Page 33 of His Turn

Chapter Ten - Nadia

I want to defy Bricman by wearing white instead of black. But I only own one white dress and it’s made of lace and makes me feel like a cheap bride. So I give him that point and put on the black.

He said slutty, so I’ve got that covered too. The dress is barely long enough to cover my pussy. I’m wearing pink lingerie, but not the sweet kind. The kind that showcases your goods when you open your legs. The kind that comes with garters and thigh-high stockings. The kind that pushes your tits up to your chin and lets the tops of your nipples peek out from behind the cups.

I debated on whether to wear high boots or stilettos, and went with the stilettos. They cost more than one month’s rent for most people. But I didn’t buy them, Jordan did. So that means nothing to me. They make me taller than the boots, and even though I still won’t be as tall as Bric or Jordan, I’ll be closer to eye level.

Being small isn’t something I find cute.

I round it all off with some sterling silver jewelry. Nothing special, just a few pieces I have collected over the years.

At exactly seven-thirty, the buzzer rings on my door. I take one more look at myself in the mirror, self-consciously pull my ridiculously short dress down one more time, and let out a deep breath.

Let the game begin.

“You look… slutty,” Jordan says when I open the door. He takes me in for a few seconds longer, then takes both hands, leans in for his kiss, and lets me go so he can grab my coat.

It’s not slutty, it’s not warm, and it’s not cheap. It’s wool cashmere, but it’s short and black, so I think it’s better than the double-breasted pea coat I wore last night.

“Bric wanted slutty,” I say casually as I slip my arms into the coat and grab my purse. “And you know how eager I am to please, Mr. Wells.”

Jordan chuckles. He’s so easy-going compared to Bric. He laughs a lot too. I like it. He can be controlling and he’s definitely had some asshole moments with me over these past few weeks. But that’s not who he really is. Jordan is a decent guy in the real world. He’s a trial lawyer, so probably most people think he’s scum. But I’m OK with that. Because I know he takes a lot of pro bono cases. I looked him up and he’s been listed on the Crawford Top Fifty for three years in a row. That’s a special list for lawyers who give back to the community. And that’s Top Fifty in the whole country. Not just Colorado.

I trust Jordan. Sure, he might be a dick to me tonight, but if he is, he’ll show up tomorrow with roses. Or new ballet slippers. Or he’ll send me lunch and it will consist of all things I will actually eat and not things I’d just throw away because they’re junk.

And even though I know we’re playing a game, it doesn’t feel like a game with Jordan.

I mean, I know it’s a game. I know he’s not serious about me. I know this isn’t a relationship and we’re on the road to nowhere.

But he makes it feel real. He’s a good actor. He deserves the Stepford Wife version of me.

Elias Bricman though… No. He’s not worthy of the good-actress me. He’s not worthy of the girlfriend experience. Hell, he’s not even worthy of the whore experience. Bric gets what he gives.

The Machiavellian me.

Elias Bricman and I are definitely playing a game and we both know it. I got him good last night.

“What are you smiling about?” Jordan asks me as we get inside the elevator.

“This is fun,” I say, meaning it. But there are wild fluttering butterflies in my stomach for some reason.

“It’s about to get better. Play your A-game, Nadia. Because what you did last night really pissed Bric off.”

“So he told you?” I say, trying—and failing—to hide my smirk.

“He told me. I’m just warning you—”

“I know, I know,” I say, just as the elevator doors open. We step out, he offers me his arm and I curl my hand around it and let him lead me to the door. “You already told me he’s dangerous. I get it. I’m not a child, Jordan. And I’m not fragile. He won’t break me.”

We walk through the first set of doors, the doormen on their toes tonight, opening it up ahead of us, and then the second.

And that’s when I notice Bric isn’t here to pick us up. “Where’s Bric?” I ask.

“He’s waiting for us, Nadia. At the Club.”

“Hmmm,” I say as I slip into the open door of his car. Jordan gets in a second later and revs the engine of his sporty BMW.

“Hmmm, indeed, Miss Wolfe. You have really gotten his attention. And I’m not sure the full attention of Elias Bricman is a good thing.”