“Please, just give me time. I’ll pay you back every cent. With interest.”
“Every cent,” Philip repeated with a rueful laugh. “Old friend, you’ve just told me that you gambled your savings account away and that there is a lien on your property and cars that the bank is ready to repossess. To make matters worse, your wife is now sick, and I’m sure she knows nothing of this. Did I get everything?”
Amara’s heart was nestled in her throat so tightly that she couldn’t even gasp. She was stunned that her father would put their family in such a situation—especially knowing her mother’s health was so poor. Amara wondered what would happen if they lost everything they owned. Where would they go? This was the house she grew up in. Amara never wanted to move out of Westchester; she’d dreamed of taking her kids to visit their grandparents in that very house someday. And their cars? They could just go and take their cars? What would her mother say? She’d be heartbroken. Her mother was always keeping up appearances—always trying to show her own father that she was fine without his help. She would be devastated if they lost everything.
“Please,” her father pleaded; he sounded like he was crying, which made Amara worry more. “I only need some money up front. Anna will need the money. I will sell my house—I will sell my cars to pay you back—but I cannot give you what you want. My daughter is not for sale.”
Her heart lurched to her throat so quickly, she thought she was going to faint. She saw Philip around all the time, and he was always watching her —always waiting. This night, he was dressed in a tuxedo, standing beside a woman in a red dress. They were looking at Amara, scrutinizing her as they exchanged words. Philip raised the champagne flute he held in his hand in a salute, and Amara could feel her knees slowly giving out beneath her.
“Mar, you’re scaring me, are you having dizzy spells again?” He stopped walking and faced her, holding both of her arms. Amara was still looking in Philip’s direction, and Colin’s eyes followed.
“You all right?” he asked again.
She could feel Colin’s eyes on her as she nodded, but she couldn’t break Philip’s icy blue gaze. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.”
SHE WAS SEVEN when her parents moved to the United States. At the time, going from a small shack in the outskirts of Iran (a product of being shunned by her very wealthy grandfather), to a castle in New York, made it seem like they were living a dream in the land of opportunity. Lying in silk sheets, bathing in gold baths, drinking from crystal glasses, and eating from silver spoons made it feel that way as well, although for years she’d felt like an outsider. Even though she knew English, she’d had an accent. She hadn’t look different from the next girl, with her straight black hair and olive skin, but she’d felt different. Amara didn’t even dress in her native attire —she’d wore the new trends just like her friends Kylie and Samantha, but she hadn’t acted the way they did.
She didn’t have a self-righteous personality, take things for granted, or talk back to her parents. And so, for a chunk of her childhood, Amara had been cast as an outsider. It wasn’t until she’d reached puberty and began to grow breasts and her hair grew into dark, luminous, sheets of silk, that she started to get attention from boys. And wherever boys went, girls followed, so Amara had made friends with the popular crowd and found herself fit in. She had been joyful until that pivotal visit from Philip. After that night, something changed in Amara. Once your innocence is taken away, nothing can replace it, and when she thought about it, that’s what effect Philip had seemed to have on her. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret that night, because she felt she’d done the right thing. The only thing.
“I... I cannot... I won’t agree to this,” her father said. “We’ll figure something out.”
“It will be too late. Anna will be gone,” Philip said. His voice was light and cutting.
A chair screeched against the kitchen floor, and Amara knew Philip was finally leaving. Her hands shook as she stood from where she’d been sitting, holding on to the table beside her. Tears began to pool her eyes as she thought about what she’d overheard, about her mother, the gambling, life, as she knew it.
Her entire body trembled as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said.
Both her father and Philip looked at her in surprise.
“Amara!” her father shouted.
Philip laughed in amusement, throwing his head back. When he straightened, he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was anything but humor. Amara’s stomach coiled in disgust—in fear.
“It’s done then,” he said. “I will come back for you.”
That was the first promise Philip Batiste made to her.
She hadn’t had a choice. She was a good person and would do anything for her mother. She was her best friend —her confidante—and because of that, Amara knew things her father didn’t. Also because of that, she’d spoken up that night. She’d never realized she would actually have to pay.
As if her mother had heard her daughter’s thoughts, Amara’s phone began to vibrate in her hands.
“Hi, Mom.” She smiled, as she waited for her mother’s sing-song voice to come through.
“Hey, sweetie, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Walking to class.”
“Graduation next week,” her mother said with enthusiasm. “Do you and Colin have any big plans?”
Amara smiled. “Not that I know of, but I’m sure he’ll think of something, you know him.”
Her mother laughed. “Yes, he’s a good boy.”
“How do you feel?” Amara asked, holding her breath.
Her mother sighed. “I’ve been better. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow.”
That stopped Amara dead in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“I just feel so tired lately, Mara. I don’t want to worry you. I’ll let you know what they tell me,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.
“Call me as soon as you leave the doctor’s office.”
“I will. I love you,” her mother said.
“I love you too,” Amara responded, wishing she could go home to her mother that instant.
Her day at school was a blur; she couldn’t focus on anything any of her teachers were saying, because her mind was elsewhere the entire time. By the time the last class ended, she was glad to be going to work, hoping it served as a better distraction. The city was eerily quiet as Amara strolled to her uncle’s restaurant. She kept her eyes down, looking at her boots and the other feet that passed her. Amara saw a pair of men’s dress shoes touch her toes after she realized that she’d bumped into him. When she looked up to apologize, she was looking into Philip’s eyes. She backed away quickly, blinking rapidly as her heart began to hammer. That was the day he would have his talk with her.
“It’s time,” he said and turned away, leaving Amara with her mouth hanging open.
She sputtered, unable to produce words. A surge of wind hit her face and swept her long bangs into her eyes. Amara pushed her hair from her face as she watched Philip’s figure get lost in the sea of people that crowded the sidewalk.
A shiver passed through her as she repeated the words he said to her.
It’s time.
AMARA’S HANDS WERE shaking as she clocked in at work. She didn’t stop feeling as though she was walking on eggshells until there was still no sign of Philip after she’d served her fourth customer of the night. She was breathing easily when the next customer walked in. Amara picked up a menu and walked over to her, putting on her brightest smile as she approached.
“Good afternoon. I’m Amara and I’ll be your server today,” she said.
The woman looked up at her from under the brim of a large straw hat with big, red roses on the side. The woman gave her a knowing look, appraising her for a moment longer than natural. Self-conscious, Amara had to look away, pretending she was looking toward the kitchen.
“Amara Maloof, you may want to
take a seat,” the woman said.
Amara’s head snapped to the woman, who was gesturing to the empty booth in front of her. The woman was probably in her late forties, so she could have been a friend of the family. She did look familiar, even though Amara couldn’t pinpoint where she knew her from, but still... there was something.
“Do I know you?” Amara asked, crinkling her eyebrows.
The woman raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. It was the mannerism that hit Amara like a dodge ball. She was the woman that had been beside Philip the other night. Amara began to tug on her apron nervously. A look behind her confirmed that she could still see Kyle in the kitchen. Finally, realizing she needed to hear what the woman had to say, Amara let out a deep breath and slid into the booth. Her shaky hands wrung together on her lap as she met the woman’s eyes.
“No need to be scared, Mademoiselle,” the woman said. Her thick, French accent made Amara feel panicky.
Amara focused on breathing, swallowed back her fear, and asked the only question she could think of. “Why now?”
The woman shook her head, smiling. It was just as warm as it was vile, and it made Amara’s skin crawl. “My name is Vivienne LaRue, and I am here to offer you a job. You’ll make a lot of money,” she said, as her eyes darted around the restaurant with distaste. “A lot more than you’re making here.”
Amara licked her lips. “And if I don’t want another job?”
Vivienne raised her penciled, thin eyebrows and twisted her lips. “You made a deal once, as I’m sure you remember.”
“I do, but it’s been...”
“Five years.”
“Right. Five years.”
“Your parents still live in the same house, correct? Drive the nice cars... maybe your mother doesn’t frequent shops as much, but still has her things. She got her treatment, her medical bills paid. Who do you think made that possible?”
Amara’s throat tightened as she listened to Vivienne. She knew, of course, that she was telling the truth. She just hoped there was something she could do to avoid this situation. When nothing dawned on her, she sagged into the seat behind her.
“Why now?” she asked again.
“Why not?”
“I’ve been saving money.”
“Not enough.”
“How do you know?” Amara asked defiantly.
Vivienne laughed lightly and took out one sheet of paper from her briefcase. She placed it in the center of the table, facing Amara.
“My father owes Philip over four million dollars?” she asked, glancing at the paper. It sounded like a shriek, and she looked around quickly to make sure nobody had overheard.
“Correct. Plus...” Vivienne pointed at the rest of the columns.
Amara gaped at Vivienne. “This can’t be right,” she whispered.
In total, Amara’s father owed Philip over ten million dollars. Ten million. Vivienne took out all of the statements paid and the bank account information. Page upon page was filled with numbers. It was further confirmation that Amara was stuck in a bind—one that she wasn’t sure she could get out of.
“How will I ever make that kind of money? How will I ever pay that back?” she asked as the ropes in her chest continued to coil and tighten.
“Like I said, you will be making a lot of money,” Vivienne said.
“What kind of job is this?”
“You’ll be compensated to be at the service of very wealthy men, sometimes women. Mostly men. Some are government employees, some are Wall Street, some are bored, and all are wealthy.”
“When you say service...”
“I mean service. Could be a number of things, though I don’t think Philip wants you to perform any sexual favors for them, as he’s just cashing in on what he’s owed.”
Amara hugged her body as a shiver ran through her. “Sexual favors? Wouldn’t that make me a whore?”
“Terms such as whore leave such a distaste in my mouth,” Vivienne said.
Amara’s mouth dropped. Vivienne didn’t really refute the idea, which gave Amara no peace of mind. What in the world had she signed herself up for?
“But I mean, my father... I’ll have to consult with him, I’m sure he’s been able to pay Mr. Philip some money back. And they must have come to some sort of agreement. I mean...” Amara looked at the papers in front of her, again hoping an answer would pop out at her.
“Oh, child, but you are the agreement,” Vivienne said. “Amir signed off on it. It was how he got out of his end of the bargain.”
She opened the briefcase once more and took a small stack of legal-sized papers out, sliding them to her. Amara raised the stack in her shaky hands and leafed through it. It was a contract. Her head felt light as her eyes scanned the pages, and she was sure that if she hadn’t been sitting down, she would have passed out.
“Ohmygod.”
Amara’s mouth hung open as she stared at her father’s signature on page six under “TERMS OF AGREEMENT.” The tears filling her eyes began to fall onto the paper as she tried to make sense of her situation. Her father, who had been so adamant in keeping her out of this whole thing before, had signed off on her? This couldn’t be right.
“I have to call him,” she managed to choke out, before sliding out of the booth and running to the back of the diner. The phone rang twice before he picked up.
“Amara, how are you?” her father answered.
“I just got a visit from a lady who showed me a contract that you signed off on so that I can be some sort of whore. Dad...how could you?” she asked, her voice breaking.
The line was silent.
“Dad?” she said, wiping the tears trickling down her face.
“They said you wouldn’t perform any sexual favors, just keep them company, Amara. It will be good money. I wouldn’t just sign off like that,” her father explained lamely.
She wondered if he signed it because he wasn’t planning, willing, or able to pay any of the money back. Amara felt sick at the thought of her own father using her as an out. For what? So he could continue his gambling habit?
“Your mother needs this, Mara,” he said quietly. “Her health is very, very bad. Philip knows a great doctor that can help her.”
Amara closed her eyes and let the liquid seep through her long lashes. Her mother. She had to think about her mother’s health.
“Does she know?” she asked, hoping he could hear her whisper.
“No! This is between me and Philip.”
“And me!” Amara said, grinding her teeth together.
“You agreed to this!” His voice was hard. She could picture him glaring at her and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks, the way he did when he was angry.
“I was seventeen!” Her voice was a hoarse yell, and was welcomed by silence. After a long moment of no response, she spoke up again.
“Are you still gambling?” She began wiping the latest tears away as her rage continued to overshadow her sadness.
“I... Amara, you know it helps me release stress. I’m very stressed in my job and with your mother’s health.”
“So you are?” she repeated. “Say it, damn you. I want to hear you say it!”
“I am,” he all but whispered.
His words punched her in the chest with each syllable.
“You put your debt responsibilities on your twenty-two year old daughter, yet you’re still gambling? You don’t care about Mother. You don’t care about my future or me. You only care about yourself.”
Amara hung up the phone and clutched it tightly in her hand so that she wouldn’t throw it against the wall. Pushing her shoulders back, Amara walked over to Vivienne with a new purpose. She wouldn’t let her father or Philip have the last say in this. Amara slid back into the booth and picked up the papers again, this time skimming through each page and the fine print at the end. In short, it was a two-year contract that required her to be free of relationships. The words almost made her sob.
What would that mean for
her and Colin? Would she have to give him up? Would he let her? Amara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, not wanting to think about that. The rest of it was simple: be on call, on time, dress in the required clothing, no sexual favors unless Amara agreed to them. Vivienne would provide a furnished apartment for her—clothing, food, and anything else she would need. The last stipulation in the contract was that she was not to get a job until her two years were up. Whatever money she made in the escort service, she would give to Philip, so she would essentially make no money. After her first three months, like in most jobs, she would be reevaluated and considered for a bonus, in which case she would keep some money.
Amara dropped the contract and buried her face in her hands. “I sort of have a boyfriend,” she said. Her hands muffled her voice, but she knew Vivienne could hear her.
“I know. Colin Wolfe. Son of Demetrius and Willa Wolfe. His father is the CEO of Wolfe Investment Group, along with a couple of other high profile companies.”
Amara screwed her eyes shut under her hands, appalled by it all.
“Does Philip know this as well?”
Vivienne laughed at her muffled question, and Amara dropped her hands and looked up at her amused face. “Philip knows everything about your life. Yes, he knows this.” She shook her head, as if she wanted to say more, but stopped herself from doing so.
“How can I just leave him?” Amara asked in a strained voice. Her heart hurt just thinking about it.
“Your graduation is next week. You have a job in Paris that has been offered to you. You cannot turn it down, and you think it’s better to cut ties now because you do not want to hurt him,” Vivienne said, fabricating the outrageous story in seconds.
Amara gaped at her. “I can’t tell him that. I can’t just lie to him.”
“You won’t be lying to him. You are going to Paris at the end of next week and will be gone indefinitely. When you are ready and well trained, we will bring you back to the States.”
She sucked in a breath at the mention of training for the job. Emotions swirled inside of her. Amara continued to smother the fear that threatened to seep through with the last ounces of courage she had left. Her mother —she needed to think about her mother. Amara had dreamed of going to Paris, but her dream had always included Colin. She thought about the cancerous tumor that was clouding her mother’s brain. The thought of a life without her in it was the only thing Amara needed to consider in order to come up with the same conclusion she had five years ago.
The Devil's Contract Page 2