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"You saw me with Reece. It's a deception of the mind and what we want our clients to see. I'm just really good at giving the illusion."
"I saw you had to tell him what your body needs. You don't do that with me. Will you really say that you can have a conversation with him the way you do with me? How about speak your mind and be real with him the way you are with me and laugh about it?" He shakes his head and his lips brush mine. "When you kissed him, did you feel anything? When he touched you, did it consume your body as my touch does? Do you think about him as much as you think about me? When you fucked him, did you come because of him, or was it because of me?" He gives me a soul-searing kiss then. "Did you reach for him the way you reached for me? Yeah, I saw you reach for me, sweetheart. You don't have to tell me, I see it in your eyes. And I saw it that night."
I swallow hard, ignoring the truth and hating that he can read me like a book. He's completely right, and he knows it.
"Say yes," he demands.
"No," I whisper.
"Aubrey."
"James."
"How much money do you want?" he asks. "I told you once, I'll tell you again. Name the price for your time."
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, thinking of a number that would no doubt be outside his price range, knowing he won’t take the bait. I need him to drop this and leave before everything gets even more complicated and painful.
"Eight million for one year."
"Deal."
"What?" I shriek. "No… No. You're not supposed to say yes."
"Stick your hand in my left pocket," he says, looking me directly in the eye.
"No. You're not supposed to say yes, James. Just leave. Please!”
"Stick your hand in my left pocket,” he repeats. Wary, I do as he says, and pull out a thin strip of paper.
A blank check.
For the first time in months, the thought of being paid for sex makes me feel sick to my stomach. If it were anyone else, I'd say yes—not just yes, but hell yes—but coming from James, it doesn't feel the same.
Turns out I really am no better than a working girl who takes twenty dollars for a blow job.
Tears sting my eyes, my emotions ready to burst through the damn. This is the exact reason why I put a stop to us a few months ago. I want him, and I want that money, but I never wanted to have him because of the money.
Feeling wrung out and thoroughly broken, I place a hand on his chest and force him back until I'm standing on my feet again. The agony of everything that’s happened had reached its boiling point.
Looking into his raw, questioning eyes, I say through my teeth, "That was a test and you failed it. You're just like every other man with a big dick hanging between his legs. All you want is sex and when someone refuses you, like I’ve refused you, it becomes a challenge. I'm just another conquest you'll get your fill of and then move on. The issue is, I have more to lose than you, and I'm not willing to risk it."
"You're really going to refuse that kind of money?" James asks, his voice rising. He looks about as lost and confused as I feel. "Don't be stupid and not take the money. You can live extremely comfortably and use it to open your nonprofit."
I stare at him, chewing my lip to keep my mouth shut.
"Do you want more? Is that it?" He puts his arms out and challenges me. "I'm a billionaire, sweetheart. There isn't a fucking thing you can ask for that I would say no to."
Shaking my head, I lunge away from him, but James catches up to me in two strides and pulls me around to face him.
Glaring down, he says, "Five million now, five million when your time is up."
I'm rooted in place, struggling to breathe. The money is just as tempting as the man in front of me. Why the fuck couldn’t we have met in that coffee shop? Why couldn’t he have been single and unrelated to my best friend?
Despite the pain, despite it all, I hesitate to refuse him, because Jesus Christ that's a lot of money for even a nun to turn down. He sees my indecision, and walks around me toward the kitchen, and returns with a pen he grabbed from the counter. My jaw is slack as he starts filling out the check, but I don't stop him. When he's done, he drops the pen and turns to face me again, unphased by the numbers he’d just written down like he was writing nothing more than a grocery list.
I feel sick, because in that moment, I know what I'm going to do, even though I know it's wrong.
"It's right there, Aubrey. Take the fucking money. You know you want to. I can see it in your eyes. It's better this way anyway. Less complications."
