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My hand unconsciously rises to rub the scar.
If I had to guess, I’d say he looked to be in his mid-thirties.
It’s entirely possible that he wanted to get a look at his purchase.
A shiver slides through me as I force my feet into movement again. The hallway is wide and long, with mini chandeliers that drip from the coffered ceiling. Each door is painted a glossy black and stands out in sharp relief from the ivory walls.
I glance at the number scribbled across the top of the folder and realize that it’s the next one down. My feet slow to a gradual halt once I reached the thick wood. Nerves race across my flesh before pooling like liquid in my belly. Any moment, I’m going to be sick.
My arm trembles as I press the plastic key card to the lock. There’s a buzz as the light flashes green. With the handle tightly gripped in my fingers, I carefully turn it before peeking inside. My breath gets wedged at the back of my throat as I take one reluctant step and then another inside the entryway. My ears are pricked for the slightest sound, but there’s nothing.
The place appears empty.
If I was expecting a simple hotel room, that’s not what I find. My gaze flies around the space, absorbing every minute detail. It resembles an elegantly decorated apartment. It’s the kind of place we used to stay years ago. My parents always booked three-bedroom suites when we traveled. At the time, I never realized how luxurious they were or how lucky I was.
There’s a tiny foyer with an antique credenza and a sparkling crystal bowl. A gold leaf framed mirror hangs above it. I force myself farther into the suite. There’s a compact kitchenette to the left and an expansive sitting area with a fireplace and pretty mantle painted in antique white that takes up a good portion of the far wall.
Even though my attention is drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the downtown area, I find myself gravitating to the adjoining room situated across from the fireplace. I peek inside the bedroom. A king-sized bed dominates the space, while two armchairs flank a vintage table in front of an oversized picture window.
I pause over the threshold, afraid to step inside the sumptuous space. It takes a moment to realize that there’s a propped-up piece of paper in the middle of the bed. Curious as to what it says, I move close enough to pick up the note and read it.
Take off all of your clothes and put on the robe. When you’re ready, text the number below. Then, place the blindfold over your eyes and lie on the bed.
Instructions.
I pour over them for a second and then a third time. Only then does my gaze settle on the fluffy white robe folded next to the notecard.
Air leaks from my lungs.
Okay…I can do this.
I settle on the bed and unzip the suede boots, setting them next to the upholstered armchair near the window. The tall socks follow before I unzip my pink peacoat and drape it carefully over the arm of the chair.
Returning to the bed, I snag the robe on my way to the attached en suite. It’s all gray veined marble with a giant soaker tub and an oversized waterfall shower. Just like in the living area, there’s a wall of windows with spectacular views of downtown. If I wasn’t so jacked up with nerves, I could probably appreciate it.
I swing away from the window before meeting my gaze in the reflection. Unlike when I looked at myself thirty short minutes ago, my cheeks have been leeched of all color, making the blue of my eyes and the pink lipstick stand out in sharp relief.
My fingers tremble as I grip the hem of my cashmere sweater and slowly drag it up my body and over my head. I fold it neatly on the marble counter before unsnapping the button and lowering the zipper of my skirt. It gets placed on top of the sweater. And then I’m in nothing more than my pink matching underwear set. I suck in another unsteady breath and muster all of my courage before unlatching the snap at the back of the bra. The material springs apart, the silky straps sliding down my arms and baring my breasts to the cool air of the room. My gaze reluctantly settles on the jagged scar that slices down my chest.
I hate that fucking scar.
Unable to stop myself, my fingers trace the puckered skin.
The wound represents two very distinct parts of my life. The first fifteen years that were idyllic with laughter and love. And then the years that came after the accident. The black cloud that descended over our family and continues to hover over us like a specter filled with bitterness and grief.
The happy-go-lucky girl I was growing up could never imagine sleeping with a stranger for money. Those thoughts are too much of a slippery slope and I shake away the darkness before it can swallow me whole.
I just need to get through this.
As I stare at my nearly naked reflection, I realize that all the energy spent picking out an outfit was a total waste of time. The only thing this guy will see me in is the white robe.
That’s all he’s interested in.
Getting down to business.
That thought has a horde of butterflies winging their way to life in the pit of my belly.
I hook my fingers beneath the thin elastic band of my panties before shoving the fabric down my hips and thighs. I don’t want to give myself any more time to think. I’m afraid of what direction my mind will turn if I do.
