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“Fifty thousand dollars,” he offers boldly, throwing out a number that makes my head spin.
And though I promised myself that I would never cross that line—that I would never sleep with someone for money, even if that’s what so many of the other girls do to cushion their bank accounts—fifty thousand is a massive amount. It would make all the difference in the world when it comes to the medical bills Mom and I are facing.
But as significant as it is, that would still put me out of a job, and I need the income. “I can’t,” I say, though the words feel painful as they leave my lips. “I need this job.” But I could really use that money.And would it really count as prostitution if I only did it once?
Even I know that reasoning is too flimsy to hold up. I would definitely feel guilt and shame after the deed was done. But fifty thousand dollars is a staggering amount to pass up.
“A hundred thousand,” he offers, his gray eyes sharp as they watch me closely.
I breathe heavily at the astonishing new amount.He can’t be serious, can he? A hundred thousand dollars to sleep with me one time? Is this some kind of test? A challenge to see how long I’ll hold out? What price I’m willing to sell my dignity for?
I shiver violently as my will to resist crumbles. Deep, agonizing shame grips my chest in an iron fist. Mom would never want this. But a hundred thousand dollars could save her life—and change mine. With that much money, I could even finish college and get my life back on track—after paying off Mom’s medical bills.
Closing my eyes, I fight off a wave of self-disgust.
Apparently, everyone has a price, and Mr. Money Bags has just found mine.
But somehow, even more shameful is the excitement that pools deep in my core at the thought of spending a night with him. I find him dangerously attractive. I can’t deny that. And though he’s probably closer to my mom’s age than my own, I might have set that aside to consider dating him.
But that’s not what he’s asking for. He wants to give me money for sex. Which means he doesn’t see me as anything more than an object. He doesn’t want to get to know me, like he suggested. He wants to use me, to discover only my body. That’s it. End of story.
And for a hundred thousand dollars, I’ll let him.
“Okay,” I breathe, fighting a wave of self-disgust. Then my eyes snap open, and I glance over my shoulder, feeling like a naughty child who could get caught breaking the rules at any second.
And when I turn my head to face him once again, Mr. Federov’s striking features have transformed into a dark, dangerous smile of satisfaction. “Good. Tell your boss you’re feeling sick and need to go home. I’ll meet you out front in fifteen.”
He stands, and for the first time, I get a good look at just how large he is. Well over six feet tall, he towers over me by nearly a foot, and he must weigh twice as much as I do in sheer muscle.
I quiver as a surge of intimidation washes through me. This man is large enough that he could do whatever he wants to me. I would have no chance of fending him off. And I’ve just agreed to spend an entire night with him. Alone.
4
MAKSIM
The limo idles by the curb, waiting for the long-legged beauty the club introduced as Angel when she walked on stage. She’s taking long enough to make her excuses and leave the club that I’m starting to wonder if she changed her mind. Not that it would destroy me if she did. I don’t intend to take this past one night.
But after my brother Alexei’s wedding today and seeing both of my younger brothers so happy, all the pain of knowing what I’ve lost has come back in full force. So rather than stay for the reception, I left early to get drunk. To drown my sorrows and suffer in solitude so as not to ruin my youngest brother’s happy day.
But sex is far more effective than alcohol, and something in Angel’s eyes makes me think she understands the kind of loss and suffering I’ve endured. So I sincerely hope she hasn’t bailed on me because just a few minutes with her have left me feeling less alone.
And then the doors open.
Our eyes meet for a moment, the flicker of relief in her hazel depths—as if she thought I might have given up and left without her. Then she casts them down to descend the club’s steps, her body language almost shy now that we’re in a less structured setting and she’s fully clothed.
She’s dressed in a casual sweater dress and white tennies that somehow make her look just as sexy as the skimpy lingerie she wore for my lap dance. This girl is striking in a very understated way, natural in her look—entirely different from my fiancée.
My dead fiancée.
Pain lances through me as Symphony’s face appears in my mind’s eyes. My last moments with her. The shock and fear in her expression as she died in my arms.
It’s been less than a year, and while I’ve slept with several women purely to try and numb the agonizing hollowness of her loss, for the first time since Symphony died, I feel like I can actuallyseea woman.
Angel intrigues me—something about her subtle Southern charm combined with the devastating sorrow in her eyes. It speaks to me, the way her sadness doesn’t waver even as she smiles tentatively at me now.
“Ready?” I open the limo door, gesturing for her to slide in first.
She hesitates for the briefest moment before nodding and slipping into the dark interior. I follow her inside, and the driver pulls away from the curb a moment later, heading toward the sex club I’ve frequented with my casual encounters lately. A conscious choice because I can’t bring myself to let them into the bed I shared with the woman I thought I would spend my life with.
