by Kresley Cole
Luckily this was a lower-level econ course. I'd done all the heavy lifting for my degree in my first two years; all that remained was this last straggler class.
I took out my notebook and pen, determined to focus on this--and not on the Russian. For the past two days, I'd tried to put him from my mind, as he'd so easily done with me.
Ms. Gillespie started writing on the board, and I dutifully scribbled my definitions.
Final goods: products that end up in the hands of consumers. (Like my breasts. If I continued as an escort.)
I stifled a chuckle, earning a look from a few of my classmates, among them two guys who'd asked me out. Unfortunately, I'd had to turn them down, but their interest had puzzled me; I always showed up to class in to-the-knee cutoffs, old 5K T-shirts, no makeup, and my hair plaited into two braids. I wore clunky running shoes and usually reeked of Pine-Sol. A far cry from a glamorous escort.
Deflation: a sustained and continuous decrease in the general price level. (Or what would happen to an escort's rates with age.)
Economic mobility: the ability of an individual, family, or entity to improve or lower their economic status.
Edward had targeted me to improve his. I'd signed any document my lawyer husband had put in front of me, unknowingly transferring my home and my inheritance of millions to him. But he couldn't get my family's beach, the prize he'd truly been after.
As long as I remained alive, his mobility had flat-lined.
Human capital: a measure of the economic value of an employee's skill set.
I was increasing mine by continuing my education at this community college. Heart in throat, I'd enrolled, using the fake ID I'd bought from a source near the Texas border. If I ever reclaimed my life, maybe I could figure out a way to transfer all my stray credits back to my ritzy private college in Jacksonville.
Completing my coursework had become the holy grail to me. On her deathbed, my mother had begged me for two vows: to break up with Edward and to finish college.
I'd only given her one vow. She'd used her last breaths to say, "Run from that evil man!" Phase one of my life plan was to complete my credits to atone for not listening to her. I was one exam away.
So why was I thinking about Sevastyan more than my class? At least he hadn't blown the whistle about my theft. Hey, he'd specified no amount for my tip! And how valuable could that money clip be?
I'd been nervous about him ratting me out, which pissed me off. I was a closer; if something went unresolved, that meant I didn't have the power to settle it and could assign no endpoint.
This unsettled feeling sucked. I already had enough loose ends in my life.
I'd talked to Ivanna several times since that night. She went way back with Anthony, the owner of Elite Escorts, so she would have heard if Sevastyan complained. So far, the Russian hadn't contacted Anthony about my heist--nor had he booked me.
Ivanna had told me, "Don't take it personally, Cat! It happens to the best of us."
I didn't even want to see Sevastyan again. At all. Not whatsoever.
"You need to get back out there. Come in and talk to Anthony. Sign on officially. He's a schmuck, but they all are."
"I was thinking about heading out of town for a while."
"Nonsense! I'll let you take a break, but then we'll get you back in the saddle. You can't let yourself get down about Sevastyan. He wasn't even in the realm of possibility."
Then she'd related all the gossip she'd learned about his dating life from her friends at sister agencies. He only booked one escort at a time, and he always overpaid. He was never cruel to his dates--though he wasn't particularly kind either. He hired a new girl every other night, but never for parties or events. Then he just took a famous actress or model.
I'd wondered why a guy like that would need to hire escorts at all, then thought back to his script. I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't like to be touched. So why had he let me? I'd climbed him like a jungle gym.
Today Ivanna was supposed to get a callback with even more dirty laundry--so I'd turned off my phone and gone about my job and school.
I'd decided three things about him:
His nastiness was directly proportional to his obscene wealth. (Why? When I'd been rich, I'd always been nice.)
He'd affected me exponentially more than I'd affected him. (I was merely what five thousand had bought him in Miami.)
No one should be that sexy. (Yesterday, I'd gotten off while fantasizing about giving him a BBBJ. Then I'd been disgusted with myself, blaming my run for making me horny.)
Though I'd sworn to Ivanna that I had no further interest in him, I'd broken down today, slipping off my cleaning gloves to Google him on Mrs. Abernathy's computer.
Between laundry cycles, I'd learned that he'd grown up in Siberia, but had gotten a business degree in record time from Oxford. He had two brothers. His net worth fluctuated between nine hundred million and just over a billion, depending on how the market was doing.
Though only thirty-one, he was a powerful politician--a member of the State Duma, or something. There were rumors of a mafiya connection. Maybe I was only attracted to criminals? The thought depressed me. At least his business dealings focused on real estate and government contracts all around the world.
In almost every picture of him, he'd been flashing a movie-star smile, with a tall blond beauty on his arm.
Why had I tortured myself researching him? I'd never see Maksimilian Sevastyan again. Would never know his touch again.
Good riddance.
Once class was over, I hefted my backpack, dreading the long bus ride home. All I wanted to do was microwave a can of soup, soak in my spackled tub for a decade, and not think about Sevastyan. Or how he'd be booking a new girl tonight.
Which I didn't care about.
As I waited at the bus stop, I turned on my phone. It beeped like crazy. Eight messages from Ivanna?
Mierda! The only reason she'd call that much was if the icy Russian had ratted me out! With a shaking hand, I dialed her. "Uh, hey?"
"Sevastyan's been calling Anthony like mad! Apparently, he is one scary-sounding man."
Why now? I'd thought I was in the clear! "I know. Listen, I can explain--"
"I had to do some quick thinking since Anthony didn't know he'd hired you yet. By the way, if he asks, you were an independent, a platinum-level producer out of Tampa."
If you say so.
"Anyway, the Russian wants you to return to the Seltane. Now."
Maybe the money clip had sentimental value? A gift from an ex-lover?
"Oh, Cat, he wants to book you! Do you know what this means? You're the first girl ever to get a callback."
"Wait, book me?"
"Da, for tonight. Anthony was calling me, and I was calling you. And when Anthony couldn't confirm you . . . well, let's just say that Maksimilian Sevastyan is used to getting what he wants."
You have no idea.
"The man kept offering more and more money. Finally he demanded to buy your personal number. Anthony just called me for it."
"Which you would never give him, right?"
At that moment, I got a text chime from a strange number: waiting
"Ivanna, we talked about this! There are boundaries."
"We did talk about your number, about changing it. I held out for longer than even I would've expected, but when Anthony told me Sevastyan offered ten thousand, I caved. We're to split half. There's twenty-five hundred for you at the agency." More money? "By the way, Anthony thinks your vagina is full of rainbows--and dollar signs. Aside from the Russian, you've gotten requests online! He wants your 'upskirt magic' working on other clients."
I didn't have magic. Sevastyan simply wanted his money back, or his clip. Or he planned to punish me for stealing from him. Maybe with a crop? "What else did you tell Anthony about me?"
"Nothing else. Mainly because I know so little. Other than the fact that you scrub toilets for a living--which might cool a billionaire's ardor, if
that got back to him. Cat, listen to me. I think you could land Sevastyan, so I'm going to do everything I can to help you, and then you'll take care of me forever."
"I'm not going, Ivanna." And walk into a trap?
While she blustered, I texted Sevastyan: no dice, querido. have plans xoxo mwah
He wrote back an instant later: this isn't a request
The man thought to intimidate me? He'd have to do better than this! Gritting my teeth, I texted: the money's gone. regret nothing
He replied: then you'll be needing more
There was only one way to meet this problem. Head on. I hung up on Ivanna's tirade and dialed the Russian's number. I opened with: "What's your game, Sevastyan?"
"What do you think it is?"
Ay, his voice. My lids nearly closed. Then I remembered what a dick this guy was. "I think you're pissed, and you want to teach me a lesson."
"You did steal from me," he said. "I had to buy a new money clip yesterday."
"I procured a well-earned tip." I could hear ice clinking in a glass. Having a cocktail while waiting for his cocktease?
"I would think the pleasure I gave you--three times--was its own tip."
"Then by that reasoning, you shouldn't have to pay for it at all, pendejo."
"I looked that word up. Not very nice of you to call me an asshole. Twice. I think you're the first woman in my adult life who's refused to fawn over me. Right now, you sound as if you could take me or leave me."
"Guess which way I'm leaning, Ruso."
He chuckled at that. The sound was warm and rumbling, seeming to stroke me from the inside. What had happened to the icy Russian?
"Come over, Cat, and I'll make you glad you did."
Maybe he had liked sex with me that much? Had I thrown one over on the billionaire? Didn't mean I would let him off the hook. He'd treated me like shit, left me hanging for two days, then barged into my life with all the finesse of a tidal wave. "Couldn't find a tall blonde? I thought that was what you really wanted." What if he hadn't waited a day to request another girl? What if he'd screwed someone last night, intending to switch back to me? "Or maybe you booked one last night to fill your quota?"
"I didn't book another date."
It worried me how much that relieved me.
"No one is more surprised by these developments than I am. I told you I never reverse myself. Yet I have concerning you."
My heart raced. I had affected him just as much as he had me.
"It seems you know me better than I know myself; you were one hundred percent certain I'd call. Here I am." His voice had grown huskier. "Now, tell me you wouldn't want a repeat."
Merely thinking about him got me wet. "That's all you want?"
"All I want?" He sounded amused. "A repeat would be a lot to hope for, no?"
What if he got all ice-cold again? Would it matter if he paid me as well as before?
Yes. He'd hurt me.
Even worse, what if he didn't get ice-cold? Que Dios me ayude. God help me.
I did a quick risk/reward analysis. Risk: erosion of self-worth and possible infatuation. Reward: more money, and therefore more security. I'd be closer to a new identity. Great sex wasn't unwelcome.
I just couldn't allow myself to get caught up in him. I would put up a wall between us, keeping him at a distance.
Logistics . . . Getting from my apartment to the Seltane took nearly an hour. I'd cleaned today; no way I could forgo a shower. "I can't be there until nine, and I can't stay very long. Not that this is a problem with you." I laughed. "A nanosecond after you nut, you'll be wondering what I'm still doing there. I'll start reaching for my clothes as soon as your balls tighten. It'll be like a fire drill."
He murmured, "Amazing," as if he were a safari guide encountering an unknown creature. "Now you ridicule me?"
"Only because you make it so easy."
"Where have you been that your own agency can't get in touch with you?"
"Here and there. If you wanted to see me, you should've scheduled. Why, you could've booked me when I was with you Monday night! Oh, but you were too busy being rude as hell."
As if I hadn't spoken, he said, "You were out on another date?"
Surely I imagined that subtle hint of jealousy in his tone. "Remember our no-personal-questions rule?"
Silence. Had I pushed too hard?
"I want you here in the next fifteen minutes," he finally said. "How much will it cost?"
"Nah, no es posible. In the future, book often and book early."
Another bout of silence.
At length, he grated, "Wear something sexy."
CHAPTER 8
At the door to Maxim's suite, I removed the long lightweight jacket I'd worn to conceal my racy dress.
He'd said sexy, so I'd gone to Ivanna's, uncaring if I was fifteen more minutes late. She'd brought out the tiniest dress I'd ever seen, gifting it to me because, as she'd put it: "My breasts are too big to wear this since I got enhanced."
The cream-colored confection was short and backless. Two narrow bands of silk made a halter to cover my tits--somewhat. Side-boob galore. The "skirt" was about eight inches long and displayed the cleft of my ass, but the hem was trimmed in a fringe of slinky strands, making for a peekaboo situation whenever I took a step.
A braided gold cuff on my upper arm, chandelier earrings, and fuck-me stilettos rounded out the ensemble. I'd worn my hair in a loose knot to show off my bared back.
She'd even given me a beaded purse to go with the dress. Ivanna's last instructions: "Land him, Cat. Whatever you did--do more."
What had I done that other women hadn't? Well, I'd kinda been a bitch at times. I'd refused to "fawn." I'd insisted on my own pleasure.
Three things I could definitely repeat! With that thought in mind, I pressed the penthouse doorbell.
"You're late," he snapped when he answered. "You said nine . . ." He trailed off as he raked his gaze over my body. "Fuck. Me."
"Hola." I hoped I sounded casual, but he looked even hotter than last time. He wore a sharp gray suit, with the collar of his crisp white button-down open. "Que pasa?" I sauntered past him into the living room. Stopped in my tracks.
Another man was here, a giant. Burly and even taller than Sevastyan, this guy had a bald head, a brick-end chin, and a bulldog jaw shadowed with rough stubble.
My heart tripped with panic. "I don't do that."
"Do what?" Sevastyan frowned.
"Two men." Instinctively, I retreated a step--then realized with a start that I hadn't taken a step toward the door; I'd taken a step closer to Sevastyan.
"Ah. Vasili's my head of security and right-hand man. Has been for over a decade."
Relief sailed through me.
Vasili grated something in Russian. Sevastyan responded. I couldn't understand the words, but there was no mistaking Sevastyan's do not fuck with me tone. He looped his arm around me, drawing me close, which seemed to surprise Vasili.
More evidence that Sevastyan didn't like to touch or be touched? Or he hadn't in the past?
In English, he said, "Vasili was just leaving."
The man shot me a cutting look as he passed.
When we were alone, I said, "He certainly doesn't like me."
"He's suspicious because he can't find information about you. Anyone who comes in contact with me more than once would have an inch-thick dossier by now."
That sounded risky, but I'd only be here for another hour or so, then adios.
I set down my jacket and purse. "I don't appreciate being strong-armed into a date at the last minute. I do have a life, you know."
"In my experience, most escorts don't have to be 'strong-armed' into dating billionaires."
"Oh, baby boy"--I gave him an embarrassed for you wince--"you weren't quite a billionaire today, now, were you?"
His lips curved. "Bad day in the markets. So you looked me up? And you still give me shit?"
Growing serious, I said, "I didn't appreciate you violating
my privacy. I meant what I said Monday night: I wanted my line to stay private."
"You're really angry about that? I know something that will cheer you." He crossed to his briefcase, offering me a stack of hundreds, bound with a currency strap. "Five thousand. I assume you won't try to haggle for more after our first night."
I followed him, accepting the money. This would be twelve grand in two nights! Plus the phone number fee! Still, when I thought of how miserable I'd been over the last two days--and his high-handedness today--I found myself saying, "No haggling. With the late-booking fee, it's ten thousand. Or I take the party in my tiny dress somewhere else."
I knew I'd aimed too low when he handed me another stack--as if I'd asked him to pass the salt.
My anger faded. I could afford to get another number. Wasn't like I would need to update my contact info with all my friends and family, since I had neither. Once I left town, I'd toss the phone anyway.
As if in a dream, I floated toward my purse to stash my windfall.
When I returned, his gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to fan myself. My nipples were already straining against the silk.
"I thought I told you to wear something sexy." A joke out of the Russian? "Why didn't you dress like this last time? I only turned you away because you appeared almost . . . wholesome. At least from the front."
"I wasn't sure if you would take me out. Now I know you won't."
He crossed to stand in front of me, seeming to make a visible effort to keep his eyes on my face. "Perhaps I would if I had no time limit."
"You're the one who called at the last minute."
"I began calling late this afternoon."
I tapped my chin. "Then that sounds like a you problem."
"Where were you tonight?"
"I told you. Here and there."
"Do you have a standing date?"
"Boundaries, Sevastyan. That's none of your business."
"It's my business when your schedule affects my plans."
His plans consisted of depositing sperm into a condom, then dozing off. How nice life must be for him.
"And following another is not my style." He stalked even closer.
"You aren't, okay? Not that you'll believe me. I haven't had sex with anyone but you in a while."
"Have you thought about me?"
"Fleetingly."
His lips curled again. Not surprisingly, he had a sexy grin. Everything about him was sexy to me. When charming and warm like this, he was a different man. One I found myself dangerously attracted to.