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I dress in my nicest suit—a slim-cut, midnight blue YSL with a fine, almost invisible pinstripe. My undershirt is Armani. Silk. Crisp white. A scarlet tie completes the look—vive la France. I futz with my curls long enough for them to look carelessly perfect, and I slide on my Rolex before gathering my keys, wallet, and a small vial of cocaine, which I tuck into my breast pocket. Just in case.
The building’s lobby smells like snow, and Brewd rises from his seat to open the door for me, but not before scraping his gaze from my shoes to my face and giving me a knowing smirk.
Great. So everyone knows. He better not fucking say anything.
I can’t even summon a glare. The humiliation is too complete. I’m nearly clear of the doorway before I hear his low voice call after me, “Try to stay out of trouble, 1204.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
And yes, that does make me feel better.
How to describe Elodie Lafayette.
Well.
She’s about five-foot-six, I’m guessing a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Fake tits. Hourglass figure. And then it gets trickier. She has long, wavy, nearly black hair, which she’s wearing down tonight. She has a septum piercing along with myriad holes in her ears. She also has a clit piercing—which was once an urban legend but proven true by the sex tape. She has one tattoo on her right inner wrist, and a face that is traditionally beautiful. However, the gleam in her eyes gives her away for who she really is. It enhances her basic beauty and takes her up a notch into fuckhot territory. If anyone in the world masturbates more than I do—I’m guessing it’s her.
“Olivier, you remember my daughter Elodie. You went to St. Agatha’s together, no?”
Mr. Lafayette grins beneath his waxed mustache as Elodie and I regard each other warily. I offer her a hand and a quick bow. “We did. You look lovely tonight, Elodie.”
Also on her best behavior, she smiles politely. “And you look very handsome, Olivier. I love your tie.”
The words might sound innocent to the untrained ear, but there’s more to them, as in—I’d love for you to hog-tie me with it and spank me while you piss on my tits.
She’s not safe.
“I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do,” Mr. Lafayette says, gracefully backing away. Beyond him, I catch the watchful gaze of my parents before turning back to my future bride.
Fuck.
She and I share a long stare until a slow smirk spreads on her full, red lips. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“How do you figure?”
“Gets me out of the house for one.” She takes a sip of her champagne.
I clasp my hands behind my back and try to appear interested.
“How soon do you think I can move in?” she asks.
“You’re not moving in,” I tell her. That was not part of the deal.
“Ollie,” she fake-pouts, “I have to. What do you expect me to do, sneak out through the service entrance every morning? We’ll be spending nearly every night together.”
“Is that how it was explained to you? I was imagining more of a public courting process.”
She snorts. “A courting process that begins with me going home with you tonight? Okay.”
I inhale, trying to draw on my inner gentleman. He’s got to be in here somewhere. “The point is to show we’ve changed.”
She arches a brow. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy it.”
“Your definition of fun and mine might be more different than you realize.”
She shrugs carelessly. “You like to fuck. I like to get fucked. What? Am I not hot enough for you?”
“Am I hot enough for you?” I counter.
