horrible girls who pick on her.
“Not really,” she mumbles.
“Nonny, if you’re having problems, you have to let me know. I’ll talk with your teachers.” Even though she hasn’t done anything to bother them, the Evil Squad is cruel to her anyway. The school she goes to is in a poor district with more troubled teens than good ones.
“I smell something good,” Nonny says. “What’re you cooking?”
I sigh. She won’t talk about her school problems because she knows we can’t afford to move, and there’s nothing I can do except meet with her teachers. It bothers me. She should be whining about how crappy those girls are and how much she hates them. After all, she’s only fifteen. “Your favorite,” I say.
She inhales appreciatively, then smiles.
I smile back. “We should go shopping soon,” I say as I place a plate of noodles and a fork in front of her. Her portion also has all the meat…not that there’s much.
“You sure?” Her voice is small. “I thought you had to…you know.” She clears her throat. “We can wait until you have a new job. Actually we should wait until then. That way it’s a celebration, right?”
My throat closes for a moment. I wish Nonny would be just a tad selfish and obnoxious like a normal teenager. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty about how poorly I’m providing for her.
“You okay?” Nonny’s question pulls me out of my gloomy thoughts.
I paste on a smile. “Of course I’m okay. I was just thinking if we should really wait or not. You could use some new jeans.”
“Nah. These’re fine.” She shoves more pasta into her mouth. “This is great.”
I nod, unable to speak.
Even though I’ve done my best to give her the kind of normalcy any teenager needs, it isn’t enough. She was only thirteen when everything collapsed, and that’s old enough to know that something’s gone very wrong when your family suddenly has no money, people in town start saying terrible things about your parents, and when gunshots are fired in front of your house and the police couldn’t care less.
They asked for it. I heard that more than once around town.
Despite my lack of appetite, I manage a few bites of the noodles. Nonny finishes all of hers, then goes for a second helping. The girl eats like a horse, although she’s skinny. At the rate she’s growing, she’s going to end up taller than me.
“You know…” She hesitates.
“What?”
“Um. My band director. She says we’re going to Vegas for the regional competition. It’s not until later, so it’s not like anything has to be paid now, but I thought…” She clears her throat. “Well, I thought I should tell you, so you can…you know. Budget for it.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say with a smile even though my mind whirls with calculations about how I’ll ever be able to pay for the trip. I promised myself Nonny’s life would be as normal as possible, and of course that means going on school trips, among other things.
But unless a miracle happens, there won’t be any extra for that. My bank account is pathetically empty.
Three grand.
Elliot’s voice whispers in my mind. He was going to give me three freaking thousand dollars for a blow job. His two hundred dollars paid for the noodles we’re eating. My grip around the fork tightens. Did I make a mistake turning him down? He didn’t know who I was, and I would never see him again. God, he even offered to pay me more if I wanted.
But if I’d taken the money and wrapped my mouth around his dick, as he put it, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to face Nonny. I told her to be strong and not let anything get her down. You can be anything you want, so long as you put your mind to it and work hard, I told her. Don’t ever take the easy way out. You’re too special for that.
If I ask Mr. Grayson to spot me the money, he’ll peel a few hundred-dollar bills from his clip and hand them over. He’s never asked me questions or demanded to know how I’m spending the money he gives me. But I shouldn’t be so reliant on him. He’s the easy way out for me, and I should know better than to think he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.
I choke down dinner and clean up. While I load the dishwasher, Nonny does her homework. She’s diligent and smart…already in Algebra II, and I didn’t study that until I was a junior in high school.
I didn’t think it’d take this long to find a new waitress position, but maybe there just aren’t any right now. So starting tomorrow, I’m going t
o apply for everything that’s available. I’ll scrub toilets if that’s what it takes.
Chapter Eight
Elliot
“Anything else?” Pete Monroe says. He’s my financial advisor at Omega Wealth Management. Tidily cropped black hair, intelligent gray-blue eyes. Calm as he waits for my response.
Young and hungry, he’s smart and has good instincts for when and where money should be invested. Most importantly, he knows when to get out. That might explain why I’ve never seen him harried or frazzled, even when the market cliffs. But his office is pretty average with an average view, presumably to ward off accusations of nepotism. His sister is married to the owner of the firm. Still that doesn’t mean the decoration is average as well. Whoever did his office has great taste—lots of soothing but energetic shades of green, blue and pale cream, plus the strategic placement of certificates and awards to inspire confidence and trust.
Pete has a photo of a pretty brunette on his wide oak desk. He’s missing a ring, but I’ve seen how his gaze softens every time he looks at the picture. If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am about this kind of thing—he’s whipped.
“I think that’s all,” I say.
Pete’s intern gathers all the documents, creating two neat piles. He puts one in a thick envelope that feels expensive and hands it to me. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thanks.” Dennis Dunn is unremarkable. He has sandy hair, gray eyes so light they’re the color of spit, and ghostly white skin that’s probably never seen the sun. At least his broad body indicates he works out. And his cheap tan suit does fit him well, but I’ve noted the way he looks at Pete’s Armani getup. Hunger and ambition burn equally in those pale eyes.
I turn to Pete. “Mind if we chat privately for a moment?”
He nods, and the intern slinks off, closing the door behind him.
I make sure there are no shadows on the other side of the frosted glass, and say, “I don’t like that kid.”
“Dennis?”
“Yeah.”
Pete manages the impressive feat of quirking an eyebrow while frowning. “Has he done something to offend you?”
