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“Five more nights,” I reply. “He invited me to stay for a week.”
“Jesus, at that hotel? You’ve hit the jackpot right there.”
If only you knew, I think, remembering the first orgasm I had with him.
“I’m just wondering what the catch is,” she says.
The piece of reimagined rainbow roll I just swallowed feels stuck in my throat. I drain my cocktail and wave for another round.
“I know,” I say. “It all feels a bit too good to be true.”
“Roger that. I’ll do some digging,” Becks promises.
“Noooo,” I reply. “Not necessary.”
“You’re my bestie, and this billionaire is an unknown. Of course it’s necessary. Besides, loads of my contacts owe me.”
“It’s only five more nights,” I say.
“Pretending to be dumb doesn’t work on me, Ives. You and I both know it won’t be as simple as that.”
“It’s not like we can stay together," I say. “If that’s what you mean.”
“I just…” She runs her fingers thorough her hair. “I just want to make sure we know what we’re getting into here.”
“You’re a true friend, saying we like that. What we’re getting into.”
“Your troubles are my troubles,” she reminds me. We chink glasses. “Which is hardly fair, seeing as you’re the one getting all the orgasms.”
Chapter 21
Ethical Slut
By the time Henderson gets me into the car, I'm lightheaded and giggly. Becks and I said goodbye at the restaurant. We offered her a lift home, but she said—with a naughty look in her eyes—that she had someone to see. Becks has casual lovers all over London. Of the two of us, she has always been the one more into sex, more open-minded about everything in the bedroom. She doesn't narrow her options like most people do. Men, women, groups, parties, she does as she pleases, and never feels the need to label it, apart from the ethical slut hashtag she sometimes uses.
I'd always envied her casual approach to sex. It always felt like a serious topic to me, for some reason. Even sex itself, especially with Jeff, was a serious experience, mostly in a dark room. There was no laughing or playing around. When desire gripped me, all jokes were off. But Becks approaches it like play, as does Alistair. A space to play and learn. I hope it will rub off on me—no pun intended.
On the drive home, Macavoy starts driving in an odd manner. He keeps checking the rearview mirror, then braking and accelerating. Usually, any ride with Alistair’s driver is smooth, so I sit up and take notice despite the booze sloshing around inside me. I look out of the back window, but it’s almost impossible to see anything. It’s dark outside, the windows are tinted, and it’s raining. Something is definitely up. Henderson is watching a car like a hawk. Suddenly, it’s right beside us, and just when I think it’s going to try to push us off the road, tires squeal and the Renault is gone. Henderson makes a whispered call to someone while Macavoy’s driving evens out. Once he hangs up, he looks at me. “Everything’s fine,” he says. “Just some prankster. Nothing to worry about.”
Henderson walks me to the door of the penthouse and wishes me goodnight. I want to hug him and say the same, but I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.
The penthouse is dimly lit, and classical music streams over the sound system. It smells of roses and candle wax. I start taking off my heels and almost lose my balance, yelping a little as I nearly fall.
“Got you.” Alistair’s voice appears out of nowhere, almost making me yelp again. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.
“Alistair!” I yell, laughing. “Put me down!”
“Oh, I will,” he replies, then hurls me onto the bed.
“I’m still wearing my shoes.”
“I love your shoes,” he says. “Keep them on. How drunk are you? I want to know what I can get away with tonight.”
“I’m not drunk,” I lie. “Just a bit tipsy. Actually, very tipsy. I’m in a great mood.”
“Excellent,” he replies. “How was dinner?”
I decide not to mention the car that had been following us. If it was a security risk, I’m sure Henderson would have told Alistair.
