I had to sign.
And so I did, another piece of my existence being given away to someone else to manage. It seemed the only part of me I owned these days was my heart.
“Thank you,” the woman said, taking the clipboard and pen from me. “Enter through those doors. You’re candidate number seventeen, meaning sixteen have already arrived. I suggest you not waste time and get started.” Her hazel eyes twinkled, not in a condescending way but in a humored one. “Good luck, sweetheart.”
I nodded, my tongue too thick in my mouth to speak. Why had I been among the last to arrive? Because they wanted me to fail? Or because they thought the others needed more time? Why not have us all arrive at once?
Stop thinking and just move, I told myself, my stilettos wobbling as I took a step. I winced and fought the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.
I can do this.
One night.
Two thousand dollars with the potential for more.
Go in there, smile, and socialize. Maybe you’ll meet someone interesting.
I swallowed. The lastinterestingperson I met was Corban, and that hadn’t ended well.
“Is there a problem, Liani?” the woman asked, picking up on my hesitation.
“No,” I managed to say, the sound coming out on an undignified croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “No, I’m fine. Just considering my strategy.”
She chuckled. “I suggest you enter first, then consider. It might help you see what you’re up against.”
Something told me that would do the exact opposite, but I nodded again and grabbed the handle. A snick of sound indicated she’d hit a button of sorts to unlock the doors. Then I pushed one open and stepped over the threshold.
Wealth and opulence hit me at once, the decorations screaming elegance, from the leather seating to the crystal glasses and the very finely dressed men and women mingling throughout the room. My black gown—the same color as my hair—fit right in, as did the gold cuff glinting in the sensual lighting.
Windows overlooking Manhattan spanned the back wall of the large space, a bar was situated in one corner, and two men in suits stood guarding a hallway to my right.
The bedrooms.
Right.
I went toward the bar instead, needing some liquid courage. There was nothing in the paperwork about not being able to drink. Besides, a glance around showed everyone had alcohol, even the other females wearing gold cuffs like my own.
Of course, all those women were already chatting up men in suits.
Most of the males in this place were old enough to be my father. Not that I’d ever met my sperm donor, but I imagined him to be in his forties or fifties.
The bartender slid a glass of champagne my way. “Compliments of the gentleman at the end,” he said, nodding toward a silver-haired man at the edge of the bar.
Well, that didn’t take long, I thought, smiling at him as I lifted the glass to my lips.Too bad you look far too old to provide appropriate entertainment.
Or maybe that was exactly what I needed.
A man who desired to just… talk.
Hmm.
I started toward him, when a shiver of awareness danced over my skin, causing my focus to shift to the entrance. An eerie hum of energy swam through the air, tickling the hairs along my arms.
And thenheentered.
A god in an all-black suit.
My lips actually parted becausewow. This man put all the others in this room—hell, thiscity—to shame. And the way he carried himself as he entered said he knew it, too. He possessed the stature of a person used to others bowing to him in every way.
