There was a long pause in conversation, and suddenly I realized I was standing out in the open.
I slipped quietly back through the doors and ran to the elevator. It opened immediately and I dove in and pushed the button just as the hallway doors flew open. I stood against the side wall and closed my eyes.
"Hey!" Patton's voice called. His footsteps quickened. "Hold the elevator please!"
I bit my lip waiting for the doors to close and the sensation of rising to hit me. By the time I reached Level C, I could taste blood.
I went back to the room and lay on the bed with Kate's collection of notes and letters piled up in front of my face, still unnerved by almost getting caught. I would have to wait to see Judy and hope Brian didn't put her in solitary confinement. He seemed preoccupied with protecting Kate from Clifton anyway.
Brian's notes to Kate confirmed his love for her, but he made all the standard mistakes: trying too hard to impress, dancing around his affections instead of being direct, focusing completely on himself and not at all on her. No wonder she didn't take the bait.
Each note was dated, the latest one nearly two years old. At some point he'd given up trying and decided to suffer in silence.
I'd hoped to stumble across some kind of useful information--Judy's "research," what Brian and Patton were up to, anything--but came up short. Despite his shortcomings with respect to girls and flirting, at least Brian knew better than to fully trust Kate. The notes left me wondering why he cared about her at all.
At some point I closed my eyes and began to write up a To Do list in my mind: talk to Judy, find out how Clifton is getting in the room, get my hands on more of the Libido Drug, the only defense I could use against him, learn more about Patton, talk to Patton, get closer to Patton, put my hands on Patton . . .
I fell asleep and dreamed of him.
─Mergers─
PATTON PICKED me up at five till six. I wore the most comfortable dress I could find, one that came down below my knees. I didn't even want to attend this party now. When I awoke in the early afternoon, my mind focused on my conversation with Mr. Shriver and the assertion that I'm the biggest schmuck on the planet. Tips for success to the CEO of the most sophisticated sex slave operation in the history of the world. They should have just killed me.
When I opened the door, Patton stood there in a brand new black suit with his hands in his pockets, hair slicked to the side, revealing his sky blue eyes. He was wearing a bowtie. A fucking bowtie.
"You look stupid," I said, immediately covering my mouth. It's a problem I've been dealing with my whole life. The more comfortable I get around someone, the more I insult them.
Patton was busy inspecting himself. "You don't like the suit?"
"The bowtie. I'm sorry. I run my mouth sometimes."
I had to admit the inanity of it did have an appeal. It's sexy when a man doesn't know how to dress himself. A girl might even toy with the idea of stripping him naked and making him try again.
What he did next made me feel like a jerk. He stretched his neck out and ripped the bowtie off, folding it and putting it in his pocket.
"Better?" he asked.
I stepped forward, nervous as hell, and reached up to unbutton his collar. A tiny modification, a little messiness, a little intrigue. It suited him.
"That's perfect," I breathed, and when I inhaled I took in an array of fragrances: a sweet cologne, a breath mint, and something I couldn't identify, something medicinal. We were standing so close I could feel the heat coming off his chest. I got lost in his eyes, studying them closely. I swear the patterns in his irises drifted like clouds.
By the time I realized I was moving in to kiss him, he broke the spell by backing away. "I've never worn a bowtie before," he fumbled to say. "I read in a magazine that they're 'in' right now. That's the last time I try to be fashionable. Come on."
He took my hand, and I thought my heart was going to explode. All this back and forth. I couldn't tell if he felt anything or not, but me? I felt like a freshman invited to senior prom, thrilled to be entering a world I didn't yet know but terrified I would be fucked senseless and laughed at the next day.
In the elevator, things turned somber.
"Listen," he said with a long sigh. "I know you've had a rough weekend, but we need to go over a few things. This will be unlike any party you've ever attended. You're going to see some very bad things. Mr. Shriver always brings out these . . . displays . . . of decommissioned Favorite Girls, for everyone to watch. Things can get a little crazy. I need you to be prepared. I need you to act unaffected, okay? It's essential."
I took a deep breath. "Okay, I can do that."
"I'm also going to show you some things, when I can find the right window to slip us in and out. Mr. Shriver doesn't like anyone snooping around on his floor. We have to be careful."
"I got it. Act like a sociopath, and when you say jump, I jump."
He smiled. "I think you're going to do just fine."
We stepped out of the elevator into exactly what I'd imagined the party would be: lots of businessmen in business suits talking business. A piano playing in the background. Caterers prancing about with trays of Champaign glasses. The cacophony of ice sloshing in bourbon and scotch glasses. The smell of expensive cigars.
Lots of deep, phony, masculine laughter.
Lustful glares.
I was the only woman. No women caterers, no women guests, no businessmen's wives.
Just me.
Fuck.
"Don't be nervous," Patton whispered. "They'll eat you alive."
I quickly made the decision to collect myself, calm down, and put up an emotional barrier. I'd meant to tell Patton about my conversation with Mr. Shriver, but I hadn't had a chance in the elevator, and now definitely wasn't the time.
"They can eat each other's balls," I said, a little louder than I'd intended.
Patton laughed and put a hand to my back, leading me into the horde of horny monkeys.
"Patton," they said, nodding their heads.
"Evening, Patton."
"Patton, my man, how are you?"
Most of them were offended by my presence. This party might as well be taking place in a tree house with a sign on the trap door saying NO GIRLS ALLOWED.
At the bar, someone finally acknowledged me. He was foreign. Russian, maybe. He held a glass of straight vodka and was chatting with the bartender as we approached.
"Patton, my good friend, you must introduce me to this lovely young lady."
"I'm Melissa," I said.
He had big almond-shaped eyes and he looked eager to meet and greet with anyone. I extended a hand and he took it delicately, giving it a single gentle shake.
"A pleasure to meet you, Melissa. Quite a pleasure. Patton," he said, extending his arms around me like a game show girl showing off the brand new car someone might win. "You're a lucky man to be in such company. She is a delight, no?"
"She is," Patton said, smiling at me.
"And what's your name, sir?" I asked the man, who looked to Patton for an introduction.
"This is Yakov Ivanovich," Patton said quickly. "CEO of Ivan Arms. We've been friends for several years now."
"Several," Yakov repeated, nodding emphatically.
"Ivan Arms," I said. "Is that weapons or prosthetics?"
A brief moment of silence passed and I thought I'd screwed up, but when Yakov burst out laughing, I realized he was having trouble processing the joke.
"Prosthetics!" he shouted, slapping his hip and guffawing. "How have I never heard that before? That's too funny! You, my dear, are quite the comedian!"
Patton chuckled politely. "She's sharp-witted, I must say."
"Charming is the word. Utterly charming. If you weren't spoken for, young lady, I'd take you back home to Russia with me. I certainly would."
I shrugged and smiled. "Who knows? Maybe Patton will piss me off tonight. I've never been to Russia."
"Oh dear," he said, turning to P
atton. "My friend, treat this one like she's one of a kind, because I do believe she is."
Yakov put a hand on Patton's shoulder and spoke in a whisper. They turned and stepped away, leaving me by myself. The bartender was eyeballing me.
"Give me a shot."
"What kind?"
"I don't care."
I climbed into a stool and watched him pour expensive bourbon into a shot glass. The taste wasn't bad but the potency of it made me grimace and cough.
"Again," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Is that your job?" I asked. "To make people repeat themselves?"
The bartender ducked his head. "Sorry, ma'am."
I felt bad. Being around all this testosterone was making me nervous. What kind of display was Patton talking about? Act unaffected, he'd told me. That included not bitching at bartenders.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you," I said. "I'm sorry."
I took the next shot.
The bartender pointed the neck of the bourbon bottle and I waved my hand over the shot glass. "How about a beer?"
"What kind?"
"Any. And let me ask you something." He fished a beer out of a cooler and popped the cap for me. I took a swig to wash down the aftertaste of the bourbon. "How long have you worked for this company?"
"Six years," he said.
"Do you always bartend for these parties?"
"Yes. Sweetest gig I've ever had."
"You like your job."
"Oh definitely, ma'am. Definitely."
I smiled deliberately, even though I felt like taking back my apology. "You excited for the show tonight?" I asked.
"Of course, that's the whole point. I look forward to these nights for months and months. Have you seen them?"
"The Favorite Girls?"
"Yes."
"I've seen Flora, Frog, Diamond, and Doll."
"No kidding? I've only seen Floras. That's all Mr. Shriver ever brings out. How did you see the others? What did they look like?"
Too many questions, and I didn't care enough to answer them for him. Instead, I slid off the stool and walked away.
I spotted Mr. Shriver at the circular formation of chairs where I'd watched Sean kill Flora and Mr. Moses. This was the first time I'd seen him out of his robe. In his suit, he looked quite a bit younger. Almost sexy, for an older man. I couldn't make out the conversation, but Mr. Shriver was definitely doing all the talking. The men seated around him laughed heartily, slaves to whatever crude humor he offered, each of them stilted and uncomfortable as they dealt with their rock-hard erections in anticipation of the main event.
I said hello to a few people, but they mostly ignored me. This was a crowd who preferred their women bound, gagged, and eager to receive. Every time I made eye contact with someone, I prayed he didn't have a wife.
Before long I found myself at the banquet table, stuffing my face with cheese, crackers, and cake. I walked around with a plate, shamelessly chewing with an open mouth and studying the room in depth. It was like a ball room with a library theme, the shelves and books more of a prop than anything. Mr. Shriver wanted to present himself as intelligent and worldly, though from what I'd observed, his younger brothers were doing all the work: Clifton for maintenance and custodial duties, Brian for the research and development responsible for this entire enterprise, Patton for the health, wellness, and education of the girls, and Sean for security and employee management. What was left for Mr. Shriver besides negotiating and self-appreciation?
As I browsed the bookshelves, I took notice of the piano music growing louder. Someone was playing right around the corner, just as beautifully as Flora had played right before Sean slit her throat.
Just as beautifully as Flora.
When I stepped around the corner, I was taken aback. Another Flora, of course, but I'd expected a decommissioned one, a girl with bags under her eyes and slumped shoulders, having been through the wringer, having suffered the humiliation and sexual confusion that begins with the Showcase Hall.
But this Flora was fresh, crisp, happy looking.
And she was smiling at me.
"Melissa!" she said without missing a note.
Behind her stood a group of men holding drinks and gazing at her. Something told me they weren't music aficionados.
I approached slowly, terrified that she'd been brought here for more than just a concert. She wore the same white, quilted dress she'd worn in the classroom. A good sign, at least. When Mr. Moses had delivered my Flora, they'd dressed her in a see-through gown.
"What are you doing here?" I asked with enough belligerence to scare her.
"It's extra credit," she said. "Mr. Patton told me it would be good for my college applications."
I was amazed at her ability to talk and play at the same time. The music lost none of its intimacy. She was truly astounding.
I glared at the men, most of whom didn't seem to notice me. They were transfixed. Most of them had probably seen Floras before, and they probably knew this one was underage. Fucking creeps.
I moved around Flora and positioned myself between her and them, ignoring the dissatisfied mumbling it generated behind me.
"Are you excited for graduation?" I didn't know what else to say. All I wanted to do was snatch her up and bolt for the elevator.
"Yeah," she said, "but I'm going to miss the others."
I sat on the bench next to her and watched her fingers caress the keys. Being this close to her was like lying in a meadow, bathed in warm sunlight, watching butterflies and bumblebees dance atop the wildflowers with the trickling sound of a creek nearby. A peaceful place.
Ironically the kind of place Flora would likely never see, if she even knew such places existed.
It made me wonder how she perceived things. If she'd lived her entire life in this building, what did she know about the outside world? Anything?
"You're amazing," I said.
"Thank you."
"I don't have any talent."
"I'm sure that's not true. You just have to find something you love and commit to it."
"That's always been my problem."
"Committing?"
"Finding love."
She turned and pecked me on the cheek with a kiss, then whipped her head back around quickly, smiling.
"Nice," someone said.
Without looking back, I shot a middle finger in the air, arousing laughter.
"If you can love yourself, it spreads fast," Flora said.
"That's easier said than done."
She hit the last note in her song and in her hiatus wrapped her arms around my waist.
"You'll figure it out," she whispered. "I promise." Then she pulled away. "I have to play now. Mr. Patton said I'm only allowed thirty second breaks between songs, and then once an hour I get fifteen minutes, but I'm not allowed to talk to anyone except him and you."
"When's your next break?"
"In half an hour."
"I'll come back and wait for you."
Her eyes lit up. "Okay!"
I left her to start her next song and quickly sought out Patton, ready to punch him in the nose. He could tell, too, because as I approached he took a few steps back, throwing up his hands in defense.
Instead of punching, I pushed him, generating a round of laughter from Yakov and a few other men. Apparently I was a fucking riot.
"Can I talk to you?"
"Sure. Gentlemen, a moment, please?"
One of them raised his glass and said, "Good luck, buddy."
When they were gone, I unloaded on him. "Are you fucking crazy? What the fuck is she doing here, Patton?"
"Calm down, and lower your voice. It's okay. These events always have music accompaniment."
"Don't tell me to calm down. You want me to make a scene, because I will. I want her out of here. Now."
"Mr. Shriver made the call. He doesn't like his plans changed."
"I don't give a fuck!"
Several heads turned. Patton
smiled and waved around the room like a politician trying to recover from a misinformed statement.
Then he gave me a stern but warm look. "No one's going to hurt her. I'll escort her back to her dorm before things get weird. I swear, Melissa. This is how it always works. She's not in any danger."
I nodded, pretending to assent but really just taking a moment to choose my words.
"If I'm being charged retroactively after she graduates, then technically she's mine, so it's my decision. I don't want her here. I don't want her exposed to these filthy men."
"Technically, yes, she's yours," Patton said.
"So get her out of here."
"I can't. He won't have it. He'll lock you up in the dungeon before he lets Flora stop playing that piano."
"Dungeon?"
"Yes."
"What dungeon?"
"That's what I intend to show you, but I can't if you get yourself kicked out."
"I'm not leaving her sight. Not until you take her away."
"Well then we have a dilemma. By the time I take her back, the show will begin. I have to be here for that. We all do. Mr. Shriver made a point of it this time. I think he has something special lined up."
"Special? Do you fucking enjoy this shit?"
"Of course not."
"Then don't call it special."
"Different, then. Unusual. Can you just be a little patient?"
"I'm done being patient."
I turned and headed straight for Mr. Shriver, despite whispered protest from Patton. When Mr. Shriver saw me coming, he stood and said something to the other men, who quickly filed out of the circle.
He was grinning when I reached him. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself, my dear."
"I'm not," I said. "Not in the slightest."
"What's troubling you?"
I pointed at Flora. The crowd of men surrounding her had grown larger.
"I want her out of here," I said.
He studied her for a moment, nodding. "Why exactly?"
"That shouldn't matter. She's mine."
"Not yet."
"But she will be next week."
"Until then she belongs to me."
"Okay, then I'm asking."
He pondered for a moment. "I suppose I do owe you a favor. You inspired me this morning. Changed my outlook completely. I really needed that."
Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series) Page 15