“Because you’re working on something.”
Nerves churn my stomach. I’m not even sure I could back out now if I wanted to. The man outside is keeping anyone from hurting me—considering I’m worth more to Damon Scott alive than dead. What would the guard do if I tried to leave? It doesn’t matter, because I can’t go anywhere with my father attached to the hospital bed.
“That’s right. Now tell me how long you’re here. I want to stay up late and talk about what you’ve been doing since I left.”Chapter NineFor two blissful days Harper stays with me. She told her professor that her dog at home died, which seems like a horrible lie—and not very believable either—but she has a way of wrapping men around her little finger. Except for Christopher, unfortunately.
We melt squares of butter to pour over popcorn and watch Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. There aren’t any other beds in the house, so we turn it into a sleepover and share my bed. She even makes her grandmother’s recipe for clam chowder, which Daddy declares is delicious.
When a cab drives away with her Sunday afternoon, it feels like a cold splash of reality. The house is larger and emptier now that she’s gone. After sharing the last of the chowder with Daddy for lunch, I find some clippers in the tool shed.
For the next hour I attack the wayward branches, taming the bushes along the front of the house. They don’t look nearly as pretty as when we had landscapers, but that’s not the point.
My hands have blistered when I finally drop the metal shears to the grass.
I head inside, intent on a shower, when I hear the phone ring.
Landon has called twice more while Harper was here, and if it’s him, I’m not going to answer. The number is blocked, though, so I press the green Call button. “Hello?”
“Ms. Avery James,” comes the pleased male voice. Damon Scott.
I smooth my hair back as if he can see my wild-girl appearance. I probably look like I’ve been hacking my way through the rain forest right now. “Oh, hi.”
Paper shuffles on the line. “Are you ready for the big night?”
I’ll never be ready. “Do you have a date set?”
“This Saturday. The richest men in the city are panting to find out who you are.”
There’s no hiding from his knowing voice on the other end of the phone, but I still duck into the pantry and shut the door. Shame burns hotly on my cheeks. This Saturday. “I guess that’s good.”
“That’s excellent, trust me.”
“Said the spider to the fly.”
A low laugh. “This particular fly is going to get a very nice payday for her time in the web.”
I hope so or this would be pointless. “I don’t mean to be indelicate but…”
My breath catches because I’ve been taught so strenuously never to mention money. Never to appear weak. I know I need to break those habits. I’m no longer the wealthy, privileged daughter of one of the city’s most venerable businessmen. But talking about money is still as hard as touching myself, forbidden for long enough to make it physically painful.
Oh God, this Saturday.
“How much money will you earn?” he says easily. “It depends on the tenor of the evening, how high we can push the bidding. I think you’re looking at a couple hundred thousand, at least.”
“A couple hundred…” My voice trails off, and I feel faint. At one time those kinds of numbers wouldn’t have fazed me. There were savings accounts and investment funds galore. All of that has evaporated into nothing. A couple hundred thousand dollars would pay the real estate bill several times over. I’d be able to keep the house and pay for a full-time nurse.
“Maybe more. We’ll have to play it by ear.” I can hear his smile over the phone. “Naturally I want my percentage to be as high as possible.”
“Naturally,” I say, still feeling faint. I guess this is what hope feels like. “And they won’t…they won’t hurt me?”
I can’t forget what the man said to me in the narrow hallway, about my father’s enemies taking recompense out of my skin. How much can I endure for a month? Sex, definitely. But pain?
“Look, I won’t lie to you,” he says. “Some of the men attending dabble in some of the more…daring sexual activities, I’ll say. It’s a natural consequence of dealing with rich men, with too much time and money on their hands to be content with plain old vanilla.”
Does he count himself in that group? Probably. I press my hand to my eyes, trying not to imagine him doing things that are daring. I especially don’t want to imagine Gabriel Miller doing anything at all.
“There have to be boundaries, right?”
“Of course. You’ll be the same girl coming out that you were going in. Nothing permanently harmed or changed. Except for one small portion of your anatomy.”