“The yellow bracelet? What does that mean? What are the other bracelets for?”
But she’s already left the bathroom while I’ve been asking my million questions. Now she’s gathering her coat and purse from the living room.
I guess the significance of the yellow bracelet— or any kind of bracelet at all— is just one of the many things I’m going to have to find out for myself tonight.
Chapter 3 – Maxim
I look at my watch for what seems like the hundredth time this afternoon, as my father and my business partner, Steve, order another drink at the Palacio bar, which is located in the lobby of the bank building where our offices are. It’s been a hell of a day and I just want to get out of here. But my dad’s not a huge fan of where I’m going so I need to find a way to sneak out without incurring his wrath.
“So, how is the merger with Adams Capital looking?” my dad asks.
Great. This is the second subject of conversation I had wanted to avoid. In addition to the one about where I’m headed next.
“Fine,” I tell him, even though I had just gotten into a shouting match with Adams Capital’s lawyer about the due diligence work.
I don’t like to tell my father things that will upset him. He has a bad temper. And he thinks that because he started our finance company that he’s the boss and that because he’s the boss he can do and say what he wants. He fails to realize that as the Chief Operating Officer, I’m in the trenches all day, doing the dirty work that needs to be done so that our company continues to flourish.
He has no respect for me, but that’s okay. I know my worth. It’s over four billion dollars, last time I checked. $4.3 billion, to be exact, in my share of equity and stocks. Not to mention a huge house, three vacation houses, a private jet and a Lamborghini.
But the problem is that it’s all tied up in company interests and attached to my dad’s name as much as mine. So, I have to be careful to always stay in very good graces with him.
I watch the things I say— and don’t say— to my dad because the things that matter the most to him are image and status. Then, once I’ve made sure I’ve said— or not said— all the right things to please him, I turn around and do what I damn well please.
I know my dad has been through a lot. Mom left him when I was little and I spent most of my time with her, although I summered with my dad at his Cape Cod estate and then started working in his New York City office when I was in high school, which meant spending part of my time at an elite boarding school. It all added up to great work experience and now, many years later, I’ve helped my dad build our expanding Southwest and West Coast branches of the firm, including this one in Phoenix where we’re now headquartered.
My mom put my dad through an expensive divorce and tried to smear his name in the society papers but he has always lived a lifestyle beyond reproach— she is the one who cheated on him and left him for the fucking pool boy.
He had the upper hand morally but he still can't get over the stigma of the scandal. That's why he cares so much about where I go and who I see in my free time.
By the time the divorce was finalized I was fourteen and the courts were happy to let me choose which of my parents I wanted to live with. I chose him. My mom acted righteously indignant but I think that was just because her pride was hurt. She seemed happy enough to ride off into the sunset with the ridiculous pool boy.
I could never really forgive my mom, on my dad’s account. You’d think she’d at least pick someone who didn’t look like a teenager everywhere except for his bulging steroid- induced muscles.
How she went from my dad to the pool boy is beyond me. I suppose once she cashed in on her alimony she was set for life and didn’t need my dad anymore. That’s why I’ve always avoided gold digging girls; they remind me too much of my mom.
Sure, I’ll have my fun with them but they are not worthy of settling down with. I don’t want to settle down at all, but certainly not with someone who was a gold digger like my mom was.
I admire my dad’s strength although sometimes I wish he’d get down off his high horse. Just because Mom cheated on him doesn't mean that everyone has to act like a fucking altar boy.
He remarried a nice church girl who came from a family with a lot of money. My stepmom is all right and they have a solid marriage. But I don’t think he ever got over my mom and I for one have learned that commitment is for suckers.
I don’t know how he could ever re-marry again after what my mom put him through. I certainly don’t plan to follow in his footsteps in that regard. He has taught me everything he knows about business and finance but he doesn’t even try to teach me about relationships and that’s good because I don’t want to be in one.
I’ve learned from him that relationships aren’t for me. Dirty, kinky sex with strangers is more up my alley. I like to use them, abuse them and leave them.
I especially like to turn good little girl virgins into my sex slaves for a night or two. They might not have their hymen intact when I’m done with them but at least I’ll still have my heart and my head and my dignity— unlike my poor pa.
Chapter 4 – Maxim
“How’s the due diligence coming along?” Steve asks me now, but I shoot him a look that says I don’t want to fucking talk about it.
I had been lost in the thoughts whirling around my head. My dad has that effect on me, which is why I don’t often like to be around him these days even though I appreciate all he’s done for me in the past. Steve’s question jolts me out of my own little world, but I’m not happy that he asked it.
When he sees my narrowed eyes and pursed lips, Steve shirks back in his chair and mumbles, “We’ll talk about it at our morning meeting tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” I say, grateful for my excuse to leave. “I’ve got to head out.”
“You’re leaving already?” the bartender pouts, and my eyes shoot her daggers.
As usual, she doesn’t seem to notice that I don't enjoy her badgering me in between drinks— or when I'm trying to dart out.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she continues. “Any big plans?”
I shake my head.
Jenna has worked here for years and is friendly and competent at her job, but she’s a little too damn nosy and talkative. Sometimes I just want to be able to bolt out of this place without having to answer a million questions.
“No,” I tell her, resolutely.
“You’re not going to that awful club, are you?” my dad asks.
I shrug.
“Why don’t you take Jenna here out on a date?” Steve suggests, a sly smile spreading across his face.
I know he’s joking and he’s probably doing it to diffuse tension but I turn my glare away from my father and aim it at Steve now. He doesn’t need to be encouraging Jenna. She’s been infatuated with me for a long time and would probably cut out on work if she thought I would agree to Steve’s suggestion, even if it meant losing her job.
Lots of women want to fuck me. I’m rich but I also happen to be good-looking and well-hung. These women think they can show me a good time but they don’t know what sort of depraved things I’m into. No one does, although my father has some sort of a clue, and obviously disapproves.
“That’s a great idea that Steve has, Son,” he says now, nodding at Steve and then at me. He wouldn’t normally approve of me dating a bartender but he’d also do anything to get me out of going to the club.
“Very funny,” I tell them, pretending it’s all some big joke.
But I know that my dad’s patience with me is wearing thin. He wants me to act normal, settle down with a good girl, avoid going to The Exchange and be like every other middle aged man with a boring sex life and an apathetic relationship.
That’s not going to happen. I have to do a better job of acting like it’s going to happen, though, since Father Dearest still controls the wallet.
But not tonight.
Tonight, there’s a Valentine's Day auction at The Ex
change. And there's going to be a new girl there. As one of the VIP members, I’ve heard rumors that she’s only going to be there for this one night: A Valentine’s Day special.
I know I’ll be the highest bidder, because I have the most money to spend and I intend to buy her. And then I intend to do everything and anything I want with her: to explore my deepest, darkest, most depraved desires with her, since I will have bought her for what will undoubtedly be a lot of serious cash.
I fucking hope she’s worth it.
My cock hardens a bit just thinking about it.
There are only so many girls who are into the kind of sex I appreciate. Only so many who can take it from me. Who are willing to let me do what I need to do to them.
Even some girls who accept money for sex aren’t able to take on the kind of challenge I present. They aren’t able to be vulnerable enough, to give their whole bodies— and minds— to me so that I can do what I please with them.
There's a small pool to choose from and I appreciate them all, without getting close to any of them— which is the whole point of everything.
I always like when someone new starts at the Exchange. It’s rare to find a girl willing to put up with my preferences, my needs and desires. But I hope this new girl is one of them. Because I’m certainly prepared to spend a fortune on her.
As I head towards the door I hear my dad clucking his tongue at me and I’m reminded of another reason this girl better be worth it.
He says, “We’re going to talk later, Son.”
And I know that my days of frequenting The Exchange may be numbered.
This new girl had better let me take her. And I don’t mean to dinner.
She better be willing to let me enter her long, wide, slow, fast, gentle, hard or however else I want to. And then she’d better let me stay there for as long as I want, until I’ve had my fill of her and released my most primal desires inside her.
I need her to let me do as I please with her, and be a very, very, very bad boy. Because after this I have to start being good so that I can keep my fortune.
Chapter 5 – Celeste
I’m running late by the time I arrive at The Exchange and I’m worried that I’ll get Rachel in trouble. But no one seems to notice.
“Right this way,” says a security guard, walking me to a curtained-off room where beautiful women are milling about.
Some of them are drinking out of cocktail or wine glasses while others are applying their makeup or doing their hair.
“Hello,” says a high-pitched, nasal voice. I turn around to see a tall, skinny brunette, her hand outstretched. “I’m Bianca.”
“Celeste,” I tell her, shaking her hand.
She snaps her fingers and a tuxedo-clad waiter walks over to us, holding a tray full of drinks.
“Oh I don’t really…” I start to protest, but she picks up one of the glasses and hands it to me.
“You must be new,” she says, looking me up and down. I can’t tell whether the look is meant to be approving or not. “I haven’t seen you around.”
Before I can answer, she clinks her glass against mine.
“Cheers. You’ll really probably want this,” she insists.
I smile and then take a drink with her, the fruity liquid burning its way down my throat. I do my best not to grimace. It’s not like I’m an alcohol virgin.
I’ve had my share of wild drunken nights drinking wine coolers at high school parties. Rachel and I have had hot toddies at her apartment or a couple rum and cokes in my dorm room. I’ve even been to a frat party.
I just don’t particularly like drinking because I like to remain in control of all my faculties. I also didn’t think I should drink on the job, but apparently this job is different than most, in more ways than one.
“I’m filling in for Rachel tonight,” I tell Bianca.
“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding.
Suddenly her look definitely looks approving. Impressed, even.
“She told me she’d asked you to come in her place so she could spend Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend.”
“Yeah, instead of a lecherous old rich dude,” I joke.
The smile falls from her face and I realize that probably sounded judgmental. I should keep my comments to myself. I hate how socially awkward I always turn out to be.
“They’re all rich but they’re definitely not all old,” Bianca says. “Or not that old, anyway. Actually, many are trust fund guys or self-made tech billionaires. Some are nerdy— if you’re into geek culture— while others are charming, and quite handsome to boot.”
“Oh,” I tell her, trying to dig myself out of a hole.
It sounds like she’s running a matchmaking service instead of an… auction service. Is she running it? Is she the “Madam” here? Should I call her “Madam Bianca”? I have so many questions but I can’t ask them since my foot is still stuck in my mouth thanks to the last stupid comment I blurted out.
“I was just kidding,” I tell her quickly. “About them being super old. And about anything else I may have said that might have been taken the wrong way. Sorry about that. I’m nervous. This is my first time doing… this.”
Or anything like this. At all.
“In fact,” Bianca continues with a shrug, as she takes another sip of her drink, picking up where she left off, obviously without caring about what I was saying, “A lot of us wish we could date these guys. I know your BFF Rachel did, before she found her own rich guy who doesn’t know about her deep dark secret job.”
“She did?” I ask, annoyed that there was something this smug girl knows about Rachel that I didn’t.
I can’t tell if Bianca is being threatening, or welcoming. I know I probably offended her with my comment. And I’m glad that anyone here is talking to me. I thought I’d be a wallflower no one would want to look at.
But maybe she’s messing with me. I just never trust people and can never be sure of their intentions.
“Yeah, but Rachel suffers from the same problem that most of us do,” Bianca says, with another shrug.
“And what is that?” I ask.
“She’s a bit too wild and experienced for these guys to take seriously. It’s a conundrum, no doubt. Most girls only work here because they’re sexually open. But the majority of the guys who come here only seriously date the shy, innocent types. So, I think you’ll do well here.”
She raises her eyebrows at me knowingly.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, feeling stupid.
“Oh, just… you know,” she says, smirking. “You’re new here. You seem innocent. And you’re a virgin, right?”
I can feel the heat rushing to my face and I know it’s turning red.
“I… um…”
Damn Rachel.
Rachel has never had much of a filter but I can’t believe she told her co-workers— or at least this Bianca chick I’ve never heard of— that I’m a virgin. That’s a private fact about me. It’s not hers to share.
I would call and curse her out— even if she is at the dinner where she hopes to receive a marriage proposal— if we were allowed to have phones in here. Since we’re not, I’d left mine in the car and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to go out there and get it. But the first chance I have, I’m going to let her know how I feel.
I don’t have time to think any further about it— or to further answer Bianca’s prying question, because an older woman in a ball gown— Is she the Madam? Who the hell is the Madam? I can’t help but wonder —clinks a spoon against her wine glass and calls out, “Okay ladies, time to get this show on the road.”
Bianca pats my shoulder, as if to tell me I don’t have to formally answer her question— she already knows. Then she says, “Don’t forget your bracelet, hon.”
“Oh yeah,” I reply, looking around until my eyes fall on a table in the corner that has different colored bracelets lined up in rows.
I had imagined paper or rubber bracelets like the kind given out
at skating rinks, carnivals or clubs, to show who has paid or who is old enough to drink. Silly me. These are sparkling diamond bracelets, with different colored gems accenting the diamonds.
“Rachel said to get a yellow one.”
“You want a pink one tonight, Dear,” Bianca says, with a patronizing smile.
I look at her, distrusting her words.
How I wish I had a phone, and that I could confirm with Rachel. I had never been able to figure out why she had told me to wear a yellow one, or what it all even means.
“But Rachel said—” I insist.
“You were late and you didn’t hear Terri’s announcement about it being Valentine’s Day,” Bianca says, in a rush, as if she’s already tired of helping me. She nods towards the lady who had told us to get the show on the road. “Tonight, there are only Valentine’s colors and a different system.”
I look at the bracelets lined up on the table. Bianca’s right. There aren’t any yellow ones. Just red, pink and white.
Bianca winks at me as she holds open the curtain that leads out onto the stage. I guess I’m going to have to trust this tall, meddling stranger, because I don’t have any other choice. The bracelet color that Rachel instructed me to get is simply not an option.
It looks like I’ll be going with pink.
I gulp the rest of my drink down. Suddenly the waiter is back at my side.
“A shot, dear?” he asks, holding up a small glass full of clear liquid.
It’s tempting. I don’t know what awaits me out there and the cocktail I just finished sure feels good swirling around inside my veins and my mind. It aids me in not thinking too much, not asking too many questions like I usually do.
I look over at Bianca, who is waiting for me to join her as she goes out onto the stage. I’m afraid she’ll disapprove because we don’t have time, but she nods at me and winks, as if knowing how much I need this drink.
“I don’t really do shots…” I start to say, and the waiter places the tray on the table and holds up a smaller size glass full of the cocktail I’d just finished.
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