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I nervously shove my hands into my pockets. My fire-engine red wrap dress was designed for curvy women. It was my senior project that won because of these pockets. Women love them. All my clothes include those little details many designers neglect.
I was offered a gown by the owner, but he didn’t have anything in my size. I also turned down the makeup he wanted me to wear. Those fake eyelashes would have me on edge. The stylist jeered at me, saying I wasn’tshowroom-ready.
Ford said I looked stunning and right now, only his opinion matters.
“How many times have you done this before?” I ask Hope as the first girl steps off from theRockettes-style line we’ve made on the stage and stands there with a hand on her hip, blowing kisses to the guys in the crowd.
“A few times. My mom...” Hope sucks in a breath. “She had cancer a few years ago, and now it’s back. She lost her insurance after the first round. I do what I have to.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and shake my head. “God, it still comes down to this: Selling ourselves for money. If any of these guys were in trouble, they’d get cash thrown at them from their rich friends.”
“Call me crazy, but the pleasure I’ve gotten from the men who bought me has been unbelievable.” She smooths her dress. “Some of these guys can be... They’re a little rough and like different kinks, sure, but they know their way around a vajayjay. Other areas, too.”
I glance at the crowd, but not before noticing the room more closely.
Dark and light combine from the rich wood furniture and shiny brass fixtures. Thick carbon-gray carpet gives the room warmth, as well as the bronze coffered ceiling.
This place is Manhattan luxury on steroids.
Unlike a Sotheby’s auction with bidders lined up on thin, wooden chairs, the men at Club Dare sit in high-winged back chairs arranged in curved silhouettes with a coffee table in front of them. Some sit with carafes of wine, others have top-tier liquor bottles in ice buckets.
As far as the male bidders, it’s a sea of suits, square jaws, and assessing eyes taking us all in.
My wandering eyes finally land on Ford. He catches me looking at him and smiles brightly at me.
I give a nervous wave.
Despite the elegant room dripping with wealth and glitz, he stands out. With the tattoos I noticed, he’s a rugged warrior in an expensive suit. My core tightens wanting him so badly. But I’m paying him to get Michael out of jail. He said it’s unethical to buy me. Use me.
My breath sticks in my lungs. Hope says these men like rough sex. Even if they ‘know their way around a vajayjay.’
Does Ford like it rough?
He’s a big man. How could sex with him not be rough?
My thoughts are cut short when I realize I’m next.
Girls 1 and 2 only went for fifty thousand dollars each. And that’s before they kick back twenty percent to the club.
Never mind my rage for having to whore myself out, but I’m furious I might not even have enough for Ford’s retainer.
The MC, a polished man in his fifties, waves me forward. “Come on up here, gorgeous.”
“You got this, red!” Hope squeezes my shoulders and gives me a nudge.
On stage, the lights blind me, and it’s hard to see the many suited men watching me trying to elegantly sashay across the stage.
“This lovely lady is Bernadette, a classic name for a classic beauty.” The MC gives me a creepy once-over.
“Bernadette is twenty-six and a first-timer whocan’t wait to devote a solid month to the lucky gentleman who will start the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”
I swallow and want to cry at such a low bid.
“Three hundred and sixty thousand.” A man from a table in the center stands up, raising his paddle.
Hovering over the bidder, Ford raises his glass to me with a wink.
He set this up to pay his fee. A chill that unsettled me earlier, turns into stunning warmth flooding my veins.
