by Lauren Rowe
I stare at Sarah. That’s not part of the plan. What the fuck is she saying? The plan is for me to send them a fucking email about my rich friends who want to join. Why is she siding with Max?
“Can I be perfectly honest with you about something, Jonas?” Sarah says, but she’s looking at Max like they’re sharing an inside joke.
“Of course.” My heart is raging. What the fuck is she doing?
“If it gets out I’ve worked for The Club, I might not pass the ethics review for my law license. So it’s really important to me that we follow whatever protocols The Club has in place to protect itself—because those protocols protect me, too. I mean, how well do you know these guys? Can you be sure of their absolute discretion?”
I’m speechless.
Sarah looks at Max, unflinching. He smiles at her, heat rising in his eyes. It’s all I can do not to leap across the room and wring the fucker’s neck the way he’s looking at her right now.
“Sarah makes an excellent point,” Max says. “Thank you, Sarah.”
“Of course. Protecting The Club is in everyone’s interest. Especially mine.” She looks at me sweetly. “And so is protecting the privacy of members, too, of course.” She smiles broadly, full of charm.
What the fuck is she doing? This is not the fucking plan.
“I agree,” Max says. “Mr. Faraday, why don’t you tell me the names of your friends so that when they contact us through appropriate channels, we’ll be ready for them.” He grabs a pad off Oksana’s desk. “I promise, we’ll make sure to show them the time of their lives.”
“Sure thing,” I say, thoroughly relieved. Looks like there was a method to Sarah’s madness, after all—she was just gaining this fucker’s trust. Good thinking. “Yeah, okay, the names are on my phone. Give me my phone and I’ll email you the names.”
“No, just tell me the names now, verbally.” He positions his pen on the pad.
“Jonas, you can give the list to me later, and I’ll make sure they get the names,” Sarah says.
I’m speechless again. What the fuck is she doing? This isn’t the fucking plan.
“Perfect,” Max says. “Thank you, Sarah.”
Sarah looks at me. “Hey, Jonas, would you mind giving me five minutes to speak to Max and Oksana in private?”
What the fuck? We both agreed I wouldn’t leave her alone with these fuckers for a nanosecond. What the fuck is she doing?
“Just for five minutes,” she says breezily. “I have some information about a member I need to give them—about the last application I processed—and the information’s confidential, of course. This will be my last work-related task for a whole month, I promise. When we walk out that door, no more work.” She winks.
I can’t speak. This is insanity. No fucking way.
“Just five minutes, sweetheart,” she says.
I don’t move. No fucking way. No fucking way.
“Mr. Faraday, will you be so kind?” Max says, getting up and motioning to the door. “Just for a moment. Nina will get you some coffee.” He opens the door leading out to the reception area.
I stare at Sarah. Fuck me. This is not happening. No fucking way.
“Thanks, Jonas,” Sarah says. “It’ll just take a minute. I promise.”
I force my body to stand. I look at my watch. “Five minutes.” My eyes are granite. “I’m timing you.”
“Great, thanks. I’ll be right out.”
Chapter 22
Sarah
The minute the door closes behind Jonas, I whip around to face Oksana and Max, my eyes as hard as steel. “Fifty-fifty or I walk,” I say evenly, clenching my jaw. “I’ve got this guy in the palm of my hand, as you can plainly see. He can’t get enough of me. He’s addicted. And now that I’ve given him my sob story about my mom having cancer and my dad losing his job—he’s ready to throw money at me hand over fist. Fifty-fifty or I’m out of here.”
Max snickers.
“Sixty-forty,” Oksana says. “That’s my final offer.”
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. “He’s in the palm of my hand, I’m telling you.”
Oksana’s face has turned to stone. “Sixty-forty,” she says. “Take it or leave it.”
I wonder what she’d do to me if I leave it? “Fifty-fifty with this guy, and sixty-forty on future guys,” I say. “I don’t even need you anymore on Faraday—I could keep all this guy’s money and you’d never even know it—but I’m keeping you in the loop because I want to work with you on future guys, too.”
Oksana and Max look at each other.
“You could keep all this guy’s money and we’d never know it?” Max says, chuckling to himself. “You think it’d be that simple?” His voice is pure menace.
“Shh, Maksim. Dobre,” Oksana says. “Fine, Sarah. You’ve obviously done a lot of work on Faraday already—so we’ll do fifty-fifty on him and sixty-forty on everyone else.”
“All right,” I say. “Good. Now that we’ve got that settled—you’ll be happy to know he gave me another check this morning. This time for a hundred thousand.”
“That’s all?” Max says.
I roll my eyes. “It was just ‘fun money’ to gamble with while we’re here.” I laugh. “I’m telling you, he’s in the palm of my hand.”
Oksana looks duly impressed. “Do you have the check with you?”
“Yeah, it’s in my purse.” I motion to the outside room.
Oksana motions to Max and he gets up to retrieve it.
“I’ll squeeze everything I can out of Faraday for the next month, but after that I want more clients,” I say to Oksana when Max is gone. “I’m actually enjoying this.”
“Ah, you’ve discovered the power.” Oksana laughs. “I always say, as long as a woman’s got a pussy and a mouth, it’s her own damned fault if she can’t get whatever the hell she wants.”
I smile through my sudden nausea. “Ain’t that the truth. You’d think the man’s never had sex before, the way he reacts to me.”
“The power of the pussy,” Oksana says with mock reverence.
We share a raucous laugh, though I’m seriously trying not to hurl. What a bitch.
Max comes back into the office with my purse, but as he tries to close the door behind him, I hear Jonas’ anxious voice on the other side of the door.
“I’ve paid for her time,” I hear Jonas say. “I’m coming back in.”
“Just give us five minutes,” Max says curtly. He slams the door and locks it and strides across the room, rummaging through my purse as he goes. He pulls out the check and holds it up for Oksana to see.
“Nice work,” Oksana says.
“Next week, my mom’s health will take a turn for the worse,” I say. “And my dad will be in danger of losing his house—to the tune of five hundred thousand.”
Oksana nods enthusiastically. “Good.”
Max takes the seat vacated by Jonas and leans into my face, placing his hand firmly on my thigh.
I recoil under his touch.
“So did Faraday fix your little problem?”
I don’t respond.
Max leans even closer and whispers. “Did he fix the little problem you wrote about in your email to him—your ‘Mount Everest’ problem, I think you called it?” He licks his lips. “Because if not, I’m sure I can solve your problem in about five minutes.”
I lean sharply away from Max’s face. “I told the guy what he wanted to hear, that’s all—the one thing I knew he couldn’t resist.”
Max chuckles. His face tells me he doesn’t believe me. “You were very, very convincing.”
“Maksim, nemaye,” Oksana says. “Very clever, Sarah.”
I grimace. I’ve only got one thing on my mind right now—getting Oksana to open an email, come hell or high water.
“So let’s cut the crap,” I say. “I’m willing to forgive our ‘unfortunate miscommunication.’ But I want to get paid within twenty-four hours, every time, or else I walk—and, believe me, I’l
l take you down when I go.”
“You won’t take us down,” Max says.
I smash my mouth into a hard line.
“You just said so yourself—you won’t pass the ethics review for your law license if it gets out you worked for us. You won’t risk that.”
I scowl like I’m pissed at myself for revealing my big secret to him. “Maybe I don’t care about my law license,” I say, trying my damnedest to sound like a terrible liar.
Max grins. “Oh yes you do. I’ve done my research on you. I’m quite confident you care more than anything about your law license—and that you therefore won’t tell anyone about us.”
I grit my teeth.
“But that’s exactly why we can trust you, Miss Cruz. Our interests are obviously aligned. And that’s good.”
“If you piss me off enough, I’ll send out that report, regardless of what might happen to my law career.”
He smiles at me, not buying it.
“Fine,” I huff, conceding his point. I cross my arms. “But if you send the Ukrainian John Travolta to hurt me again, all bets are off.”
“The ‘Ukrainian John Travolta’?” He bursts out laughing.
“Yeah. Like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction—only Ukrainian.”
Max is highly amused. “I’ll have to tell Yuri you said that.” He says something to his mother in Ukrainian and she laughs. Max waves the air. “We’re not going to harm you, Sarah. You’ve proved your value. You say you’re not ‘fucking stupid’? Well, neither are we.”
I squint at him.
“You’re an entertaining writer, by the way. A spitfire, just like your asshole boyfriend said.”
“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won’t send your hitman after me again?”
His eyes harden. “Because if I say you’re safe, you’re safe. And if I want you dead, you’re dead.”
A shiver runs up my spine—I’m six inches away from the man who personally ordered me dead.
“But the good news is I don’t want you dead.” He touches my arm and I shudder. “I do hope you weren’t too inconvenienced by our unfortunate miscommunication.”
“Oh no, not at all. I didn’t need all that blood inside my body, anyway,” I scoff.
“How bad are the scars?” Oksana asks. “I can’t put you on the circuit if you’re too scarred.” Her tone is pure business.
There’s a loud knock at the door. “Time’s up,” Jonas says loudly. He shakes the door, but it’s locked. “Sarah? Time’s up. Right now.”
Max motions to the door. “Talk to him.”
I walk to the door and open it. Jonas looks panicked. Or is that enraged?
“Everything’s great, sweetheart,” I say cheerily, poking my head out. “We’re almost done talking business. We need just five more minutes and then we’ll be all done—and I’ll be all yours for a whole month.”
He’s bursting out of his skin.
“Come here,” I say brightly.
He leans an inch from my face to whisper something to me, but I kiss him.
“Sarah,” he whispers, pulling away, his eyes frantic. “Get out of there right now.”
“Yeah, just a couple more minutes,” I say at full voice. “And after that, I’m at your service, sweetheart.”
“Sarah, now,” he whispers fiercely. “Right now.”
“No,” I whisper. “Trust me.”
As I close the door on his face, he flashes white-hot anger. I turn back around, making sure to keep the door unlocked. “My wounds are healing surprisingly well,” I say, sitting back down. “Thanks for your concern. This one on my neck is hardly anything.” I tilt my head so they can get a good view of it.
“Yeah, not too bad,” Oksana agrees.
“And the one on my ribcage isn’t too bad, either—and it’ll get better over time.”
“Let’s see it,” Oksana says. “I need to see for myself.”
“Actually, we have a little tradition here at The Club,” Max says, his tone suddenly lecherous. “I audition every single girl before we send them out on the circuit—just to make sure they’re worthy of our high standards.” He looks at his mother and says something in Ukrainian.
My stomach drops into my toes. I glance at the door, suddenly feeling panicked. Holy crap.
“It won’t take very long,” Max says. “Five minutes.” He stands and holds out his hand.
Holy shit. He expects to fuck me in the bathroom right now?
“Maksim,” Oksana chastises. “Ne zaraz.”
My throat is closing up. “Faraday is right on the other side of the door,” I sputter. “And he’s already wondering what’s going on—you saw him. He’s freaking out. There’s not enough time.”
“Maksim, nemaye,” Oksana says sharply. “Ne sʹohodni.”
Max scowls at his mother and exhales loudly. “Well, if not today, then before she leaves Las Vegas.”
I try to smile, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m failing at the attempt. I have to get out of here—I’m freaking out—but goddammit, I’ve got to get Oksana to open a frickin’ email.
“When can you get away from him for an hour or so? I’ll do it right.” Max winks. “Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. He’s high-maintenance—kind of intense.”
“I’ll drop whatever I’m doing at a moment’s notice.”
“Aw, how sweet—you’ll take a break from stabbing me to fuck me?” My mind is racing. I’ve got to think of some reason to send Oksana an email. I’m running out of time.
Max laughs. “You are a little firecracker, aren’t you? I see why he likes you. This is going to be fun.”
“Maksim, tysha,” Oksana says sharply. “Sarah, I need to see your scars before you leave here. I can’t put you on the circuit unless I know what the clients will see. I keep a private catalogue of pictures so I can assign girls to our client’s specific preferences.”
Think, Sarah, think.
“Faraday’s right on the other side of the door waiting for me,” I say. “I’m not going to get naked for you right here and now. You saw him—he’s suspicious. He could knock down the door any second.”
“Well, I need to see your body right now or there’s no deal.”
Lightning bolt. Hallelujah.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll go into the bathroom and take a naked selfie right now—for your personal catalogue only. Hand me my phone. But I’ll tell you right now, I’m only gonna take the photo from the neck down and I’m keeping my undies on, too.”
Max smiles. “You’re just going to take a photo off the Internet.”
I throw up my hands, exasperated. “How would I do that? I’ll clearly be in your bathroom in the photo—and I’ll be wearing these.” I quickly lift up my skirt and flash my red G-string.
At the brief glimpse of my undies, Max’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“I’ll take the photo right now and email it to you. I’ll even stand here while you open the photo to make sure it’s acceptable to you.” I grab a coffee mug decorated with cartoon-cats off Oksana’s desk. “And, hey, I’ll hold this cat-mug in the picture, too. I can’t very well Photoshop a picture of me in your bathroom, wearing a red G-string, holding a cat-mug, now can I?”
“Pravda,” Oksana says, satisfied. “Maksim?”
Max looks dubious for a moment, but then he nods.
I hold out my hand. “May I have my phone, please?”
Max rummages into my purse, pulls out my phone, and scrutinizes it for a long beat.
“It’s not set to record,” I say. I grab the phone from him and hold it against my mouth. “This is Sarah Cruz and I work for The Club. I’ve been bilking Jonas Faraday out of his money since day one and I’m about to embark on a fancy new career as a high-priced call girl.” I smirk at Max. “Not recording.”
He grins at me. “I’ll come into the bathroom with you.”
“Maksim, budʹ laska,” Oksana barks.
I hope to God that means
“no.” Without waiting to find out, I beeline into the bathroom with my cat-mug and quickly close the door behind me. The minute I’m alone, my knees buckle. I grab the sink ledge to steady myself. “Holy crap,” I whisper, panting. “Pull yourself together, Cruz.”
I pull my sundress over my head and quickly take a photo of myself in the mirror from the neck down, holding the mug; and then I stare at the photo of my almost-naked body, my pulse pounding in my ears. This feels wrong. So, so wrong. Then why am I so sure it’s going to work?
I shake my hands and exhale, trying to calm myself. What’s the worst that can happen here? They try to blackmail me with the photo? They post it to a porn site? I stare at the picture again, trying to imagine it posted on some skeezy porn site filled with topless women. Not the end of the world, right? My face isn’t in the photo. There’s nothing to identify this particular pair of boobs and torso as mine—other than the scar on my ribcage, I guess. In theory, someone could connect that scar to me—but not definitively. Not like they could with a tattoo. I could always deny the photo is of me, if I had to. I could say they Photoshopped that scar onto the photo.
Gah.
This feels like such a bad idea. What’s my alternative, though? They’re not going to open an email from Jonas—that much is clear. They don’t fully trust him for some reason. But they trust me.
Yep, Plan A is officially done-zo. Now it’s time to push ahead with Plan B or accept defeat. And I refuse to accept defeat. I embed my photo into the email template Henn gave me, throw my dress back on, and exit the bathroom.
“You want to make sure this isn’t recording again?” I hold out my phone to Max with a shaky hand.
“I just won’t say anything particularly interesting.” He smirks.
“Fabulous.” I look down at my phone. “What’s your email address, Oksana?”
She tells it to me and my hands tremble as I type it into Henn’s email template.
“Max? I’m assuming you want this photo, too?” His expression leaves no doubt his answer is yes. “What’s your email address?”