Best Kept Secret

by Skye Warren

  Even knowing she’ll find out the truth, I can’t help my joy at seeing her. I’ve been desperately alone since I came back from college. One by one all Tanglewood friends abandoned me.

  I throw my arms around her neck, surprising us both by bursting into tears. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

  She squeezes me back. “Oh, Avery. Tell me everything.”

  Over her shoulder I spot a glossy black car with a man leaning against it, a cigarette in his mouth. He notices me looking and gives me a mock salute.

  A shiver runs through me. “Let’s go inside.”

  Sitting on the floor in the empty living room, sipping our soy chai lattes, I tell her about the horrible court dates, where reporters hounded us on the way up and down the marble steps. I tell her about the convictions, how my father seemed to age ten years overnight as the guilty verdicts rang out. And I tell her about the horrible night I got a phone call from the police telling me my father was in the hospital.

  Harper’s brown eyes fill with tears. “Christ, Avery. How could you try and keep all this to yourself? You’re too strong for your own good.”

  It all felt like a nightmare, but when I speak the words aloud, they become real. “I guess I was just taking it one day at a time. And for a while Daddy tried to keep a brave face, telling me that he’d fix everything. But they were just words. And after the attack…the doctors say he’ll never really recover.”

  “You aren’t coming back to school,” she says, and it isn’t a question.

  I shake my head. “There’s no way. Maybe someday in the future I can think about college again, but right now I have to focus on Daddy. He needs me.”

  She looks down, fiddling with the lid of her latte. “What are you going to do for money?”

  Isn’t that the million-dollar question? “I’m fine.”

  “Is that your way of saying you’re totally fucked?”

  In more ways than one. “I’m working on something, but I don’t have the details figured out yet.”

  Her eyes spark with curiosity. “I’m going to let you off the hook—for now. Tell me what happened with Justin. You texted me that you broke up with him?”

  Shame suffuses my cheeks as I remember all the times I told her how handsome he was, how perfect. “No, he broke up with me.”

  She looks mystified. “But he was crazy about you.”

  “Because of this whole mess. He said he wanted to be a senator one day, and he couldn’t be connected to the James family if he was going to do that.”

  A gasp. “That bastard.”

  I look away and swallow. “I guess I understand his point. I wouldn’t want to ruin his future.”

  “You’re way too nice. He’s a dirty rat bastard.”

  My cheeks burn as I share the most humiliating part. “I got the impression I was only going to be a stepping stone anyway. That he never really cared about me. I guess that’s why he was okay waiting until marriage.”

  She bites her lip, looking contemplative. “I don’t know about that. He was crazy about you, but he was always pretty spineless. I’m sure Papa Justin wasn’t too pleased about the scandal.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Spineless? You never said anything.”

  “I mean he looked good in a tux, but he couldn’t make up his own mind about anything. He’s probably following in his dad’s footsteps because he couldn’t think of any original career path.”

  I manage a wan smile. “Well, his senatorship is safe and sound now.”

  “He’ll regret it,” she says, sounding sure. “And you’re better off without him. You’ll find someone who cares about you for you—not for your family name.”

  Maybe so, but how would that future man feel about how I’d lost my virginity? Even if I tried to keep it a secret, people would talk about it. They’re paying an attendance fee just to find out my identity. After the way the reporters circled my father’s court case, the entire auction might eventually be public knowledge.

  I’m not just giving up my college degree or my career. I might be giving up being in love, having a family. Loneliness stretches out in front of me like a desert, Gabriel’s eyes burning like the sun.

  He may not be standing outside my house, but he could ask Damon what I’m doing. And he’s the one who orchestrated my family’s fall. He’s like a puppet master, moving me faster and faster until I come apart.

  “Maybe it’s better that I’m not engaged. I can’t focus on anything as long as Daddy’s sick.” He needs so much care just to stay alive. I never realized how fragile life could be until I saw all the tubes and monitors attached to his frail body. “He needs me right now.”

  “Don’t you have a nurse for him?”

  “We have someone who comes to check his medicine. The doctor comes once a week. That’s all I can afford.” Actually I’m running out of money for that too.

  “You’ve been the one feeding him? Changing him?”

  “When he’s awake enough to eat.” My stomach pitches as I remember holding in tears the last time I bathed him. It was almost worse that he was aware, feeling embarrassed that his daughter saw him naked. What choice did we have?

  Compassion fills her eyes. “I would help you, but Jerk Face still controls my trust fund.”

  Harper was furious when her estranged father granted her stepbrother control in his will. He said it was to keep the money safe—and secretly I thought it might be for the best. Christopher is a buzzkill, but he makes sure all her bills got paid. Harper’s a bleeding heart, incredibly nice but lacking practicality of any kind. She would hand over the two-thousand-dollar designer jacket off her back if a homeless person looked cold.

  “In a few years I’ll turn twenty-two and have control. I can help you then.”

  In a few years my father might be dead, but I don’t tell her that. It’s not her problem. “Don’t worry about us. Seriously, we’re fine. It’s hard right now, but it will get better.”

  “Because you’re working on something.”

  Nerves churn my stomach. I’m not even sure I could back out now if I wanted to. The man outside is keeping anyone from hurting me—considering I’m worth more to Damon Scott alive than dead. What would the guard do if I tried to leave? It doesn’t matter, because I can’t go anywhere with my father attached to the hospital bed.

  “That’s right. Now tell me how long you’re here. I want to stay up late and talk about what you’ve been doing since I left.”

  Chapter Nine

  For two blissful days Harper stays with me. She told her professor that her dog at home died, which seems like a horrible lie—and not very believable either—but she has a way of wrapping men around her little finger. Except for Christopher, unfortunately.

  We melt squares of butter to pour over popcorn and watch Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. There aren’t any other beds in the house, so we turn it into a sleepover and share my bed. She even makes her grandmother’s recipe for clam chowder, which Daddy declares is delicious.

  When a cab drives away with her Sunday afternoon, it feels like a cold splash of reality. The house is larger and emptier now that she’s gone. After sharing the last of the chowder with Daddy for lunch, I find some clippers in the tool shed.

  For the next hour I attack the wayward branches, taming the bushes along the front of the house. They don’t look nearly as pretty as when we had landscapers, but that’s not the point.

  My hands have blistered when I finally drop the metal shears to the grass.

  I head inside, intent on a shower, when I hear the phone ring.

  Landon has called twice more while Harper was here, and if it’s him, I’m not going to answer. The number is blocked, though, so I press the green Call button. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Avery James,” comes the pleased male voice. Damon Scott.

  I smooth my hair back as if he can see my wild-girl appearance. I probably look like I’ve been hacking my way through the rain forest right now. “Oh, hi.”

  Paper shuffl
es on the line. “Are you ready for the big night?”

  I’ll never be ready. “Do you have a date set?”

  “This Saturday. The richest men in the city are panting to find out who you are.”

  There’s no hiding from his knowing voice on the other end of the phone, but I still duck into the pantry and shut the door. Shame burns hotly on my cheeks. This Saturday. “I guess that’s good.”

  “That’s excellent, trust me.”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  A low laugh. “This particular fly is going to get a very nice payday for her time in the web.”

  I hope so or this would be pointless. “I don’t mean to be indelicate but…”

  My breath catches because I’ve been taught so strenuously never to mention money. Never to appear weak. I know I need to break those habits. I’m no longer the wealthy, privileged daughter of one of the city’s most venerable businessmen. But talking about money is still as hard as touching myself, forbidden for long enough to make it physically painful.

  Oh God, this Saturday.

  “How much money will you earn?” he says easily. “It depends on the tenor of the evening, how high we can push the bidding. I think you’re looking at a couple hundred thousand, at least.”

  “A couple hundred…” My voice trails off, and I feel faint. At one time those kinds of numbers wouldn’t have fazed me. There were savings accounts and investment funds galore. All of that has evaporated into nothing. A couple hundred thousand dollars would pay the real estate bill several times over. I’d be able to keep the house and pay for a full-time nurse.

  “Maybe more. We’ll have to play it by ear.” I can hear his smile over the phone. “Naturally I want my percentage to be as high as possible.”

  “Naturally,” I say, still feeling faint. I guess this is what hope feels like. “And they won’t…they won’t hurt me?”

  I can’t forget what the man said to me in the narrow hallway, about my father’s enemies taking recompense out of my skin. How much can I endure for a month? Sex, definitely. But pain?

  “Look, I won’t lie to you,” he says. “Some of the men attending dabble in some of the more…daring sexual activities, I’ll say. It’s a natural consequence of dealing with rich men, with too much time and money on their hands to be content with plain old vanilla.”

  Does he count himself in that group? Probably. I press my hand to my eyes, trying not to imagine him doing things that are daring. I especially don’t want to imagine Gabriel Miller doing anything at all.

  “There have to be boundaries, right?”

  “Of course. You’ll be the same girl coming out that you were going in. Nothing permanently harmed or changed. Except for one small portion of your anatomy.”

  The air in the pantry seems to get thinner. “I see.”

  “Don’t worry. A hymen is more rare around here than whips or chains could ever be. Hopefully you’ll keep them entertained for the whole month.”

  “Whips and…chains?” My stomach clenches hard.

  “Well, the auction begins at nine p.m. We’ll start the drinks flowing before that to make sure they’re loose with their wallets. You should arrive by seven to get you ready.”

  Two hours is a long time to get dressed. “Are you sure I need—”

  “I’m sure,” he says, almost cheerful. “I’ll see you then.”

  The click over the line seals my fate.

  Chapter Ten

  In ancient mythology the Minotaur was a creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man. He lived at the center of a maze. Athens had to send seven young men and seven unwed girls as a sacrifice on a ship.

  In my case the maze is the Den, which looms high in the dusky sky, orange rays of sunset split by the intricate turrets. There’s only one sacrifice this Saturday night.

  Someone waits at the curb to take my keys. I wobble on my heels for only a moment before catching myself. The last thing I need are skinned knees as I go in front of the wealthiest men in the city. Then I’m standing in the foyer, marveling as people bustle around. I hadn’t quite realized how much of a production this would be, but with that much money on the line, it makes sense. My stomach pitches with nerves because I’m going to be at the center of this hurricane.

  Damon emerges from a door, looking sharp in a three-piece suit. He’s one of many turns I’ll take tonight, going deeper into the maze. Only at the end will I find out who’s won the auction. Only then will I meet the Minotaur.

  “The woman of the evening,” he says warmly.

  A shiver runs through me. That sounds ominous. I force myself to smile. “I’m not sure it will take me two hours to get ready, though.”

  He laughs. “Candy asked for the whole day. I told her she’d have to make do.”

  “Candy?”

  “Ivan’s girl. She’ll be the one taking care of you.”

  Ivan Tabakov? I’ve heard his name spoken, but only in whispers. And didn’t his wife used to strip at one of his clubs? I guess I couldn’t ask for a better guide in the art of selling sex to dangerous men, but I’m almost more afraid of her than the men. This is a different world, requiring a different set of skills than the ones I’ve been building my whole life.

  He directs me up the stairs and into the room where the photographs were taken.

  A woman tinkers with makeup brushes on a small table against the window. I have the impression of beautiful blonde hair, long and flowing enough to make her a fairy-tale princess. Her hair might seem innocent, but her body is pure sin. The dress she wears clings to her body, accentuating her perfect curves. Good Lord. She won’t be at the auction, will she? As soon as a man sees her, he won’t want me. Of course, I doubt the crime boss Ivan Tabakov would be willing to share his wife.

  She turns, and I’m struck breathless by her face—by the perfect heart-shaped prettiness, by the wide blue eyes. Based on the piles of makeup on the table, I had expected something over-the-top, but hers is perfectly placed to emphasize her features.

  “Avery,” she says, smiling. “Come in. I won’t bite, I promise.”

  I relax by the smallest inch because she does seem genuine. In the hallowed halls I usually walk, many women will tear you down if they can get away with it. I’m so used to it that it’s a shock to see someone I don’t know with sympathy in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m kind of freaking out on the inside.”

  She reaches around me to shut the door. “We’ll make those bad old men wait until you’re good and ready to see them. In the meantime we’ll get you cleaned up.”

  I flush because she makes it sound like I’m something the cat dragged in. I can’t even disagree with that assessment. Next to her I feel completely unsophisticated. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Her laugh sprinkles over me like fairy dust. God, no wonder the scary mobster fell for her. “That depends on what you need, of course. Let’s get that dress off and see what we’re working with.”

  I pulled a designer evening gown out of the back of my closet, one I first wore to a senator’s inaugural dinner with Justin at my side. It shows off one shoulder and has a high slit. Justin was in awe of me that night—but maybe that was manufactured, just like he pretended to care about me.

  My stomach clenches for an entirely different reason than when I took my dress off in front of Gabriel. I know that she isn’t looking at me like something she wants to devour, but she’ll still see my insecurities. How can a woman like her understand what it’s like to be too small in some places, too big in others, forever the wrong thing? How can she understand chili juice and the shame I always feel in my body?

  I’m frozen with my hands clenched in fabric, my mind in a panic. How will I get through this? She’s just another turn, and I need to make it all the way to the center of the labyrinth.

  Her hands grasp my shoulders and shake gently. “Avery, look at me.”

  After a deep breath I meet her blue gaze.

  “You’re beautiful, and yo
u’re brave, and you’re unspeakably strong. Nothing those men do out there can change that. Got it?”

  And somehow I realize she does know what it’s like—the shame and the fear.

  That knowledge allows me to pull the dress away and reveal myself.

  She nods in satisfaction. “We’ll have the boys eating out of your hand.” Her gaze drops between my legs. “But first things first, that has to go.”

  “My panties?”

  “Your hair.”

  I glance down, part horrified, part curious. The navy-blue panties I’m wearing cover the neatly trimmed hair underneath. “How did you—”

  “How did I know? Oh honey, I’ve been doing this a long time.” Her eyes study me as if they can read every secret that way. “You’ve never been completely bare, have you?”

  It always felt unnecessary—and okay, a little scary. I shake my head.

  She smiles, turning to a small pot that’s plugged into the wall. Something’s melting inside there. Wax. “It’s freeing, I promise. And it only hurts for a few minutes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  An hour later I’ve been waxed and primped all over my body, whimpers escaping me while she murmurs sympathetically. Now I’m wearing a robe while she does my makeup, a natural look that’s somehow using more makeup than I’ve ever seen. Contouring, she calls it. I can’t deny the effect is stunning on my cheekbones. My eyes almost look bare, even though there’s shadow to make them wider. More like a doe. On my lips she paints a pale pink, like cotton candy.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  “Relieved the waxing is over,” I say honestly. I’m still feeling tender there.

  “It’s not my favorite part of the process, but the extra sensitivity you get will help you. And the men, they go crazy for it.”

  I’m not sure I’ve made a man go crazy for anything. “What if no one bids on me?”