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Because Hugo was one ofthosemen—the kind of guy, like Leo, who viewed virginity as some sort of commodity. Or worse, as a signal of “goodness”—as opposed to “whorishness”, as Hugo so colorfully explained it to me on that third and final date, after I’d finally told him I’d lost interest in him.
But Hugo didn’t really hear that, and didn’t want to hear the word “no”. He got obsessive—not just with me as a human being, but with my “virginal status”. It got so bad that I had to move to a new firm entirely. It even escalated to the point where he was stalking our apartment, my new job, and Nora at her fuckingschool.
I finally got a restraining order against him, and it all stopped. But after that, I was officially done with dating. Not when there were men out there who were only going to reduce me to some sort of virginity fetish.
No thanks.
And for a while, it didn’t even affect me at all. I’ve been too insanely busy with work the last few years to have time to date anyway. Vibrators exist. So does internet porn. And I have avividimagination.
But then two months ago, Leo entered the picture again to once again leverage my lack of sexual experience into a tradable commodity.
But fuck that, and fuck him.
This ends tonight.
The guards at the bottom of the staircase to the third floor glare at me, moving closer together as one shakes his head and holds up a hand.
“No one goes upstairs,” he grunts.
I smile a tight smile. “I’m sure Leo will want to know I’m here.”
The guy arches a brow, glancing at the other guard before shaking his head.
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then you should leave.”
“You should tell him Elsa is here to see—”
“My my my, aren’t we all dressed up?”
I shiver, a mixture of fear and revulsion crawling up my spine as I turn. The thin man with the sunken eyes and the shaved head leering at me has always made me think of a skeleton ever since I first met him two months ago. His name is Pascha, and he’s Leo’s right-hand man.
He also thoroughly and utterly creeps me the hell out.
Same as the other handful of times we’ve crossed paths, Pascha looks at me like he’s mentally undressing me, which makes my stomach turn. It’s even worse tonight, though. Usually, all he’s got to work with are drab gray or black pant or skirt suits.
Tonight, I’m dressed likethis. Which of course, only turns his usual leer into an outright dangerous one.
“You look delicious,” he hisses, grinning that bony, creepy grin at me.
“And you look like a sex offender, as always. I’m here to see Leo.”
Pascha glares at me. “You would do well to treat me with respect,malen’kaya suchka.”
“The only little bitch I see here isyou,” I smile sweetly at him.
Pascha’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Careful.”
“Just tell him I’m here.”
“You can tell him yourself.” Pascha nods at the two burly guards before grabbing my elbow and yanking me angrily after him as he storms up the stairs. I grit my teeth, still wincing with every step but relishing the triumph I’m going to feel once I tell Leo that his little plan just went up in smoke.
Upstairs, we march down a tacky gilded hallway until we get to a heavy door. The guards step aside as Pascha blows past them and through it, with me in tow.
There are six other men in the room—some drinking at the bar along one wall, a couple of others cleaning handguns on a coffee table between two leather couches. Leo himself looks up from his large, ornate desk when we enter, first with a curious, then amused expression on his face.
