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One month. Mine.
I plan to make the most of it.
We take the elevator down to the ground floor. She’s kept her eyes down the entire time, and I have to confess that I didn’t expect a stripper to be this shy. I mean, she did say it was her first night, but I assumed she meant her first night at the Calla Club.
This woman, out of the slutty costume and the fuck-me heels, doesn’t strike me as the stripper type. And I just paid a million dollars for her, making her, very likely, one of the most high-priced escorts in the world.
I nearly laugh. I must be out of my goddamned mind.
We make our way to the door and I open it for her. She murmurs a quiet “thanks” and as she walks past me, the scent of her envelops me again, just as it did at the club. She smells like something sweet and citrusy, and I wonder if that scent is everywhere, if, were I to sample her sweet pussy later, I’d be surrounded by it, covered in it.
I’m so fucking hard I can barely walk.
“We’re over here,” I mutter, nodding toward my red and black Bugatti Veyron with more than a little relief that it’s still there. I half-expected to find some dickhead in the process of trying to steal it. I glance at Samantha, and she’s staring at the car, then glancing at me.
“I should have asked for more,” she says, and the hint of self-deprecating humor in her voice almost makes me laug
h. “Now I think I sold myself short.”
“Well. I know this car gives me a good ride. How good a ride you are remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. She blushes prettily and glances away.
I open her door and wait as she slides into the passenger seat. I close her door then toss her bags into the trunk, taking a deep breath before I get into the driver’s seat.
The engine purrs to life and I pull away from the curb. It’s about a twenty-minute drive to my apartment in the South Beach neighborhood. The huge steel-and-glass tower overlooking the bay is the first building I was in charge of for my father’s construction business. I oversaw every part of its construction, and when it opened up, I took the top floor for myself.
I never take anyone there. Even Marlena, who I was technically engaged to for a little while, never slept there.
And I’m taking this stripper there.
Did all of my brain flow down to my dick or something?
“So your dad’s in trouble with the Mafia?” I ask, shaking off my irritation over wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“Yeah. He was doing a good job paying them back, and I kick in everything I can, too, but it’s not enough since he lost his job.”
“What kind of work does your dad do?”
“He’s an electrician. He’s been trying to get started as an independent contractor since losing his job, but he’s not great at putting himself out there and getting business.”
I nod. I’ve seen that before. Good, skilled tradesmen are irreplaceable on a job site, but many of them are happier working as part of a firm than going out on their own. It strikes me that I can probably find the guy something.
Later. I’ll deal with that later. “He took out this loan to pay for some kind of arts academy for you?” I ask, glancing over at Samantha.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of art?”
She sighs. “Acting. I’ve wanted to be on Broadway since before I even knew what Broadway was.”
Something in her voice catches my attention. “Tell me more about that.”
She’s silent for a few moments, and I wait it out. I can be patient, but she’s going to answer me whether she thinks she wants to or not. Finally, she says, “My mom was a Broadway actress. I remember seeing her on stage. When I was little, we used to make blanket forts in our living room and eat baklava and watch musicals. I knew every word to every song of ‘Singing in the Rain’ by the time I was five,” she says, and a glance shows me that there’s a sad little smile on her lips that makes my gut twist, just a little.
“And where’s your mom in all this? Did she leave your dad?”
Samantha shakes her head. “She’s gone. Breast cancer,” she adds softly, and I want to kick my own ass for bringing it up.
“I’m sorry.”
