by Eve Bradley
“Who’s that?” I ask him, butting in on the conversation.
The second I sip on the drink, my shoulders relax. The bitter taste loosens my muscles. It’s like a hug from a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Shawn beckons me and I stand. I don’t want to make him question my ability to listen and earn my money. I’ll be the best little trust fund bitch he’s ever seen for ten-thousand dollars.
“My driver. He’ll take you where I want you to get everything done,” he says and pats me on the shoulder. “Alexi, take care of her.”
“Of course, boss. What else do you pay me for?” he backs away from him, pulling me by my wrist towards the door. I think I sense the sarcasm, but Alexi’s coolly slanted lips confirm it.
The last image I have of them is Rhett leaning back against the dresser with a sulky amusement painting his dark features, and Shawn staring critically after me. Ice cold eyes daring me to misbehave.
I’m guessing that both Rhett and Alexi are Shawn’s personal assistants. I remind myself to ask when we have a free moment.
I give them a little flutter of my fingers in farewell and then nearly crash into the door on the way out. I look back at them to check if they saw and they’re both hiding snickers by glaring down at the floor. Alexi chuckles and tugs me along again.
“Come on, girl.”
His large hand grips my wrist as we walk. I’m a little too aware of the way his powerful muscles shift under his starched white shirt. He draws me out through the sliding glass entryway and takes me down the stretching paved drive.
Palm trees sway gently overhead and the sun beats down. Now I wish I wasn’t wearing this sweatshirt. We round the corner of the house, and in my sober state, I realize that this really is more of a mansion than anything. It’s just angular and modern with its lines and gray and black theme. Actually, I realize there’s black metal fencing on the outer edge of the perfectly maintained jungle landscape. I wouldn’t have been able to escape if I’d wanted to because I’ll make a ten-thousand-dollar wager that he has a gate wherever the driveway ends.
Down the lane a bit there’s a limo parked and waiting.
Orlando, a middle-aged Latino man with a vigilant face, comes and opens the door for me. I give him a smile and nod, scoot myself in, and hope that I’m not flashing Alexi with how short my dress is. I only have one hand to clutch my drink and slide into the cushy seat so if it happens it happens. I’m not a saint.
Alexi raises his hand to Orlando and plops down into the seat beside me.
I can’t stop staring at everything. The ceiling, the floor, the champagne in the mini bar, the glasses, the lights, then, my sight swivels back to Alexi who is clearly watching me. His features are serene and somberly patient. I work at my skirt to be sure that I’m preserving modesty.
“Where do you come from?” he asks me, lazing back as the limo starts rolling forward.
“Illinois,” I say, and sip at my drink, staring into the glittering light of the minibar.
“So what’s a little girl like you doing on the streets down here? You want to die, eh?” he says. His browbone is like a calloused cliff, careless and waiting to assume the worst. The crook of his mouth raises.
“Yeah, that’s my goal, actually,” I laugh bitterly and reach for the bottle of champagne. “Death where art thou. Isn’t it obvious?”
Alexi grabs the bottle from me and holds it back over his shoulder.
“Tell me why and you get this back.”
He looks quite amused with himself. Like a cat teasing a mouse.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I sulk back in my seat, crossing my arms and messing with my nails that have been polish-free for nearly two years. “I have the right to remain silent.”
My stick-straight dark blonde hair is knotty now, and I try to rake my fingers through it.
“It doesn’t matter though. After tonight I’m not going to see any of you again. We shouldn’t get too comfortable,” I say, as if I’m trying to be professional. Like this is all business and I’m only here to get paid, not goof off with a ripped male model and go out to a club with a bad boy and a billionaire while I wear lacy panties, a thousand-dollar dress, and smell like precious jewels.
“That’s true. I guess I’ll drink this by myself then,” he says with a shrug. He pops the top, and the fizz nearly gives me goosebumps.
Fuck you, Alexi. That’s what I want to say, but I shut my eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of my nose. Damn my weaknesses.
“Okay fine,” I snap. “What do you want to know?”
“Where’s your family? Where’d you grow up?” he asks me.
Oof. Too close to home, literally. This is one conversation I can’t get to yet. My mind spins, most likely from the first drink in my gut. I take a deep breath and lean into the curve of the seat. I’m sweating now and the thought of my family makes me flush with cold. Memories shatter back through my head, little clips of horrors and illness. Panic and pain. Weeks of nearly no food or clean water. I shake my head as if I might be able to shake away the unwelcome memories.
“Illinois. I told you,” I explain. “I grew up in a small town outside of Chicago.”
He seems slightly appeased and brings the bottle forward. He’s trying to give me a drink, but instead I reach out for the bottle.
“No,” he shakes his head. “No, you don’t get to hold it. You’ll drink it all too fast. One drink per question.”
I cannot believe this asshole. I grit my teeth and reach out for the bottle in a flash, trying to wrench it out of his hands. But Alexi tugs it back, some of it spilling onto the carpet. My jaw snaps open and I search his eyes for what he’ll do. Maybe I went too far? I pinch my nails into my palms.
“Oooh girl. When I tell Shawn…” his eyes are wide with surprise and his mouth turns into the crooked start of laughter.
“I don’t want to play your game,” I say, trying to keep composure. But I can’t, I start to laugh at the champagne on the ground and my hand flies to cover my mouth. “Fuck…”
Alexi chuckles, and he scoots closer.
I’m flustered, but I don’t know what else to do. I may as well go along with this little game of his.
“Okay, okay, here,” he tilts the bottle for me and I accept, opening my mouth to take a drink.
I’m about to laugh, but then the driver hits a bump, and the fucking champagne pours down my chest. The sweatshirt is soaked, and Alexi loses it. His laugh is charming and cool, and I can’t stop laughing because he’s shaking and leans over, lost in the moment. I take this opportunity to grab the bottle and finally satisfy my urge.
“Ah! So good,” I say once I’ve taken a good swig, tears of laughter in my eyes.
Alexi’s chuckling tapers off and he sits back again, getting comfortable in his seat.
“Now you have to answer my question,” I tell him, holding the bottle in my lap. “What do you do for Shawn Van Doren?”
“Whatever he needs me to take care of, I do. Loose ends, phone calls…whatever,” he responds quickly and before I can even move to stop him, he grabs the bottle and takes a drink.
“Then there’s the modeling…?” I wave my hand to urge him on.
He gives me a look like steel and for a second I’m snapped back to the reality that they could be dangerous men. That steel in his expression was dark. The kind of dark I don’t really want to explore. But I can’t stop the fascination from curling up like a lazy cat in my lap. I want to pet it and cuddle it and play with it. But this cat isn’t cozy or cute. Something inside me says fascination with these men could get me killed.
The champagne is soaking through to the dress, so I pull the sweatshirt off, body giving way to the chill of the air conditioning. I see Alexi looking at me in the reflection of the gleaming décor. I feel naked. When was the last time I wore a dress? Prom?
Oh yes. Prom. I wore a cheap-ass dress from Ross and went with the guy that I’d been dating at the time. The dress was so sheer and cheap that ev
eryone assumed I was just trying to be a slut for the guys. I remember girls talking shit in the bathroom. I tried to have fun. I tried to pretend like I could fit in with them, with those normal girls and their perfect faces and clothes. But I couldn’t. And it didn’t matter anyway about the dress, even if I’d been trying to be a slut, I did a terrible job at it. My boyfriend ended the night flirting with one of the girls in a lower grade. So, obviously it wasn’t sex he wanted. Just the next piece of ass.
That’s what’s funny to me. I could dress up, be the prettiest bitch in the room, push my boobs up, work out every day to have the perfect figure, and a man will still want the next best thing. But the truth is the pressure to look sexy is just a fraud. It’s a patriarchal scam. It’s all to try to get a man’s attention while said attention can only last for five seconds before it moves on to its next victim. I guess the only really useful thing about being semi-attractive and knowing how to flaunt it is teasing men to get free drinks. Or whatever else you demand of the world.
“Why’d you come to Los Angeles?” he asks me, breaking me free of the painful memories shuttering through my mind. Jesus this whole ride has been a disgusting throwback to a past I’ve spent years dodging, ducking, and evading like a pro.
“Huh? Oh. I…one day I just left. I started walking and…I didn’t look back.”
This is all true. I stare into the glow of the lights and offer myself an obligatory smile. Don’t go there. Don’t think about it. You can’t.
When I look up at him again, he’s confused and confounded. His smooth face is tense.
“Sounds like life was a bitch to you too,” he says and hands me the champagne.
We pull up to the Ritz Carlton Spa. It’s a part of the hotel, and the entire building is a glare of windows that checker skyward for what seems like miles. I stare up at the top of the building in awe. Alexi pushes me forward. I’m lightly buzzing, but not too bad. I pretend to be irritated that he’s shoved me forward and I wave goodbye to Orlando, the driver, as we head inside. Orlando gives me a crinkly-eyed smile and bows his head.
I’m taken into a glamorous Hollywood style spa with gleaming floors and walls. Everything is posh and gilded, and I feel so out of place. Like I’m a little kid in a mall by myself. What’s worse than this is that the woman comes straight to us and shows off her wide white set of teeth. She’s older and waxy with botox.
“Hello Dear, I’ve got your spot all set up,” she inclines her head to Alexi, who gives her a look that seems like a macho thank you and then goes to seat himself in the waiting area.
It takes a few hours for them to pretty me up, but as they finish the last of my makeup, Alexi comes around the corner. He’s too dark for this softly lit room, his black leather jacket and pants making him look harsher than he had before in the limo.
He stands there as they place the finishing touches-- the cherries on top-- and he sighs.
I look in the mirror to see what he’s noticing. What can he be thinking?
My skin is glowing, my mind is spinning, and my lungs are heavy. Every breath I take is filled with perfume and chemicals. My nails are black claws. Meow motherfucker.
“You look good,” he says, and he takes out a wad of cash and pushes it into the shocked esthetician’s hand.
“I feel like I have a new self-appointed mission: slash these snobby bitches to shreds,” I raise my black nails and make a claw form. The women around us send me snide looks.
He rolls his eyes and stands at ease. Even if he wanted to laugh, he probably shouldn’t.
I push off out of the chair and go to the full-length wall mirror. I’m a new woman standing here, and I don’t recognize myself. It’s not me…it’s…Penny.
What a miraculous transformation. It’s like Lazarus being raised from the dead all over again. I’m decked out in black and red. I look like a bitch, a vampy chick who has high-class frenemies. I drag my fingers through my straightened bronze hair, touch the thick diamond choker Shawn gave me, and sigh out through my nose. I twist this way and that way, scrutinizing my appearance.
Okay, devil babe. I see you. Now let’s show them we can do this.
Four
Breathe Right
There’s no time, so we meet at the club. The night is dragging down its curtains and the city twinkles for me in a new way. I’ve always known the dark as a dedicated holder of terror and crime, but now, as I climb out of the limo out into warm night air that smells like food and smoke, I’m amazed.
This is a different world, that’s for damn sure. It hits me like a bus filled with freedom and opportunity.
Shawn meets Alexi and I outside. He walks up to us, one hand paused on his navy suit jacket, eyes lowered, and then they raise and see me. He grins. This smile reaches his eyes and it’s like a javelin to my heart. Wow, is this man gorgeous. If I’d ever been lucky before, tonight takes the cake.
“Well you look nice, don’t you?” I approach him and give him a sassy smile.
“Hello Penny,” his voice rumbles through me and I shiver when our eyes meet. He’s staring down into my soul, and I can barely contain my squeals. I feel so pampered. So pretty. Tonight will be flawless.
“They did a nice job,” he says and pats Alexi’s arm. “Good work, man.”
“Hey, don’t ever leave me alone with her again. She’s a nutjob. She spilled champagne all over the new ride,” Alexi smirks and playfully pushes my arm. “She’s like a baby. You sure she’s got this?”
“I thought you liked babysitting?” Shawn responds and winks at me without showing a hint of amusement on his rugged features.
“It was your fault!” I shove Alexi’s unmoving chest, slightly irate that he’s trying to pass it off on me. “He was the one trying to get all personal.”
“Trying?” Shawn’s brows lift upward. “Hm. Better luck next time, friend.”
Shawn lays a hand on Alexi’s shoulder before Alexi can retort, and when Shawn turns around, I do a little jig and flip him off. He goes to grab me in one rounding swoop but I dodge him, running in my unpredictable heels to link arms with Shawn. Shawn is surprisingly ready for this and connects with me like he’d expected it.
Alexi accepts his defeat, and I vibrate with the pent up laughter in my body. Fucking douchebag model. I sigh, mouth trembling, and try to remember why I’m here. I’m not here to joke with Alexi or admire Shawn’s handsome face; I’m here to make my cash and split.
The humor smooths out as we walk nearer to the club.
Shawn’s hand crosses over to my arm and he grabs hold. It only mildly hurts. My reflex would be to smack him away, but I don’t. There’s too much at stake here. My abdominals tremble with fear and excitement. I don’t want to displease him. I want my ten-grand, yes, but there’s something else. It’s a wriggling pit in my stomach. Don’t make the rich handsome man angry.
“Penny Windsor. Rich daddy. You don’t know either of my guys. Look cute and dumb,” he whispers in my ear.
His breath hits my ear and skin, and I let a wistful breath escape my glossy red lips.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I say in a voice that’s way stronger than I feel.
My reservations butt at my skull like bleating little rams. I really don’t know if this will be easy. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into. Part of me wants to ask for the cash right away. Shouldn’t he have given it to me first? He said five before and five after. But his severity cuts through the bubbling questions in my mind. Later should be fine, shouldn’t it?
The club is called Domino, and lights escape the darkened entryway like beams of galactic magic. As we enter into a throng the rising beat of a popular electronic song pulses through my body, rattling my teeth. I glance back at Alexi, and he gives me a warning glance. Oh, right. I don’t know him.
But damn the music makes me want to dance. Maybe I’m sappy or emotional, but music has always gotten to me. Music is what pulled me out of depression, picked up the broken shards of my soul, and pieced them back tog
ether again. Music was my mother. She told me to be strong even when the lonely nights destroyed me, or when I felt like dying. No matter what, the pain and suffering could never lure all of me into its salivating jaws.
I want to dance. I need to, really. I can’t wait to shake my ass and make them blush.
Shawn pulls me back through hall after hall, dance floor after dance floor. The tiles glow blue and have domino dots on them. There are neon signs and décor slashing my vision every time I move my head a fraction. The theme is very techno alien if that’s a thing.
I nearly bump into one of the cages where there’s a girl hanging upside-down, ass in the air, stripping her shirt off her smooth fake tits in slow sensual waves. Her skin is flecked with glow-in-the-dark paint, and her lips are neon pink.
“Come on.”
Shawn tugs me past her, and we’re finally where he wants us to be. I assume. Because there’s a neat little circular booth and a private dance floor, and his eyes are hooked on it. Beautiful men and women grind and gyrate on the dance floor, moving together like some weird collective organism. It makes me think of bugs.
Shawn draws me towards the large booth where a few men who, I’ll admit, make my gut turn. Okay, maybe Shawn, Rhett, and Alexi are angels. They’re golden boys in comparison. The one at the center has a scar on his lip, greasy black hair, and beady bold eyes that roll around as if he’s bored with the world. The second is a bit slimmer than him, but I can see the resemblance. They both have horribly scarred faces, slicked black hair, and hollow gazes that give me a gut reaction. And I don’t get those often.
There are a few others, but they don’t catch my attention. Except, wait. Rhett? Rhett, the bad boy from earlier who’s supposed to be Shawn’s roommate is sitting there on the other side of these surly men. I swallow hard and force my gaze away from him. I shouldn’t linger too long.
The two men at the center rise. They’re wearing black suits. A gold chain necklace wraps around the main guys’ neck, and another hangs from his pocket. He looks…important. Like he knows it too.