Authors: Emily Snow
“And where does my grandma's house come into play?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’ll be your paycheck. You play my game for ten days, I give you the house.”
The sip of water I’m swallowing goes down the wrong way, and I choke on it, clutching at my chest. He moves closer, his face wrinkled with concern. Gasping, I manage to assure him that I’m fine. Then I squeeze the bridge of my burning nose as I try to give his words a chance to fully register.
He wants me to work for him. In exchange for Gram’s house.
Ho-ly fuck.
“Are you smoking crack?” I demand, in a rough voice I’ve never even heard myself use before. His eyebrows arch, and the corners of his lips quirk up. “That’s not even—is that even plausible? That would have to be the most idiotic business decision ever.”
Chuckling, he places his elbows on the table and links his fingers together so that he can lean his chin against his hands. The sleeves of his gray and black Henley roll up just slightly and I find my eyes drawn to the tattoo on his left wrist, an ornate skeleton key surrounded by barbs.
“It’s just a house,” he says. I hope he doesn’t see the way I flinch just slightly. But inside, I feel like he’s reeled back and slapped me across my face with every ounce of force he’s capable of. What’s merely a house for him is something else entirely to my grandmother, to me and Seth. “It’s just money,” he adds, with a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. His unruly hair brushes his neck.
“A lot of it,” I hiss. “It’s a lot of money.”
“And I have a lot more of it. I’ve blown what I spent on your grandmother’s house on parties and strippers and booze in a month.”
For some reason, I’m not at all surprised if not more than a little disgusted. Shaking the thought of him raining enough money to buy a home on a spray-tanned pole dancer named Candi, I say in an even tone, “But what do you have to gain by this? If you don’t want me to have sex with you, why make this kind of offer?”
“Do you know what I realized about you?” he asks, seemingly changing the subject. When I don’t answer, he keeps talking, “You are infuriatingly submissive to everyone around you . . . except me.”
And it hits me. Why he kicked me out of his house two years ago. Why he wants me right now. I am a challenge. “You want me to submit to you,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or turned on.
“I want you to do it willingly, yes,” he says.
“And if I say no?”
“Then you finish your dinner, and leave, no strings attached.”
“Except I won’t get the house.”
He ignores my statement, offering the servers who bring our next course—shrimp and steak—a crowd-winning smile. From the way they’re looking at him, they’ve got to know who he is and that he’s using this restaurant as a setting for shady business deals. By the way they keep their eyes down and say very little, I don’t think they’re about to put up a complaint about what he’s doing. He’s probably paid them well for minimal interruption and autographed napkins for them.
I push my food around the plate with my fork. I’ve lost my appetite and all I want to do is finish this so I can go home and take a shower. Yet, I hear myself ask, “You won’t make me have sex with you?”
God, why am I even questioning him? I should be running away, not continuing the conversation. Everything about this conversation just screams escort.
Lucas’s lips curl in a sneer. “I don’t have to pay girls to sleep with me, Sienna, and I’m not going to start with you. I just want you with me, for ten days, answering to my every need. My band’s coming so we can record the last couple songs for the new album. I’m doing a documentary with a film crew. Going to a birthday party where I’ll perform in Atlanta for a very close friend. I need someone to keep me organized.”
“And that person is me because you want to make me your little—”
He leans forward, pressing one finger over my mouth. Instinct kicks in and I try to lick my lips, grazing his flesh instead. “Assistant,” he says. “And yes, it is you. It’s always been you. You do this for me, I hand you the deed to the house and your grandmother doesn’t get evicted. I’ll go back to California and everyone will be happy.”
“And no making me do sexual favors?” I ask one final time.
His lips curl up into a hungry smile and I know there’s a caveat. “Oh, we’ll fuck Sienna. Believe me, it’s been bound to happen since I first laid eyes on you. But this time it’s going to be because you beg me. Not the other way around. And when you do beg me, it’s because you’re consensual and ready to completely give yourself to me.”
Squaring my shoulders, I sit back stiffly on my side of the booth, glaring down at my plate full of food. “I see.”
He slides a folded square of paper across the table. I open it to reveal his name, a phone number, and a time written in precise handwriting.
9:00 pm.
“The offer’s on the table until tomorrow night.”
There’s not much else to discuss after Lucas gives me his ultimatum, so once again I ask to be taken home. This time he chooses to grant my request. Lucas sends Kylie a text message and true to her word, she comes back to the fondue restaurant to drive me back. She chats nervously to me as she steers the Escalade through the stop-and-go traffic on West End. I’m hesitant to talk. She’ll only turn around and snitch to Lucas. If I say anything to her, every word that comes out of my mouth will be filed into the mental folder he’s keeping on me.
That’s the last thing I need right now.
Releasing an exasperated moan, Kylie punches a button on the radio, cutting the rock song that’s blasting through the SUV off in the middle of the guitar solo. “Would you just say something? Cuss me out and call me a vicious bitch if you want, but don’t ignore me.” I hear the flick of a lighter, smell the menthol scent of her cigarette. I exaggerate a cough, even though I grew up around smokers and had gone through my Marlboro stage in high school. “My ex-husband used to do that ignoring shit, and it sucks. Bad,” Kylie tells me, sniffling.
Apparently, we have something in common because Preston used the same tactics on me but it’s still not enough to change my resolve. I press the side of my face to the cold window, sliding my teeth together.
“You don’t understand how Lucas gets when he wants something like he wants you,” she continues once she realizes I’ve got no intention of talking to her.
So it’s her job to go out and herd the submissive redhead in? Wonderful. Doesn’t she understand that I’m not some object her brother can simply click his fingers for and have? That it’s wrong for him to even make me an offer like the one he’s just given me because he’s dangling something that I hold dear over my head?
At last, Kylie turns the SUV onto the private drive to get to my grandmother’s home. Instead of parking the Escalade halfway down the driveway, as she did at the beginning of this evening, she drops me off right at the door.
Before I get out, she grabs my wrist. I try to tug away but she tightens her grip. What was with their family and the unwelcome touching? She flips on the interior lights, and I turn halfway in the leather seat to look at her. Kylie’s gorgeous—in an untraditional way—but right now her face looks 20 years older with the way her features are all bunched up in distress.
Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored her.
Then I admonish myself for thinking that. This is the second time this evening I’ve felt bad for offending Kylie and if this time is anything like the first, she’s about to punch me square in the vagina.
“Just hear me out,” she says, her voice steely. The hardness doesn’t reach her brown eyes. “There shouldn’t even be a question of whether or not you’ll do this. Luke can be a jerk—I’ll be the first to admit that— but he’s offering you an ass load of money to spend 10 days with him. I don’t know the specific terms of the deal he offered you for working for him, and God, I don’t ever want to know, but it has to be worth all this.” She releases my hand then gestures up at the house.
“I’m not a whore,” I blurt out. “Nothing’s worth feeling like that.”
She scoffs, shaking her head from side to side. “You’re only what you make yourself. And just so you know, if you were that, my brother wouldn’t waste his time pursuing you. He’s got more class than people give him credit for.”
Her words bother me. My hand flutters up to my neck, my fingertips rubbing anxiously over the soft flesh. My thumb still stings from cutting it on her ring, but it’s nothing compared to the sting in my throat. Reluctantly, she dips her head toward the door.
“You know how to get in touch with me if you’ve got questions, okay?”
I step out of the car, letting the crisp February air kiss my skin. I breathe in the scent of exhaust and chimney smoke—my grandmother must have started a fire. “Thanks for bringing me home, Kylie” I say, shutting the car door quietly behind me. I don’t look back at her again, but I hear the Escalade backing away and the angry pulse of heavy metal that’ll probably burst her ear drums before she reaches the main road.
I’m so not ready to go inside, so I rest my forehead to the wooden front door, letting a few tears fall. Gathering my thoughts.
What just happened? I almost feel like I’ve witnessed this entire night outside of my body. Almost like I’ll awaken tomorrow morning to discover that I’m still in L.A. and it’s time for me to get my ass to work before Tomas goes into convulsions.
But then I hear the strains of the television from inside the house—Gram’s favorite reality show. I feel a gust of air hit the spot on my leg where I nicked myself with a razor a couple days ago. Sighing, I let myself into the cabin and lock the doors behind me.
“I’m home,” I say enthusiastically, poking my head into the family room.
“You sound like you used to when you came home from a date in high school,” Gram teases, grinning at me. She’s in her recliner across the room. I’m trying my hardest to make myself look happy but if she were any closer or wearing her glasses, I’d be screwed. “Did you have a good time with Tori?”
I force a laugh. “Tori is the roommate, Gram—I went out with Kylie. Look, I’m pretty tired from getting up so early this morning so I’m going to head up to shower and read for a bit. Do you need anything before I go to bed?”
Clearing her throat, her smile fades away. “Seth spoke to me earlier.”
“Oh,” I manage to say. Did he say anything to her about what he and I talked about early today? It’s just like Seth to change his mind about a confrontation and try to wheedle a confession out of Gram anyway.
“He wants the three of us to go house-hunting tomorrow,” she says, and I mouth an inaudible “Oh.” She takes a tremulous lungful of air, and stares down at her hands. “I’ve told him I’ll go as long as I have you two with me.”
“Always, Gram,” I say. My feet automatically carry me to her, and I squat down to give her a long hug. Then, I kiss her cheek, being cautious not to look her in the eyes. I don’t want her to see where I’ve been crying. “Night.”
As I climb the stairs, it feels like I’m dragging a hundred pounds right along with me. I sit in the shower with my arms wrapped securely around my knees, allowing the hot water to serve as a diversion from thinking about and wanting Lucas. Even after everything that happened in the fondue restaurant and how confused he made me feel, just hearing his name in my head causes the pit of my belly to tighten.
I don’t stop the water until I’m coughing, choking, from the steam. Then I simply remain where I’m resting, listening to the shrill ping of water dripping from the faucet and falling onto the porcelain.
I’m shivering by time I crawl into bed but my body is on fire.
And sleep—it doesn’t come because that momentary distraction I sought when getting into the shower is gone. Now I’m breathless and aching for a man who sees me as nothing other than an object he can easily win.
†
I wake up to messages from Tori. My best friend is worried because I haven't called or texted and she’s afraid I’ve fallen prey to Lucas’s charms. Groaning at just how close her assumption is to being true, I compose a reassuring email letting her know that I'm okay. I say nothing about Lucas because even 2,000 miles away from me, she’s got an insane ability of picking up on a concerning situation.
Once I’m happy with the message, I hit send. Almost immediately I receive a new message notification, this one from Kylie Martin. Her message is simple and only one line:
I’m so sorry for putting you through that.
K
It takes me twice as long to figure out what to say to her. Finally, I send her a short, but pleasant, message that reads:
Don’t sweat it, I’m fine. Please thank Lucas for dinner for me.
Then I change into a pair of skinny jeans and a dolman sweater. I grab my boots from the floor and walk barefooted downstairs. Gram is already eating breakfast and Seth’s with her.
“Good . . . morning?” Considering my brother is here, I have to double-check the time on my cell phone. It’s 15 minutes until 9am. I wasn’t aware that Seth even knew there were hours between two in the morning and noon, but I guess he’s proven me wrong. “You’re up early.”
“You don’t look happy to see me,” he pouts through giant bites of cereal. He’s wearing a baseball cap and a faded Polo shirt, and I’m instantly reminded of the frat boys in college who wore tiny shorts and boat shoes year-round.
“Of course I am.” I sit down in a chair at the middle of the table, flicking my eyes back and forth between Gram and my brother. I spend a good minute trying to come up with reasons why Seth is here. Then I remember what my grandmother said last night before I sulked up to my room, and I thunk myself in the forehead with my palm. “House-hunting?”
They nod in unison.
“You hung over, Si?” Seth asks mockingly as I scoot the chair I’m sitting in out so that I can put my shoes on. I cast a glare at him. He holds his hands up in front of him, defensively.
“I don’t drink,” I say darkly, jerking one of my leather riding boots onto my foot, then the other. I consider calling him out for the empty Jose Cuervo bottle I found in his center console, but then Gram gives us both pleading looks, and I squash the urge. There’s no need to upset her just because I’m irritated with Seth.