“Oh, no. Not at all.” She laughs, but I don’t believe that laugh for a second. “A little aloof is good, but Trevor wants a team player. You … ” She taps her head while looking right at me, presumably indicating a genius move I must have spent weeks plotting. “You, Bridget, know that people make all the difference. That it’s not what you do, but who you do that matters.”
I shake my head. I just want to be left the fuck alone until morning, collect the last twenty grand I need to pay Linda’s doctor, and then go home. I don’t like catty drama and never have. Kylie’s manner is brimming with it. I’m a straightforward girl and resent people who take their sweet time to make a simple point. If she wants to say something stupid, she should just fucking say it.
But I don’t want an argument right now. I don’t have the energy or the patience.
“I don’t even want to be here,” I say. “You want to suck the world off and win this thing, then the best of luck to you.”
Her smile becomes a pursed-lip expression of annoyance.
“Superior,” she says. “Just like I thought.”
“I’m not judging.”
“I know so many people like you. Always seeing the obvious and assuming they’re ends rather than means. Always leaping to the most convenient conclusion.”
“Kylie, I don’t give a shit about — ”
“I’d rather fuck the world than be fucked by it. Women like you disgust me. You want empowerment, but then you’re ashamed of your sexuality. If I use my body to get what I want, it makes me a whore, right? And yet that doesn’t stop you from doing the exact same thing.”
“Okay,” I say, making to stand and leave. “This has been fun.”
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
I look over. A satisfied smirk crawls across her features.
“Not Trevor. Daniel.” Then she mock-whispers behind her hand, conveying a tidbit of mock-gossip. “Because he’s the real decision-maker!”
“Have fun, Kylie. Best of luck to you after I’m gone.”
I turn, but she grabs me by the wrist.
“It won’t work, you know.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“I know I can’t tattle on you because everyone would think I was just trying to get you the boot for my own benefit, and I know that if anyone controls who sees the camera feeds, Daniel does. But I know what you’re up to. And you’re not going to take what’s mine.”
I shake her free. Her hand strikes the chair’s arm hard as it flies loose. She winces then glares at me. She stands, and I realize we’re about the same height. We’re face to face, six inches apart.
“Oh, but he’s something, isn’t he?” she purrs. “I don’t blame you, Bridget.” She turns a quarter turn, and I turn with her, knowing she’s leading but not wanting to lose now that she’s making me engage. “All those muscles. His face is so hard and so hot, I come a little every time he looks at me. And his tattoo. It’s like he’s scarred, but in such a panty-melting way. And you’ve seen where it goes. How it seems to consume him.”
I look away. And she pounces. Her hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes bug out. She’s the picture of fake surprise, her voice going light and giggly.
“Oh, you haven’t even seen it, have you? I guess you’ve just let him fuck you from behind, like a whore after all, so you can’t even tell … ” She trails off, shaking her head like naughty-naughty.
I bite my lip. I make fists at my sides. Then Kylie’s eyes seem to roll around as she’s thinking, and her shaming expression is replaced by one of dawning, girlish delight. Like we’re BFFs at a slumber party and she’s about to share a dirty little secret.
“He talks about you, you know.”
I want to walk away, but that stops me.
“When he fights. We’re not supposed to sneak up to Trevor’s quarters, but of course we do. They box up there, Daniel and Trevor. It’s supposed to be exercise, I guess, but Daniel fights like he’s got nothing to lose. Like an animal.”
She’s circling me. I don’t like playing her games, but I can’t move.
He talks about you.
And as much as I’m fuming inside, I need to hear more. To know what that means.
When he fights.
“It’s how they hold some of their meetings, I suppose,” Kylie says. “The two of them up there in a real ring. Shirts off. Absolutely drenched in sweat. Everything glistens, Bridget. I want to touch myself just thinking about it.”
Another half circle. A full circle, her voice a near-whisper in my ear.
“Trevor doesn’t like that you’re his favorite,” she tells me.
Kylie touches my side. My stomach. Her finger against my dress is slow, almost seductive.
“But not because of this average little body of yours, no. Do you know what it is, Bridget? Do you know why he let you play with us?”
Us. Play with us. His favorite.
And she whispers, “It’s pity.”
Kylie steps back. She’s smiling with her mouth slightly open. Hands on hips. Her eyebrows up, tongue in the corner of her mouth.
“‘Pity,’” I repeat.
She nods. Then she’s right in front of me again, and she says, her voice like a purring cat, “Did someone give your poor mommy a boo-boo?”
The sound of my hand striking Kylie’s cheek is hard. Flat. Undramatic.
And then Kylie steps back for the second time, her own hand now going to her cheek. My handprint is developing like a Polaroid. I hit her so hard, she’ll bruise if I’m lucky. But Kylie doesn’t retreat more than a step despite the fire that’s surely lighting my eyes.
She smiles instead. Then bites her lower lip and says, “You’re in over your head, little orphan girl.”
I wait until she leaves, trying to hide the pain I’m sure I’ve caused her. I wear a big ring on that hand, and it hurts like a bitch.
I don’t make it to my room. It’s too far, and I’m too tired.
I cry by firelight, beside the gaze of unblinking mountains.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Bridget
I wake with the sun.
I don’t know what time it is. I feel like I’ve overslept, but as far as I heard before bunkering into my room, there’s nothing to rise for. This isn’t a cruise, though it’s not hard to imagine an activities director taking over now that this vacation’s purpose has been unveiled. Still, I can’t imagine them booking us for tennis at eight and bracelet making after brunch. Even if both are supposed to be done naked, with things shoved up my business.
I roll over. Stretch. There’s something traitorous about being comfortable in this place, but I am nonetheless. Billionaires know how to outfit a bed, with plush pillow tops, a featherbed below, and a comforter like a cloud above. I’m almost ashamed of how well I slept. I really should be going. I need to get the fuck out of here because there’s never been a place I’ve felt less wanted or that clearly wants me less.
There’s a cream-colored envelope on the floor, right near the door.
I crawl out of bed and open it. It isn’t sealed, just folded in on itself. The paper feels rich and heavy. I’m sure it costs a buck a sheet or more.
It announces breakfast at nine in the downstairs dining room, with socializing to follow. Which probably means fucking for points, like dining for dollars. Attendance is optional. I can get room service if I want, and the fancy slip of paper lets me know that if I do, I should indicate my choice of deliveryman. I can choose Tony, Richard, or Logan. But it says that waiting until after ten may yield unsatisfactory results.
“Jesus,” I mutter. I set the paper on the vanity by the mirror. Unsatisfactory results. I assume that means that with only three attendants and twelve girls potentially ordering breakfast, late orders might get limp dicks, after the boys have already done all the serving they can handle. Kind of like getting the last pancake on the plate, already cold.
I have to get out of here. Normal people don’t think
this way. If I go down to the lower dining room, everyone’s probably naked, sipping coffee. The donuts and bagels are probably being kept in place on some guy’s stiff dong. No big deal.
I pull the paper back toward me, something dawning. It says, Disbursements distributed.
Okay. Maybe I have to go after all. Disbursements must mean our money. I’ve got twenty grand coming: ten for the day, then ten for the landmark bonus of making it through the first night. I’m not sure if they’ll pay us every morning if I stay, and if they do, why they don’t just set up Hooker’s Direct Deposit. There must be such a thing.
Doesn’t matter. Last night, Trevor said we could do what we wanted. I did, right down to slapping Kylie hard enough to knock her sideways. Today, with money flowing in the search for an ideal bride, I imagine that more specific demands are coming. But my integrity is worth more than that.
I smile a little while changing out of the dress I seem to have collapsed in. Yes. I’m okay with going to breakfast to collect my check. I’d like to say goodbye to Erin and Jessica. This isn’t my scene, but if someone has to win this and make bank, it might as well be them. I’d also like to say goodbye to Kylie. Give her a few choice parting words. Maybe whisper to the other girls and the men that I saw her naked last night, and she’s growing blue cheese down below. Some sort of skank disease.
I hear a slight noise to my left as I pull on one of the shirts provided in the drawers. It’s plain enough, not sexy at all. Comfy even. And there are slippers, which I step into as I walk over to retrieve the newly arrived envelope.
I open it and read.
My fist clenches, crumpling the creamy stationery into a messy wad.
And then I’m out the door with my backpack over one shoulder, seeing crimson. Readier than ever to get the fuck out of here, and looking for something heavy along the way to use as a weapon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bridget
“Where is Daniel?”
The tall, thin girl — Blair, I think — shakes her head. She doesn’t ask me if she fed cat — something I’ll probably be hearing in my head forever.
“Daniel,” I demand.
She shakes her head again. She’s holding a bagel. I push down a strange urge to ask if she got it off the dick of some guy and instead do my ethnocentric best to be an asshole American in the face of this gorgeous foreigner.
“Do you speak English?”
“Of course,” she says. She’s not mad or even offended. Just shocked at the way I stormed in here, my hair practically on fire.
“What about you, Boris? You seen Daniel?” I say to Kat.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The W comes out like a V. Her Os come out like there’s a W after them, round and fat. Kat, unlike Blair, sounds pissed. I’m not surprised. I’m kind of being a raging bitch. And it’s not like I have a problem with Russians. I’m just looking for someone to punch. And then I see her.
I try lunging past Kat to get at Kylie, but Kat catches me. She must weigh ninety pounds and I’ve just insulted her, but I’ve gotta hand it to the girl. She’s strong for such a tiny thing, and right now she’s saving me from myself.
Kylie waves and smiles. It’s a half wave, made by opening and closing her hand. Or really, just flapping her last three fingers at me. The index finger and thumb are holding a piece of toast with a bite already gone. Doesn’t Miss Cunt know that carbs will make her ass fat? Bitch.
“You,” I say to Kylie, still fighting Kat. “Come over here. We need to talk about something.”
She’s chewing her toast. Her lipstick is perfect. Her silver nose stud is perfect. She’s wearing a simple tee like I am, but she wears it better. I swear, I can see the outlines of her areolae. Her nipples make tiny tents. The boys will love that.
“Sleep well?” Kylie asks. “Like a little girl safe in her mother’s arms?” She makes an oops face. “Wait. Sorry. I forgot.” And she smiles again. Bitch doesn’t have a mark on her face. Not one little discoloration or scratch. I want to fix that. If I’m in trouble for fighting, I’ll make it one for the books.
Kat is stupidly strong. Unlike the rest of us, she’s dressed to the nines. Her hair is up, and she’s wearing a fucking fur stole of some sort. I’m tempted to compare it to a Cossack hat, but Kat isn’t my enemy here. I try to lunge away, but she holds me. I strike a platter and send smoked salmon crashing to the floor. Glasses rattle. The few contestants who haven’t noticed my arrival finally turn and watch me make a spectacle of myself.
“Relax!” Kat demands. Then she thumps me hard on the chest with the bottom of her tiny fist, punching me right in the boob. “What is wrong?”
“Do you know her? That fucking bitch right there?” I point as everyone stares at me, not my target. “Do you want to say goodbye before I kick her fucking ovaries out?”
There’s a rush of activity at the room’s far end. Tony enters, his eyes darting everywhere. Either he’s been manning the cameras, or he heard the platter hit the floor and came running.
“What’s going on here?” he demands.
I stare at Tony. I stare at Kylie. And back to Tony.
“Where is Daniel?”
“Daniel isn’t available,” Tony says.
“Make him available.”
“I said he’s not available. Now would someone like to tell me what’s going on here?” He looks around. A few of the girls up front seem ready to tell Tony what they know — that the prude just burst into the room and started shouting — but their eyes flick toward me and they hold their silence.
“Bridget?” Tony asks.
“She hit me,” Kylie says.
“What? When? Now?” He sounds like the goddamned Riddler. I lunge again and rebound off the buffet table, but the bounce gives Kat enough time to step in front of me again, to fix me with a stare that says I’d be stupid to dig myself deeper and I damn well know it.
“Bridget!”
“Nobody hit anyone,” Jessica says from near a small juice table. Her voice carries just the right amount of scorn, making it clear who she believes and who’s the asshole. I want to hug her.
“Last night,” Kylie says. “In the big main room upstairs.”
“Bridget?” Tony says.
The paper’s still clenched in my fist. I can feel my nails digging into my palm through it, and my nails are short. I’m so fucking angry, I can barely think. My vision blurs. But I won’t cry. Not here. Not now.
Kat sees the paper as if for the first time. She pulls it from my hand, giving me a look like she’s asking permission. My fingers unclench, and she reads it. When she’s done, she says to Tony, “Where is Daniel?”
Instead of answering, Tony comes forward. He takes the note and silently reads it. He looks up at me, and I see something so much worse than the anger from a moment before: sympathy.
“Is this true, Bridget?”
Beside Kylie, the Mediterranean girl, Ivy, says, “I saw the footage.”
“What footage?”
“From the camera in there. We looked last night, after Kylie came back with her face slapped, when we went to talk to Trevor.”
I glare at Ivy. Guess who just made my enemies list?
“You tattled?”
Kylie says, “I thought she might come at me again, Tony. Try to hurt me. Make a scene to ruin the party.”
I step toward her, but this time Tony stops me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but that’s all it takes. His touch is soft but clear.
Logan appears in the hallway. Tony looks back and says, “Get Trevor.”
“Trevor’s gone.”
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
“Had a meeting. He told me last night. We hold the fort, no big deal.” Logan looks at the scene, sensing something amiss. “Something wrong?”
Tony turns to me and holds up the paper. “Where did you get this?”
“It was slipped under my door a few minutes ago.”
“Logan, who hands out these envelopes?�
�
“Daniel or Sammy. But Sammy’s in the garden. So I guess Daniel.”
“Daniel’s out.”
“I’m sure he’s in his office. Did you check his office?”
My jaw hardens. Daniel’s office. I know where that is; I’ve seen him duck in and out. It’s one door down from me. It was closed when I went by just now. And the hallway was empty. At first, that didn’t register, but now that I’m thinking, it very much does. I left the room seconds after that envelope came in, and the upstairs hallways are long. The person who slipped it under my door should have still been in sight. Unless, of course, he slipped inside his office like a coward.
In my head, I hear Daniel telling me how I’m a wrong fit. How he made a mistake. How if he could, he’d reverse that mistake and kick me out. But I get the impression that if he did that, he’d have to admit to having done something stupid. I can already tell there’s some rivalry between Trevor and Daniel, between the billionaire playboy and his right-hand man. And if I was an error, Daniel might pay. Unless I got myself kicked out. If I somehow blew this for myself, Daniel wouldn’t have to do anything. And still, problem solved.
“I just want my check,” I say, fighting back furious tears. I can feel every eye in the room. Jessica seems to be on my side, and I get a hard but fair vibe from Kat. But everyone else, judging by the looks, seems to think I’m crazy, dangerous, and no fun at all. “Just give me my check, and let me leave.”
Tony is slowly shaking his head. Looking at the paper. Then at Logan.
“I’m sorry, Bridget, but I don’t think you have one coming.”
He hands me the paper. Touches the sentence I’ve read five times already yet refuse to accept: Forfeiture of Day One disbursement and first-night bonus.
“I want to talk to Daniel.”
This can’t be how it ends. This can’t be it.
Tony looks at Logan. Logan looks at Tony.
“Page him,” Tony says.
Logan walks to a panel on the wall and touches something.
“He’s not in his office, Tony.”
Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) Page 14
