Rhodium

by Elise Noble

“Sit down, Stefanie. You can, and you will.”

  “I won’t. I’ll sit there and say nothing.”

  “Then you’ll be held in contempt.”

  “I hate you.”

  “You already mentioned that yesterday. Now, answer the question. Please.”

  “Fine. I used to fuck men for money. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Perhaps a little less bluntly. Could you elaborate on exactly which services you mean?”

  “I’d escort men to events and cater to their needs.”

  “Which needs, Stefanie?”

  Why did he have to sound so damn condescending? He hadn’t worried about my job when he wanted his needs catered to. Although who was I kidding? He’d spent more time looking after mine. Needs I didn’t even know I had until that night.

  “I offered sex, blow jobs, hand jobs. Other messed-up fetishes they might have.”

  “Thank you. And how did men book you?”

  “Through a website.”

  “Called…?”

  “Rubies are a Man’s Best Friend.”

  He briefly cracked a smile. “I always thought that was dogs. So, Carter emailed you?”

  Did Oliver just call me a dog? I didn’t think it possible to hate him more than I did before, but he’d proved me wrong.

  “Not directly. Each girl had a calendar with her available slots marked on it. Men booked the time they wanted, and then the website’s owner emailed us.”

  He glanced at his notes. “Octavia Jackson?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was the only way of arranging a date with you?”

  “I only worked through the one website, but sometimes Octavia would book us for other jobs directly. She said they came through associates of hers who didn’t have what the client was looking for. But she promised they were all vetted.”

  “Okay, and what about Carter?”

  “He came through the website.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Those bookings appeared in a different colour on my calendar. I only had three or four regulars referred the other way.”

  “And Carter—did he request you specifically? Or did he just book any girl?”

  “I don’t know. You’d need to ask Octavia. As far as I remember, I just got the booking and went—that was it.”

  “Did the men use credit cards?”

  “Yes, but not always. Rubies was one of the first escort sites to take Bitcoin—it was one of Octavia’s selling points.”

  “Did any of the men pay cash?”

  “About a third of them, roughly. Credit cards were the most popular. Octavia made the transactions show up as car repairs or something.”

  “Clever. Do you recall how Carter paid?”

  “No.”

  Another murmur of disappointment. “And how would a man go about selecting which girl he wanted?”

  Oliver made it sound so sordid, like picking out a side of meat at the supermarket. But no matter how much I tried to deny it, that was the truth.

  “Once a man paid the membership fee for the website, he could access our photos and…well, Octavia called it a résumé, but it was all in code. So if a girl was resourceful, it meant she brought her own toys, and if it said she was hard-working, she’d do two men at once.”

  A résumé. A fucking résumé, quite literally.

  “I can get the details from her. How far in advance did Carter book?”

  Great. So now Oliver would know I’d do role-play, dress up in an outfit of the client’s choice, and go down on a man for an extra two hundred dollars. Or in Octavia-speak, I was personable, well-presented, and had two years’ experience in handling food.

  I cringed with embarrassment as I answered Oliver’s question. “I’m not sure.”

  He made a few notes, then looked up at me again. “Where did you meet him?”

  “In a hotel. The Stanfield, I think.”

  “Do you remember which room?”

  I shook my head. Most likely, I’d barely even remembered on the day. I stumbled into those places, did what I needed to do, then got out.

  “For the tape, please.”

  “No.”

  “Was he there when you arrived?”

  “I think so. A man rarely wasn’t, but I don’t remember specifically.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We had sex.”

  “That was it? No warm-up? No preamble?”

  “When men pay by the hour, they rarely want to bother with that.”

  “Did you come?”

  Did those words really just leave his lips? Even the girl beside him dropped her mouth open.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  He leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands. “The kind the defence attorney will ask to rattle you. Answer the question, Miss Amor.”

  I looked him straight in the eye. “No, I did not come.”

  “And how do you remember that when the other details are a little hazy?”

  Oh, shit. I’d walked right into that one. If only I could turn the clock back to yesterday morning. I’d have gathered my belongings, caught a bus to the airport, and got right on a plane. Any plane. No matter which country I might have ended up in, it couldn’t have been worse than this room with its fancy lights and asshole of an occupant.

  “Because only one man has ever made me come, okay? And it sure as hell wasn’t Carter.”

  I thought I detected a faint twitch at the corner of Oliver’s lips, but beyond that, his expression didn’t change. The girl next to him turned the colour of a ripe tomato.

  “Fair enough, Miss Amor. So you had sex, and there was nothing memorable about it, apart from the fact you did not come.” He shook his head slightly, as if such things never happened in his world. Probably they didn’t. “Yet I understand you passed the client on to Miss Walker?”

  I nodded, and he looked pointedly at the recorder, its green light flashing as it recorded the most embarrassing moments of my life.

  “Yes.”

  “Why was that?”

  That was the only bit I did remember. “Because he wanted to carry on, and his request was one I didn’t entertain.”

  “And what was that request?”

  “He wanted to tie me up.” I almost whispered it, the words sticking in my throat.

  The idea of being incapacitated by a stranger, gagged so nobody could hear me scream, left me paralysed with fear. Only I hadn’t felt like that with Oliver. Why not? I’d never taken the time to analyse it, and I didn’t want to start now.

  “I see. And Miss Walker did that sort of thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because it scared me.”

  His mask slipped a fraction, then he swallowed and it slammed back into place. “Why did it scare you?”

  “Is the defence going to ask that as well?”

  The assistant’s head swivelled back and forth between us as if she were watching a tennis match. She’d long since given up pretending to write.

  Oliver dropped his own pen and glanced at his watch. “I would hope not. Do you know if Miss Walker saw Carter?”

  “I believe so. More than that, I think she liked him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Chrissie thanked me for the referral. And over the next few months, she mentioned a guy several times—not his name, but she got this look in her eyes. Like hope. I think she hoped he’d be her ticket away from the game.” A tear ran down my cheek. “And he was, wasn’t he?”

  Oliver offered me his handkerchief, but I ignored it and used my sleeve instead. Of all the times to get emotional, why did I have to do it in front of him? Again?

  The assistant spoke up. “Uh, should I get some water?”

  “No thank you, Nancy. We’re done here for today.” He turned back to me. “Take a few minutes, and I’ll show you out.”

  “I can find my own way.”

 
“I’ll show you out,” he repeated.

  I tried, and failed, to hold back the sniffles as I shoved my arms into my jacket. Would this nightmare ever end? I just wanted to get back home and find out if I still had a job shampooing hair.

  “Don’t leave town, Stefanie.”

  Except it seemed that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. “Why not?”

  “Because I have to go to the grand jury next Wednesday to get an indictment, and I might need you then. Let me know where you’re staying.”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like I live here anymore. I didn’t even bring enough clothes for a week.”

  “I’ll arrange an apartment for you.”

  I put my hands on my hips. No way was I taking his charity. “Don’t bother. Besides, I have a family dinner this weekend. I’m going home.”

  “Then I’ll have my assistant book you a flight.”

  “I’ll book it myself.”

  “As you wish.”

  He held the door open and motioned me through it, over to the elevator. I tried to head for the stairs instead, but a contractor with a fancy toolbox had them cordoned off with plastic tape. Did Oliver plan this?

  I trailed behind him, making sure to keep my eyes above waist level. I wasn’t about to give in to my impulses and admire his ass, even if it was a damn fine one. He called the elevator, and it arrived seconds later.

  “After you.”

  Why did he have to act like such a gentleman when we both knew he was anything but? To save face with his staff, I bet. The doors whooshed shut, and I kept my gaze firmly fixed on them as the elevator descended. Please, let this one be the express.

  We’d barely gone one floor when Oliver spoke.

  “I’m sorry.” It came out as a whisper, and he didn’t look at me.

  “Sorry?”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Scare me? Oh, I got it. He meant with the scarves. “You didn’t. I… You just didn’t, okay?”

  “All the same.”

  The elevator stopped, and a man joined us. He rode down two floors before he exited, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “If you want to be sorry about something, be sorry about the morning after. You were a complete dick.”

  We reached the first floor, and the doors opened. Three people stood aside to let me off before they got on.

  Oliver didn’t move.

  “I don’t know how to be anything but,” he murmured, right before the elevator removed him from my life for the second time.

  CHAPTER 9

  OH, WHY DID I pick that moment to hop up on my high horse? I’d barely got fifty yards when I began to regret throwing Oliver’s offer of a flight back in his face, but I’d eat snails before I set foot in that office again. No, I’d rather walk to Georgia than grovel, and my shoes already pinched.

  “Damn asshole,” I muttered as I dragged my case towards the bus station, mentally counting the dollars left in my purse.

  Just a single bus ticket would be a stretch. A fine drizzle misted the air, and I tugged my overcoat around myself, grateful for its warmth, even if it had prevented me from flouncing out of Oliver’s building in style. Having to wait for the receptionist to find my belongings and give them back had spoiled the effect somewhat.

  My phone rang as I debated spending a couple of bucks on lunch. Unknown number. If this was Oliver…

  “Hello?”

  “Sable?”

  I stiffened. “Who is this?”

  “Octavia. You remember me?”

  For a moment, I’d been worried about the press. They’d been sniffing around the case, seeing as it involved a celebrity, and I’d done my best to keep out of the papers. No doubt Octavia had been affected just as much.

  “Of course I remember you.”

  “Good, good. I figured you’d be in town for this court thing next week, and I wondered if you wanted to get a coffee?”

  I felt torn. Half of me wanted to run from Richmond and never look back, but the other half? There were few people I could talk to about the Carter mess, and Octavia was one of them. Daddy always told me a problem shared was a problem halved, so maybe it would be good to have a chat?

  “Sure, I’m in town, but only for a few hours, and then I’m heading back home. Where do you want to meet?”

  The coffee shop was tucked into a side street close by, a world away from the bustling atmosphere of The Daily Grind. While my old place of employment had attracted the student crowd with its daily offers and all-you-can-drink specials, Java catered to a different audience. A retro chalkboard displayed a hundred types of coffee, and the prices made my eyes water.

  A bubbly blonde waitress sashayed up to the table, pad in hand. “What can I get ya?”

  Yup, table service. In a coffee shop.

  Octavia perused the board. “Flat white, Colombian roast, and one of those little cakes with the strawberries.”

  “Coming right up.” She turned her pearly teeth in my direction. “And for you?”

  I looked at the menu too, but not the descriptions, only the prices. “Espresso, please.”

  “Which blend?”

  The cheapest one. “Uh, Kenyan.”

  “Anything to eat?”

  “I’m on a diet.”

  The can’t-afford-food diet. Worked a treat. I’d dropped a dress size before I went home, and only Mom’s cooking had saved me from needing to wear a belt with everything.

  “My treat,” Octavia said.

  She knew, didn’t she? But I couldn’t go back on my fib now. “That’s kind of you, but I really am trying to lose a few pounds.”

  She shook her head as the waitress headed back to the counter. “You don’t want to drop weight, honey. Men go for the curves every time.”

  “So? It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m starting up the business again, and I can always use good girls. The men loved you.”

  “I thought you got arrested?”

  She shrugged. “Occupational hazard. I’ve been in this trade long enough to know how to avoid the pitfalls.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “Always have a long-term plan. Never put anything in writing—all the men understood what the résumés meant, but I never listed it in black and white. Oh, and get a good lawyer.”

  “He’s not called Oliver Rhodes, is he?”

  She threw her head back and laughed, a rasp you only got from smoking forty a day. “That man eats women like you and me for breakfast.”

  Well, it was more of a midnight snack in my case. “Did he ask you questions too?”

  “Not many. He got one of his minions to take over, but I couldn’t help much. Crystal took whatever relationship she had with Carter off the books. Shame, because that man deserves to burn.”

  The blonde came back with our coffees and set them on the table. “Enjoy.”

  The first sip of espresso scalded my tongue. Anything else want to go wrong today?

  “So, how about it?” Octavia asked.

  “How about what?”

  “Do you want to be a sexy Sapphire?” She leaned back and sized me up. “Actually, no. You’re more of a sweet Sapphire.”

  I should have known, shouldn’t I? It was another sales visit. “I’m out of that game for good.”

  She didn’t argue, merely nodded. “I suspected that might be the answer, but I had to ask. What are you doing instead?”

  “I moved back home.”

  The laugh came again, and a man at the next table glanced over at her, then his eyes lingered. Not surprising. Octavia had to be at least fifty, but she’d looked after herself and still turned heads.

  “What, to Hicksville?”

  “It’s not that bad. I got a job at the salon.”

  “Hairdressing?”

  She eyed up my own locks, and I cringed. The rain had made them go all frizzy, and the
ends I’d chewed hung ratty around my face. A salon poster girl I was not.

  “Shampooing.”

  “I give you six months. You’re not a country girl at heart, Sable.”

  “I’m not Sable either.”

  “Maybe not, but there is middle ground. Don’t waste your life in a dead-end job. Didn’t you do a business degree?”

  “I didn’t finish. I had six months to go when…everything happened.”

  “Then go back to school. Get your certificate.”

  “It costs money, and I don’t have any.”

  “Then get another job. Don’t give up.” She waved the waitress over. “Honey, you got any jobs going here?”

  The blonde bobbed her head, and perfect curls bounced around her chin. “Only part-time, Monday through Thursday mornings.”

  Octavia pointed in my direction. “See, there are jobs.”

  The girl turned to me. “Are you interested?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know.” Was I? “Maybe. I’ll have to consider it.”

  The blonde giggled, the sweet sound that escaped her lips a contrast to Octavia’s throaty cackle. “Suit yourself, hun.”

  As she walked off, Octavia lowered her voice. “She used to be you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A Ruby. Now she’s gone straight.”

  I took another look at the girl, my gaze lingering longer this time. A customer came in, and her face lit up as she smiled at him. I bet she got good tips.

  “I’m not sure I could do it. Move back here and start again.”

  Life with Mom and Chester was easy. Secure. Sure, it got a little dull, but I didn’t have to worry about going hungry, or worse, lawyers out for blood.

  Octavia reached over and patted my hand. I noticed she’d replaced her ruby ring with sapphires. They sparkled and twinkled as they caught the light, the treasure at the end of the rainbow.

  “Honey, you can do anything you put your mind to.”

  The bus ride home took almost ten hours, and the thought of doing the reverse next Tuesday made my stomach sink. At least I had Mason’s birthday lunch to look forward to on the weekend, even if he didn’t. At seventeen, the last thing he wanted was to be fussed over by the entire female contingent of the Amor/Carlton family, but he loved Mom almost as much as I did, so he’d put up with it just like always. Plus she’d promised to make lemon meringue pie, and he’d never miss that.