Indecent Games Duet - Boxed Set

by Clarissa Wild

  I’m way behind already. There’s no way I can make up for the loss of money without a job.

  What now?

  I can’t go to my parents. They have even less than I do. Besides, they need every penny for Dad’s lung cancer medicine. I can’t ask that of them. And I just gave them everything I had. There’s no way I’m ever going to ask for that back.

  Biting my lip, I realize I have only three options.

  Getting a loan is a small possibility, since I already have bad credit due to unpaid bills.

  A new job within a week is also highly unlikely, but it’s an option.

  Or I could just sell some cocaine like my neighbor does. Or sell my body to any random stranger. I bet that would make some decent cash too.

  Balling my fist, I chuck the paper away and let it fall to the floor, rubbing my forehead. God, if only it wasn’t so fucking difficult.

  Money.

  That thing that makes the world go round.

  I need it. I want it.

  But every time I come close to earning my fair share, somebody takes it away.

  It’s not fucking fair.

  I walk to my bedroom and close the curtains, undressing in front of the mirror. I hate what I see. Not because I’m not beautiful—because I am—but because of how little I’ve accomplished. With my twenty-eight years, I should already be somewhere. Be someone. I should be an assistant to the CEO of some technology company or a manager at a bank. Instead, I’m wasting my time doing the shitty work for someone who doesn’t even want to keep me around.

  Annoyed, I turn around and throw myself on the bed, swearing into the blankets.

  But as I crawl up, I realize I can only do one thing.

  Push forward. Never give up.

  So I lie down on my pillow and close my eyes, promising myself that tomorrow’s going to be a good day.

  ***

  Accompanying Song: “Eyes On Fire” by Blue Foundation

  Max

  The next day

  I take a sip of my espresso and watch the customers fly through the bank. Only when a long-legged girl steps into the lobby do I take notice. Still holding my cup, I watch her stride across the tiles on her blue heels, her hips rocking and her long black hair swaying from side to side.

  I lick my lips at the sight of her, wondering who she’s here to meet. It can’t be me; I don’t have an appointment scheduled right now, and I’m on a much-needed break. Still, I can’t stop looking at her.

  She’s wearing a tight, red skirt, and an ironed black top. Golden bracelets dangle from her wrist, which makes me think she’s dressing to be seen. I wonder if she’s going to meet someone high up. It isn’t me, that’s for sure. I should know, because I own this freaking bank.

  I should find out more, but my body refuses to stand as my gaze fixates on her ass. Something about her captures my attention. Maybe it’s her straightforward pace or the cold look in her eyes as she passed through the doors.

  From a distance, I watch her stand in line, her hands briefly skittering through her hair, and for a moment, I wish it were my hand she felt. I take another sip of my coffee and wait until it’s her turn. The color on her tanned face seems to disappear slowly as she talks with the woman behind the glass, her brows drawing together. She pats her hand on the woman’s desk and leans forward. They engage in a heated discussion, which only stops when she turns around and parades off toward the door again.

  The closer she comes, the more I can see the determination in her eyes—even though she was just scolded and told off. I watch her walk toward me, my eyes unable to look away. The power she radiates draws me like nothing else. She’s magnificent.

  Exactly what I’m looking for.

  I’ve been waiting so long for this moment.

  This excitement. This feeling of electricity running through my veins.

  She’s the one.

  ***

  Naomi

  When I come home, I throw my purse on the table and rub my forehead, sighing out loud. I don’t know what to do at this point because even my own bank won’t give me a loan. Of course not since I’m indebted to them too. But I thought if I told them my situation, they might help me out. Guess not.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and twist the cap off, chugging it down like there’s no tomorrow. After a show like that, I need to cool myself down. My body always heats up when I’m in an argument. It’s like it instantly goes into fight or flight mode. And I don’t ever flee from a fight if I can prevent it.

  God, the humiliation. It was just too much.

  The way that woman across the counter looked at me as if I was beneath her … I just wanted to pull her underneath the glass and shove my nails into her eye.

  How dare she question my ability to pay back this money? Did she think she was better than I was? No one has the right to make me feel like a lesser human. I’m too fucking proud for that shit.

  I put my half-empty bottle down on the table and pull the stack of mail from my purse.

  I quickly sift through the envelopes to see if it’s anything important, other than the looming bills I still need to pay. Usually, I chuck them all into the drawer and forget about them, but the moment my eyes see a peculiar red envelope, my fingers stop moving.

  I throw all mail aside except for this one envelope. Strangely, it’s addressed with only my first name, and it does not have a return address. I tear it open and pull out the paper inside. At the bottom of the note, it has a signature and the name “Max” engraved. Below that is his address. I wonder who this guy is and how he knows where I live … but I figure maybe his letter will give me a clue, so I start to read.

  Naomi,

  I know you are going through some money troubles.

  How do I know, you may ask?

  Well, I might answer that question … after you’ve come to see me.

  Now, I know this might seem odd. To you, I’m a stranger inviting you to come see me out of the blue, but trust me, it is not.

  I have what you need.

  Money. Lots and lots of it. And I am willing to give it all to you.

  You must have many questions—if I am joking, if this is real, and if so, how much, and what the price is. I could answer all of them, but that would make this very boring, and I don’t like to play boring games.

  Instead, I’d like to invite you to meet me, and I will tell you all that you need to know.

  The real question you should be asking yourself is this, though … How far are you willing to go to get what you want?

  If you know the answer to that question, come and see me.

  2.

  Accompanying Song: “The Demon Dance” by Cliff Martinez

  Naomi

  A few days later

  With the envelope firmly tucked into my pocket, I exit my building and walk down the sidewalk, the message inside still echoing through my mind. Who is this man? How does he know me? But more importantly, why is he offering me money and what does he want from me in return?

  All these questions and no answers make me shiver. Yet … I’m intrigued. I need to know more, even if it goes against every fiber of my being. This has to be a cruel joke played by someone I know. But then why can’t I shake the glimmer of hope from my head?

  It’s all because of that one word.

  Money.

  Just that one word inside the note got my full attention.

  I didn’t even need the rest. Just the thought of getting my hands on it makes me greedy. Willing … to do anything.

  Maybe I’m insane. Or maybe I just love my family to death, and I want to help them out as much as I can. Or maybe I’m just addicted to the smell of stacked bills.

  Whatever the case, I’m about to find out just how far I’m willing to go down the rabbit hole to chase the money.

  As I walk down the street, I pass a man in a dark suit who’s talking on his phone, but the moment he sees me, he stops for a second. I turn my head and see him blink. Then he turns
and walks again.

  Frowning, I try to ignore it, wondering what the hell just happened. I don’t know the guy, but it looked like he recognized me.

  I cross the street and see a black Chevrolet Equinox parked on the corner, two men sitting inside drinking a cup of coffee and eating donuts. They look up, but all I see are sunglasses instead of eyes. One of them stops drinking and the other picks up something that looks like a notepad and a pen and starts to write something down.

  I make a face and pass them, trying to ignore it, but I can’t shake the feeling of being creeped out by it.

  Suddenly, someone walks into me, and I almost fall to the ground. “Jesus, watch where you’re going,” I growl. When I look up, I notice something in his ear.

  “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh … yeah,” I say, and I quickly walk past him, hoping he doesn’t follow me.

  But no matter how far I walk, I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if there’s a man. A man in a suit. A man in a van. A man with a wire.

  My skin crawls as I notice the camera hanging from the top of the Starbucks building, and for a second, I wonder if it’s filming me on purpose. But I push the thought away because it’s ludicrous; every passerby is filmed for his or her own safety. It’s normal.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  Maybe I’m just having an off day.

  A day when everyone and everything seems suspicious.

  A day when I feel like everyone’s out to get me … or to get that money that I so desperately want.

  Greed … it makes you leery.

  I hate it.

  I breathe out a quick breath and straighten my jacket then decide to call a cab. Better than walking around feeling followed.

  The cab takes me to a sky-high building in the center of the city, not too far away from here. I pay the driver and exit the vehicle, passing through the revolving doors of the skyscraper. The marble floors shimmer so brightly I can see my own reflection in them as I look up and down the immense hallway.

  A man to my left steps forward. “Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for …” Well, shit. I only have a first name.

  Biting my lip, I contemplate it for a second. “I’m supposed to meet someone here on the fifteenth floor. A man named Max.”

  “Fifteenth floor?” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Really now?”

  “Yes.” I clear my throat and pull out the note from the envelope. I didn’t want to do this, but he leaves me no choice. I won’t be talked down to. Even though I know this place is for the richest among the people, I won’t let anyone tell me I can’t be here.

  The man skims the words and then smiles. “Oh … right.” He looks up at me. “Come right this way, miss.”

  He holds out his hand and lets me walk in front of him as we follow the red carpet through the hallway. He stops in front of a gold elevator and presses a button. When the doors open, he says, “After you.”

  I walk past him and enter the elevator, swallowing as I meet my own reflection. I tilt my head up and peek at my hooded eyelids, swabbing away a tiny speck of misplaced mascara with my pinky. I turn around as the man walks inside and presses two buttons, prompting the doors to close.

  The wait feels like an eternity, the shifting velocity and pressure inside the elevator making me slightly queasy. When the bell finally rings and the doors open, I inhale a deep breath.

  The man steps out and so do I, only for him to point toward one door. “That way, ma’am.”

  I look at him, and then at the door, and I take a step. He stays near the elevator, frozen in place as I make my way down the long hallway to the single intimidating door at the end.

  Because that’s what this is.

  A scare tactic.

  Making your visitors submit to you before even meeting them with a bucket load of wealth and just a hint of authority. Power. The kind that I crave.

  Not one second do I hesitate before knocking on the door.

  It’s not my style, and I don’t surrender to anyone or anything. Not even fear itself.

  My hand still hovers over the door, almost ready to knock again, when I hear a voice resonate through the walls, sounding like an echo in the dark.

  “Come in.”

  I twist the doorknob and push open the door, stepping inside.

  A man stands behind a desk at the edge of the room; his back is to me, and he’s gazing out the glass windows that line the room. All I see is wavy dark brown hair, cut neatly in shape, just like his body. His suit barely holds together from his muscles, and for some reason, I can’t stop staring at his tight, round ass.

  For a second, there’s nothing but silence as we both stand still without flinching, without so much as an exchange of words or a breath taken.

  Only one thing is going through my mind right now … Who is this man, and what will he make me do for his money?

  ***

  Accompanying Song: “Eyes On Fire” by Blue Foundation

  Max

  I peer down at the people below us, wondering what they’re thinking as they stroll through the streets, going about their day as usual. I wonder if, somewhere in the back of their minds, they ever wonder if there’s more to this life than what they can see or what they know. If they even realize how much of their life is not really in their control.

  A wicked smile forms on my lips as I slide my fingers off the windowpane, a silhouette of my handprint slowly disappearing from the glass as if it was never there. Just like those thoughts.

  I turn around slowly so I can get a good look at her from top to bottom. Even though I’ve seen her before, I can’t take my eyes off her. With her tall, lean figure and pronounced, dark eyes hiding behind hooded lids, she’s a sight to behold.

  Seeing someone like that always fascinates me.

  That look on her face … her fearlessness. It makes me shiver in excitement.

  “Hello, Naomi.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

  Of course, she immediately wants to know everything.

  My lips curve into a smile; a little voice in my head is tempted to tell her the truth, but the devil inside has taken control, and he wants to play.

  I place my hands on my office chair and say, “Sit.”

  It’s not a question.

  She cocks her head and slowly crosses her arms. “First, tell me why I’m here.”

  Such attitude. I love it, but she won’t beat me at my own game.

  I lick my lips as I gaze directly into her smoldering eyes. “Why are you here? You’re the only one who can answer that question. But the question you really should be asking yourself is how badly do you want to hear my offer?”

  She sucks on her bottom lip and frowns, but then her legs move in the right direction toward the chair in front of me. I pull my own chair back as she stands behind hers, and we both sit at the same time. Just sitting here, I can almost feel the electricity zing between us, teasing me. Showing me a glimpse of what lies ahead …

  She doesn’t lean forward nor does she lean back as I entwine my fingers and place them on the desk in front of me. I do this with reason, just like anything else in life; to secure my position as the alpha in this room.

  But she doesn’t seem remotely fazed by my blatant display of dominance.

  In fact, with just her eyes, she’s deflecting it completely by looking over my shoulder instead of into my eyes.

  What a brazen girl … Exactly my type.

  “Money,” I murmur, the word like a gentle whisper disappearing into thin air.

  However, this one word captures her attention immediately, her eyes honing in on mine like a hawk.

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I ask, smiling gently, but she still won’t give me any emotion. Not even a single flinch. “Because of that note I sent you.”

  “How did you get my address?” she asks.
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  I raise a brow. “Is that really what you want to know? Or do you want to know how to get your hands on this limited, one-time-only offer I can make you?”

  She tilts her head back. “What if I say I’m not?”

  I muffle a laugh. “We both know that’s a lie. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

  She repositions herself, casually lounging back in the chair. Resting her elbow on the armrest, she props her chin in her hand. “Do we?”

  “I know you can’t pay your bills. I know you will lose your apartment. I know your bank won’t give you a loan and that your final chance is me.”

  “How …?” she mutters.

  “The hows are not important, Naomi. It’s the whys that matter. Ask the right question.”

  She looks me dead in the eye as she asks, “Why would you want to give me, a stranger, money?”

  I nod slowly, intrigued by her quick thinking. “Exactly.”

  Her index finger touches her temple, and her skin wrinkles in the most beautiful way as she rubs. “You want to know what I’m willing to do for your money.”

  “Hmm …” It makes me feel so good when she says it like that. It’s as if she can read my mind. It makes me want to grab her and fuck her pussy right on this very desk. I wonder if she can see that too.

  I open a drawer and take out a small box, removing the engraved pen I use only for special occasions such as this. I grab the paper lying in the drawer beneath it and place it on the desk. Not too close but not too far either. I want to see her lean toward it. I want to see her ache for the answer. To know what it is that I want … so I can see all the emotions flood her face.

  “You will receive fifty million dollars.”

  Her eyes flicker with a certain greed I recognize all too well.