Page 11 of His Turn

Chapter Four - Nadia

One night, Jordan said. Just one night. I keep repeating the mantra over and over in my head as I concentrate on keeping my eyes closed.

They walk away to get their drinks again, leaving me in the center of the room on my knees. I still have my stupid cape on and I’m beginning to sweat from the extra layer.

Why am I doing this?

Luck. I remind myself.

But it’s more than that and it takes more resolve not to smile right now than it did to let Jordan control me.

These asshole men think they’re so in control. So assertive, and aggressive, and appealing. And they think I am weak. So willing, and compliant, and obedient.

We’ll see.

They talk for a while after that. They settle on Bric’s couch. I can see them as I peek through my half-closed eyes, their legs open or propped up on one knee. They drink their stupid drinks and ignore me, still here in the middle of the floor, come drying on my dress.

Some time later Jordan orders me to lie back and open my legs. I just keep my eyes shut and try to relax. Forget where I am, what they’re doing, and concentrate on the dance going on in my head. I choreograph an entire routine as they play at being men with power.

Still, there’s the nagging doubt in my head.

Do I really want to get involved like this again? I moved away. I’m making a new life for myself. I’m going places.

“So what kind of pay does she get?” Bric asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Are they talking about me? I wasn’t listening.

“Who says she needs to get paid?” Jordan replies.

“They always get paid. You know this. It’s in the contract. We all have to get something out of it—”

“No,” Jordan says, cutting him off. “She’s here because she likes this.” Ah, they are discussing the details of some kind of contract with me. “Aren’t you, Nadia?”

“Yes, sir,” I say out loud. But that’s not what I say in my head.

“Why are you smiling, Nadia?” Jordan asks.

“Because I’m a dirty whore and this is payment enough,” I reply in my demure submissive voice that I’ve curated over the past few weeks.

“See?” Jordan says.

“Well, fuck that,” Bric says. “I’m only playing if she gets paid. I like to keep it all professional.”

“Whatever,” Jordan says. “So pay her.”

“You’ll pay her too. You know how this works. Nadia,” Bric calls. “What do you need from us to play?”

“I don’t need—”

“Nadia,” he barks. It’s a loud bark. Loud enough to echo off the ceiling. “I’m not interested in your opinion on the payment. I’m interested in how much you think you’re worth.”

How much do I think I’m worth? Is he fucking serious?

“Answer him, Nadia,” Jordan says.

“I’m worth more than you can afford,” I say, biting back my anger.

They both laugh, like this is funny.