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I can’t keep screwing up like this.
It didn’t help to beat herself up over something that was over and done with, but Kimani had never
been in a situation like this before. She was supposed to be working—undercover. Which meant that she had be extra careful not to compromise the story or its subjects. And her own journalistic integrity.
What had she done instead?
Become sexually involved with one of the subjects. And not just any subject. Beside her in the driver seat of the Jeep Wrangler sat the son of one of the wealthiest families in the world. When he took over the family business, Benjamin Dimitri Lee would be worth somewhere in the vicinity of twelve billion dollars.
Her editor, Sam Green, hadn’t wasted any time. With the bits of information she had provided him last night—an Asian named Ben who went to Howard University, then the Stanford business school and was recruiting for a team in the Chinese Basketball Association—he had come back with the Lee Family Corporation. Ben’s father, Lee Hua Jing, had founded the Lee Family Corporation, making his first million in residential real estate before branching into commercial real estate and investments of all kinds. Mr. Lee’s younger brother, Gordon, had immigrated to the United States as a teenager when the family was still struggling to make ends meet and was now in a tightly contested election for Mayor of Oakland. And one of the hot button issues in the election was the development of a piece of waterfront property that the Lee Family Corporation had shown interest in.
“This could be a great scoop,” Sam had said. “You’ve got to find out more.”
But Benjamin Lee was a tangent. A tall, sexy tangent whose sensuous touch had a way of shutting down her brain. Even now, she tried not to glance over to admire how his simple shirt fit luxuriously over his broad shoulders and chiseled chest. She supposed this was a side effect of not having had sex in the last six months because she was focused on her career trying to land a job for The San Francisco Tribune.
She was supposed to be reporting on the Scarlet Auction, where women sold themselves for a week to the highest bidder. Undercover, Kimani had participated in the auction with the intent of exposing its sordid business. Ben hadn’t attended the actual auction, but he had “bought” her from the man, a sports agent named Jake, who had won her with a bid of thirty thousand dollars.
It was crazy shit that had boggled Kimani’s mind. Jake’s first purchase, a blonde virgin named Claire, had “sold” for eighty thousand dollars. But crazy went through the stratosphere when Ben offered Jake two hundred thousand dollars.
Kimani couldn’t fathom why he would shell out that kind of money for her unless (a) two hundred thousand dollars was just the equivalent of a pricey vacation and he could easily make the amount back if the HKEX had a good run, (b) Ben didn’t want to be the only guy in the group without a date—correction: fucktoy—or (c) Ben was messed up in the head somehow.
But he didn’t seem irrational or deranged. In fact, out of all the people she was stuck in a lakeside cabin in the boonies of Northern California with, he seemed the most calm and collected. Even now, when they had been driving in silence for several minutes, she could sense him looking at her, at ease with their silence, probably wondering what she was thinking but restrained enough not to ask.
Her American-style impatience got the better of her, however, and she turned to ask him, “Where are we going?”
For a second, she wondered if psychos had the capability of appearing completely normal. He had put the top down on the Jeep Wrangler, and if he had intended to drive her somewhere with evil intentions, he wouldn’t have wanted himself and his victim to be so visible, right? Then again, they were in one of the least populated counties in the state. Trinity County was mostly rugged, heavily forested wilderness.
“We’re going into Weaverville to get you some clothes,” he replied.
His answer surprised her. This morning he had made her go onto Jake’s boat without a shred of clothing. Afterwards, he had allowed her to put on the cocktail dress, her only clothing item, with his shirt over it. She hadn’t had a chance to wash the sweats he had lent her. Remembering that she didn’t have on panties, she pressed her legs together.
“I don’t have any money with me,” she said. Her cellphone and her wallet had disappeared from her handbag sometime after the auction had concluded and before she had been ushered into a limo that had driven her and Claire straight to Jake’s cabin. Ben had let her use his cellphone twice, and it was her only connection to the rest of the world. Sam knew she was somewhere near Weaverville because that’s all she knew. And that probably wasn’t going to be helpful if things should turn ugly.
“You don’t need any money.”
“Oh. I’ll pay you back when we get back to San Francisco.”
‘When’ we get back. Not ‘if.’ She had had her worries yesterday, especially after Jake had hit her before Ben had arrived. Ben had been her savior buying her from Jake because the thought of laying a finger on Jake made her want to retch. Even though she barely knew him, she felt safe with Ben.
Relatively safe, she cautioned herself. Ben had an edge. She could see it when his pupils constricted and his jaw tightened. Beneath that cool exterior lay a tiger. He kept a good leash on it, but she couldn’t be sure what would set it off.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“I’d rather pay you back.”
“Maybe if you’re a good pet, I’ll let you pay me back.”
She bristled at the word ‘pet.’ It was better than being called ‘Slut #2,’ Jake’s original moniker for her, but not that much better.
“I insist.”
He glanced at her as if she were a child who wanted to have cookies before bed. “You don’t get to make the rules, pet.”
She bristled again. “Then maybe I don’t want to get any clothes.”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted her childish response. It was an outright lie. She wanted something other than her cocktail dress and clothes borrowed from him, even though his shirt and sweatpants were the softest things she had ever worn. She wanted underwear. Desperately. Having a shield of any kind down there might help reign those carnal instincts from running away with her better judgment.
She had said what she said because she wanted some small sliver of control, and she didn’t want to be beholden to Ben more than she already was.
