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His eyes meet mine, and he flashes me a cocky grin. I bite my lower lip to make my returning smile seem less shy and more teasing. I’ve mostly acclimated to life at the brothel, but it’ll take a little more time to stand here with the confidence the women to my right have.
“Come on.” Colin tugs my arm.
I glare over at him, wordlessly communicating my desire to stay. We’re getting to the main event, and I want to see it. Colin’s lips purse, and his eyes narrow in a way that tells me I’m not going to get my way, so I might as well do what he says.
Reluctantly, I follow him down the hall, through the parlor, and back to the office.
“You’re an ass,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot of any guests.
“I didn’t like the way that guy was looking at you.”
I sit in my office chair, noticing a takeout box on my desk. “He wasn’t looking at me any sort of way.”
“You aren’t on the menu.”
“Obviously.” I gesture down at my outfit of black slacks and a silk blouse.
The day after I arrived, Brynlee brought me four shopping bags full of clothes, toiletries, and makeup from Colin. She said he wanted me to be comfortable. The clothes were all professional attire, and though I was mad he didn’t consult me, I was grateful to have something to wear other than T-shirts, jeans, and the fancy lingerie I had purchased.
“Not obviously. The guests who come here think everything has a price. Don’t forget that.” He leans his muscled frame against the doorjamb.
“In three weeks, Iwillbe on the menu,” I say, taking every chance I can to remind him of our deal.
“Aren’t you happy doing what you’re doing?”
“I am.” I open the Styrofoam container and assess my raw meat lunch. It looks okay. Just a round patty of minced meat mixed with seasonings and herbs, topped with a small raw egg, and served with crostini rounds.
“Then?”
“How many times do we have to have this conversation?” I scoop a bit of the tartare onto a piece of toasted bread and take a bite. The flavor bursts on my tongue. Brininess from capers, a faint onion taste, and something I can’t recognize. Maybe mustard? The texture is strange, but pairing it with the bread helps break up the mushiness.
Not bad.
I’m so absorbed in eating my lunch that it takes me a minute to realize he hasn’t responded. I glance over to catch his eyes locked on my mouth, watching me eat. I grab a napkin and swipe at the corners of my lips.
“Where is it?” I ask.
He breaks from the trance, brows furrowing. “What?”
“Do I have food on my face or something?”
“What?” he asks again before shaking his head. “No.”
Then why was he staring at me like that? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he enjoyed watching me eat. That’s stupid, right? Of course it is. This place is so highly sexual that I’m making a big deal out of nothing.
He pushes off the door and walks across the room, sitting on the edge of my desk. “We’ll talk about this as many times as it takes for you to realize you don’t have to leave. You can work and live here for as long as you want.”
“No.” I toss the rest of the crostini into the container. “Mom is barely hanging on.”
“You talked to her?”
I nod. “Every day. And every day, she’s worse than she was the day before.”
“Fuck.” He rubs a hand over his face.
“Speaking of, I need to go home this weekend.”
“No.”
