by Nadia Lee
“I’m only letting you work today because I got paid to, but for fuck’s sake. You don’t do another set, got it? We don’t want to drive customers away with that kind of…” He pauses for a quick inhale. “What the hell was that anyway? I’ve seen robots with better moves.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was bad. Can I go home now?”
“Please. Go home. And don’t come back.”
“Okay, fine,” I mutter under my breath. I’m not going to beg him to keep me or anything ridiculous like that. It isn’t like this is my dream job. Mr. Grayson will just have to get a little more creative about convincing Mystery Guy that he really wants to marry me.
I take off my stage makeup, put on my street clothes and climb into the used Honda that my parents bought me when I got my driver’s license. Someone back home keyed the sides. Since I never bothered to patch them up, the lines have rusted over. I didn’t report the vandalism to the police either, since they weren’t going to side with me. They won’t side with anybody related to Dad.
The interior of the car gives me a sense of privacy, and I let myself deflate. Tears bead in the corners of my eyes, and I shove a fist against my mouth and bite on my knuckles until they hurt.
This isn’t how my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to go to college, graduate, get a job with real career prospects…marry a nice guy from the same socioeconomic background. But instead, I only got to do four semesters. Given my lack of education and job skills, I’m never going to find gainful employment…at least, nothing that will lead to a real career. And I’m beholden to Mr. Grayson, whose motives I do not understand.
I can’t give up, no matter how much I want to. My younger sister Nonny depends on me. She’s only fifteen, and she has no one else. I feel shaky with terror, just imagining what Mr. Grayson could ask her to do if she didn’t have me by her side to keep her safe. He showed up a year ago, and he’s been a lifesaver. But we can’t keep accepting his gifts, especially now that I know he can demand anything at any time. At least he hasn’t wanted sex.
Somehow I have to find a way to pay back every penny he’s given us. I may be alone, but I’m not helpless. I can figure things out as long as I keep calm.
I tilt my head back until it hits the seat. I would give anything to be able to talk things over with my best friend—former best friend—Traci Burton. She always had great ideas and knew exactly what to say to cheer people up. But after what Dad did to her family, she wants nothing to do with me. The last time I saw her…
I waited until she was home alone before going over to her house—her parents couldn’t stand the sight of me. Traci and I grew up together in Lincoln City, inseparable since kindergarten. She was the only one I could talk to when people started saying all those awful things about my father. She was my best friend. Surely she wouldn’t turn her back on me.
When she saw me on the steps, her face flushed, anger flashing in her eyes. She jutted her sharp chin out, the only thing that kept her face from being as round as the moon.
“I can’t talk to you,” she spat. “I’m too angry and hurt and… Your dad ruined my family! How could he?”
I had no answer because I didn’t know how he could’ve done it either. I still don’t.
Now my eyes in the rearview mirror look tired. It’s more or less a constant condition these days.
Once I compose myself, I drive home. Nonny and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment in a not-so-nice section of the city. But it’s cheap, especially when split two ways. We have a roommate, even though Mr. Grayson offered to provide a nicer unit for just the two of us. I’m glad I never asked for much. Otherwise who knows what he might feel entitled to?
My roommate, Caroline Wiseman, is supposedly a college student, but I’ve never seen her study. I have seen her party hard and bring a lot of guys over. I worry about her effect on Nonny, but it is not easy to find someone who doesn’t mind living with an underage sibling of their roommate. And honestly, the parade of men coming to see my roommate is nothing compared to the trauma that Nonny and I both went through at the shelter.
Caroline is still up, sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table, a tablet clutched in her manicured hands. She doesn’t go to bed until at least four a.m. Her hair is red—like mine, but hers comes from a bottle. For once she doesn’t have any makeup on, although she’s wearing green contacts that turn her eyes a strange shade of hazel. She bounces up, tablet still in her hands, and gives me a wide grin. “So! How’d your job go?”
“Horribly.”
She cringes. “Oh no! So you’re back to square one?”
“Something like that.” She has no idea.
“Well… That sucks.” She taps her lower lip. “But I may have something for you.”
“What is it?” I say, suppressing a groan. Knowing her, it’s probably really bad.
“It’s a pretty decent gig. Pays really well.”
My radar’s beeping. “What kind of ‘gig’?”
“It’s actually this Friday thing I have, but my parents said they’re coming over, so I can’t do it. I always tell them not to show up on such short notice, but they just don’t listen. It’s so frustrating. Ugh!”
I manage a pat smile of sympathy for her. I wish I had parents who came over, unannounced or not.
“So anyway, I need somebody who can, you know, sub for me. Madame G. gets furious when her girls don’t show. And the client paid a lot of money.”
“What is this job?” The way Caroline calls her boss “Madame G.” is not reassuring.
“Oh, it’s super easy. Just be a birthday girl.”
“A birthday girl.”
She sighs and looks at me like I’m four. “Okay. It’s this guy’s birthday, right? You basically get inside a big fake cake and jump out when it’s time. And you scream ‘happy birthday’ and maybe even kiss him on the cheek if you want. That’ll get you an extra big tip. And you just put on a good show for everyone at the party. It shouldn’t be that hard. The kind of people who can afford the service tend to be rich, and they pay really well. Totally different from a club, with all those annoying drunks.”
After tonight, I don’t ever want to do a strip show, private or otherwise. “Yeah…I don’t think—”
“But the money’s really good! Like, enough for your half of the rent.”
My jaw drops. “One night’s work is going to net me enough to pay the rent?” I put a hand on my chest. “My half?”
“Yup.”
I cross my arms. “Caroline, do you have to…you know…sleep with those men?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Of course not, silly. You don’t have to. But you can, if you want. They tip really well for that. Most of the time they just want a blow job, nothing serious. Really doesn’t take that long, if you know what you’re doing.”
My skin crawls at the casual way she talks about it. I want to turn the work down. I doubt this client’s house has a bouncer who’ll protect me from overeager friends of the birthday boy.
On the other hand, it’s that much more money I’ll be able to sock away. Given how Mr. Grayson basically told me to strip or be tossed out on the streets, I need to have a nest egg saved to be able to stand up to him and take care of myself and Nonny. I’ve been so stupid and complacent, thinking that we’d be okay, not realizing there’s no free lunch. I need to dig myself out of the hole I’m in so nobody can push me around anymore.
“The job is just jumping out of the cake, right? Anything else is up to me?”
“Right.”
“So if I don’t do anything, no one’s going to be mad?”
“Absolutely.” She raises her right hand in a pledge.
I sigh. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Caroline launches herself at me and gives me a tight hug that has nothing to do with affection. “Thanks, babe. You’re really saving my butt.”
“You’re welcome.” I just hope I’m not making a big mistake.
Chapter T
hree
Annabelle
Two days later—on Friday, when I’m supposed to sub for Caroline—I get a call from Chuck at two p.m. I’m tempted to ignore it, but maybe he’s calling to say he owes me some money. I did dance at his club after all.
“Hello?” I say, settling down in my couch.
“Can you get your ass down here tomorrow night?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you fired me.”
“Yeah, well. One of the regulars asked for you yesterday.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You said I sucked.”
“Hey, what can I say? You did. But he wants to see you anyway.”
I grind my teeth. “What is this? Some kind of pity porn? Let’s see that chick suck on the stage so we can all have a laugh?”
“What’s with the negativity? He’s one of our best clients. Even gave you some money for the robot moves, right?”
Humiliation sears my face. I start to fan myself so I don’t pass out. That asshole. He told me to my face I was bad even as he gave me the money. So why the hell is he asking for me again?
“Tell him no.” I don’t care what Mr. Grayson wants me to do. I’m not going back on that stage just because that man wants me to, not even for another two-hundred-dollar tip. Then another thing occurs to me. “And you better not give him my name or contact info or I’m going to sue you for breach of privacy and everything else I can think of.”
“Hey, what am I? A pimp?” Chuck actually sounds offended. “You got nothing to worry about. I take care of my girls.”
“Good.” I lean back against the couch. “And Chuck?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell the guy life is full of disappointments.”
“Great. A stripper with philosophy.” Chuck snorts. “You even know who you’re dealing with?”
“Should I?”
“Yeah, you should. This guy, even if I don’t tell him, he wants to find out, he’s gonna find out.”
“How? I was only there for a day, and the other girls don’t know me. If you’re looking for a way to sell me out, forget it. I really mean it about suing you and your club.”
“He’s Elliot Reed.”
Chuck says the name like I should know it. “And…?”
“He’s a billionaire. Some kind of computer genius or something. And he’s Ryder Reed’s half-brother.”
My mouth forms a small O. Ryder Reed is maybe the hottest actor in Hollywood. But this Elliot guy doesn’t really look like him. “Genius or not, he still won’t find out who I am unless you tell him.”
“You got a lot to learn. People in this city, they’ll sell their own mother for an introduction to Ryder Reed. Elliot’s got leverage.”
“Well, that still doesn’t—”
“He’s gonna find you, and when he does, it won’t be me who told him. So don’t fucking sue the club, all right? I got enough problems.” He hangs up.
I glare at the phone. Maybe Chuck’s right, maybe he’s not, but I’m not going to make it easy for Elliot Reed.
Besides, there has to be something seriously wrong with him. A billionaire genius who wants to meet a stripper? I go to my room to pretty myself up for the birthday job, but my thoughts keep drifting to the man. I pick up my phone and google him.
Chuck didn’t exaggerate. Elliot Reed really is a prodigy. He and his twin brother created some kind of algorithm that takes “aggregate user behavior data” and predicts their purchasing patterns. It’s pretty fancy sounding, nothing I can even imagine. They sold the program for a little over a billion dollars on their twenty-first birthday. Since then Elliot invested his money in various ventures and almost doubled it. He also speaks at events and consults on the side.
But the search engine reveals far more than his accomplishments. He’s also a horrible womanizer. There doesn’t seem to be a single L.A. party he hasn’t attended, and he’s got a different woman on his arm each time. All his female companions are stunning, with the kind of face that should be in fashion magazines. I actually recognize a couple of them. An unfamiliar hot, ugly emotion fists in my belly, and I swallow through a tight throat. Who cares if Elliot wants to bang every woman he’s ever met? I don’t even know the guy.
And there is a sex tape. His poor parents. I shake my head. They must’ve been so humiliated. And his siblings, too.
Ryder Reed has a reputation for being wild, but Elliot is even wilder. They’re together in tons of photos, looking chummy. Something tells me Elliot is the enabler.
The sex tape article links to a video. I really shouldn’t, but…morbidly perverse curiosity wins the battle. I click on it.
The place looks like a living room. I don’t see a bed. A blonde—completely nude—lies on the floor, legs spread wide. She arches her back and moans as a second girl—a brunette—buries her face in her lady parts. The blonde makes keening noises, and she grips her breasts and toys with her nipples, while the brunette focuses on the flesh between her thighs.
I snicker. I’ve had oral sex before, and trust me, it isn’t that good. The blonde must be overacting for the camera.
Then Elliot moves into the frame. His body is magnificent, sleek and strong. On his right butt cheek is a tattoo—FU in some elaborate script. He positions himself behind the brunette. The angle’s wrong, so I can’t quite see what he’s doing to her with his hands, but she’s arching her body, pressing closer to him. Her moans are muffled, and the blonde screams louder.
The unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh comes over my phone speaker. Elliot’s hips and ass flex as he drives in and out of the brunette. It’s obviously an amateur production since the camera doesn’t focus on the actual penetration, but it’s obvious what the three are doing.
My mouth dries, and I shift my weight as heat pulses through me. I wonder how much of what the brunette is doing on the screen is fake and how much is real. If she’s having half as good a time as she seems to be having, I wouldn’t mind trying it with Elliot, just once, just to see.
The realization slaps me hard, and I gasp, turning my phone off. Good god. What’s wrong with me? Fantasizing about a stranger—and a rude stranger, at that?
Besides, Elliot is the polar opposite of what I’m looking for in a man to have a relationship with. I want somebody stable, honest and ethical. What Mr. Grayson wants is immaterial. I’m not marrying a guy who’s only interested in partying and screwing around.
If he’s so hot to get married, why doesn’t Elliot grab one of the women he went to those parties with? Or one of the ones in the sex tape? I don’t get it. There’s no reason for him to find a fiancée at a strip club. By society’s standards, he’s a great catch. A lot of women would love to be his missus.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if he has some kind of deviant personality that requires intervention. Aren’t geniuses supposed to be a little bit crazy? Who knows what the guy is really like in private?
And what does that make me, watching him screw on tape and getting all hot and bothered? That’s so not me.
Maybe his problem is that he makes people around him feel abnormal needs. No matter how much I may think I want it, I know it’s going to be far less satisfying than my lowest expectations. I have yet to have sex with a guy who was better than a vibrator.
Forget Elliot.
Go do the cake job and get paid.
Chapter Four
Elliot
The lunch venue Elizabeth picks out is Éternité. I went there once when it first opened. It’s owned by Mark Pryce, Elizabeth’s cousin, and he chose the name to symbolize his undying love for his new wife.
Kind of sappy, but the décor and food are great. Contemporary sensibilities merge with the old world, the interior is airy and open with stunning silk hangings that ripple like waves in the breeze created by the ceiling fans. And the food critics rave about the menu, the praise well deserved because the food tastes even better than its mouthwatering smell
.
Elizabeth is my half-sister from our dad’s first marriage. I’m the product of his second. Unlike my mother, hers is from old money and an impeccable pedigree. Mom often said you could cut Geraldine Pryce and she’d bleed blue. As a condition of the divorce, Geraldine made sure her children’s last name was changed to Pryce-Reed, since Pryce is the better and more socially significant name. She blew a gasket when Ryder decided to make his stage name Ryder Reed. I doubt she’s watched a single film of his, just out of spite.
I’m just a Reed—no hyphen—since my mother didn’t feel the need to leave her mark when she divorced to marry Dad’s half-brother. I also have a half-sister slash cousin from that marriage, but I don’t know her that well. She’s a shy little thing, and was always too busy with her figure skating career to hang out with the rest of us.
Most people can’t believe how fucked up my family tree is. They think I’m making shit up.
I wish I was.
Elizabeth’s golden hair is perfectly curled and shiny. Light makeup brings out her bright brown eyes and prominent cheekbones. People think that only the men in her family have the Pryce profile—that clean, patrician look. But Elizabeth has it too, just expressed through a feminine filter.
The dark magenta dress looks good on her, and she’s wearing a pair of fuck-me heels, which I somewhat disapprove of. She’s high profile, gorgeous and rich, thanks to the trust fund from her maternal grandmother. Exactly the type a fortune hunter will target. If I had it my way, I’d put her in a nun’s habit…although that can have its own attraction for some guys.
Some days you just can’t win.
I sit down across from her, smoothing down my shirt as I do so. “Thanks for the lunch, sis.”
“Well, it is your birthday, after all.” She smiles. “And we’re in the same town.”
I smile back. “So we are.”
We order. Since I’m in a decent mood, I settle for a glass of white, leaving the choice up to the sommelier. Elizabeth does the same.
When our server’s gone, she leans in conspiratorially and says, “Heard anything from Ryder?”