by Paige North
***
Her phone was buzzing.
Nicole swam out of a deep, dreamless sleep, struggling to wake up. She knew it was imperative that she answer her cell, but she was so tired. So awfully, terribly exhausted.
And then she woke up, as if breaking the surface of a dark lake. It was very late at night—that much she knew. Her heart was pounding.
The phone buzzed.
She’d fallen asleep with it right next to her. The number was private, which could mean only one thing. She answered it fumblingly. “Hello, hello?”
She cursed herself for sounding desperate.
There was silence for a few awful seconds, and then Red’s voice on the other line. “You will be outside your apartment waiting in exactly fifteen minutes.”
“You’re coming here?”
He exhaled impatiently into the phone. “Stop questioning.”
“I’m sorry, sir, for my questions.”
“Don’t make me doubt my faith in you, Nicole.”
“Never, sir. I will do better, sir.”
“A car will pick you up outside your apartment in fourteen minutes. Wear a cocktail dress. And nothing underneath it.”
“Yes, sir.” She was excited, she was over the moon—and devastatingly moist.
The line went dead.
She checked the time. “Oh my god,” she whispered. It was 3:18 in the morning. But she didn’t have time to worry about the lateness (or earliness) of his call. She had to get ready in short order.
So she jumped out of bed and ran to her closet. Luckily she had a cute little dress that would fit the bill, dark and sheer, it hugged close to her body, showing her curves in a very flattering way that few of her outfits did. She’d only worn it once previously, and a lot of her friends had remarked on it.
Nicole stripped down and slid the dress on, marveling at how intoxicated she felt from just the few moments they’d spent talking just now. It was like she was on speed or coke or ecstasy (none of which she’d ever done—only what she’d imagined them to be like).
He hadn’t mentioned shoes, but to be safe she put on her dark Prada heels.
Then she ran to the bathroom, looking both ways first to make sure Danielle wasn’t nosing around. Brushed her teeth, put on deodorant, splashed water on her face—no time for makeup unfortunately.
Being late for this appointment was simply not an option. She envisioned him driving by, stopping for the briefest of instances, and then simply driving off if she wasn’t curbside when he arrived.
Not two minutes later, Nicole was downstairs and out front, standing alone in the darkness of her street. Nobody was around. The only light came from the moon and the few streetlights nearby.
It was creepy and the air was chill. With no coat on, she was shivering, hugging herself for warmth.
And then a sleek black town car turned onto her street and slowly, smoothly came to a halt in front of her. Nobody got out. The windows were tinted so that she could not see inside. There was no sign of Red—this could be anybody. She could get in the wrong car and end up raped and murdered and left in a dumpster.
These things happened in the big city.
But despite the danger, Nicole opened the door and got inside.
Red wasn’t in the car. The driver was a short, dapper, middle-aged man wearing a suit coat and driving cap. He smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Miss Masters?”
Relieved, she smiled at him. “Yes.”
“Relax,” he said, “we’ll be there shortly.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Our destination.” He started to pull away from the curb and she still had the door ajar, so she closed it and sat back, watching the scenery go by—at first slowly, then more quickly as the town car picked up speed.
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