Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (14 page)

Alone
, I thought.
 

Clearly, this is some sort of a twisted game. None of the girls seem to have known the others before arriving, and either nobody knows the big
whys
and
whats
or they’re all playing dumb. Even Logan, Tony, and Richard seem to be on a need-to-know basis —
needing to know
only that there are twelve women around who may require their services. I haven’t run across any more public displays, but I’ve heard a few. A few grunts and groans from rooms with ajar doors I choose not to enter; at least one loud request to “come all over my face.” I don’t think those words would ever voluntarily leave my mouth. I wonder at the kind of person who would yell them for all to hear and decide that more than ever, I need to get the hell out of here. Now. Before I get in too deep.
 

Before I do something stupid like let some guy finger me in front of some people fucking up against a wall.
 

Twice now, I’ve zipped up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and put my hand on the doorknob, with every intention of leaving. But something always stops me.

Maybe it’s the money.

If I stay the night, I’ll get ten thousand dollars that I desperately need. I even confirmed that figure with the new girl, who I caught walking past my room. At least I assumed she was new, based on the fact that I didn’t see her in the front room earlier and she looked almost as shell-shocked as I still feel. She had straight, dark-brown hair, was tall, with full lips and light freckles. Her name was Jessica. And when I introduced myself and made pointed conversation, she told me her numbers were the same.

I asked her, did Daniel just fly out to pick her up?
 

She told me she’d received an invitation, same as I had, with the same series of progressive offers.

Then I said, putting on false salaciousness, “Daniel is hot as hell, isn’t he?”
 

And Jessica nodded and smiled.

“I hear a lot of the girls
had sex with him,”
I half whispered in my gossip voice. Practically giggling, feeling sick with the pretense.
 

“Really?” she said.
 

Because of course, Daniel hadn’t fucked her, either.
 

When Jessica moved on, I retreated to my room. And killed time, knowing I should act but unsure what exactly I meant to do.
 

Why are you here, Bridget Miller?

Daniel’s voice, purring into my ear as his fingers made me come.
 

Even though I’ve never been able to stand you, you were always my favorite.

I don’t know Daniel Rice. The first time I heard from him was when he called my phone sex line — my lucrative hobby that helps pay the bills — the hobby that was never even sexual for me until the night it was. I first saw Daniel in the club, when he came at me with that mixture of lust and anger in his dark eyes. When I willingly crossed all of my personal lines, and he left me wanting more.

I look in the mirror. Wondering if I’m really here in this place after all. Maybe it’s all a dream.
 

Maybe it’s a nightmare.

I feel watched.
 

I want to shower, but given the over-my-shoulder sensation I feel at every turn, I’m convinced that someone will see me change if I do. I want to take a nap to pass the time but can’t fight the sense that unseen eyes would watch me sleep. Being awake is a curious kind of torture. I keep thinking of how I got here, and how nobody forced me to come. Every step along the way, I chose this. I wasn’t even coerced by the money. I’d never do anything for money that I didn’t otherwise want to do. My dignity is worth more than that. But the money …

The money, I’m afraid, has been a convenient excuse.
 

Stay through the night for another $10K. And the next day is $10K, and the day after that. Enough to pay all my debts and then some. Enough to buy — not rent — my dream studio. Still not enough to solve things with Linda, but closer than I’d ever have thought possible.
 

But that’s not why I’m still here. It’s part of it, sure. But money alone doesn’t push my buttons.
 

Your problem is that you’ve never let yourself want what you want. You won’t allow yourself to desire what you desire.

I wish I wasn’t so sure that there were hidden cameras. Because from all I’ve gathered, this strikes me as a filthy reality show. Like Survivor with fucking. If I stay through dinner, they’ll probably tell us the rules. Trevor Ross, our host, is supposed to finally show himself. Near as I can tell, this is Who Wants to Fuck a Billionaire? An absurd concept, but I swear half or more of the women I’ve seen — many of whom have been giving me ice-cunt stares as we pass in the hallway — would love the chance. So if I can just stay, I’ll find out what’s really happening. What we’re supposed to do to win, even though I absolutely don’t care to. I want to milk the system: stay and rake in some cash without stepping across any lines.
 

Except with Daniel.
 

Who is for some reason off limits.
 

Which doesn’t matter because I don’t know Daniel and would love to get the hell away from him — because it seems I’m only capable of the poorest decisions in his presence.
 

If I stay through dinner, they’ll tell us how this little competition is supposed to work. They’ll tell us if we’re being watched, and where they’re hiding the cameras. They’ll tell us if the bathroom is safe, which it by all rights should be because even slaves deserve some privacy. And if I knew it was safe, I could at least feel comfortable in here. I could relieve some stress with my fingers or the detachable shower massager, if the mood struck me.
 

My fingers linger as I sit. I press where the pressure won’t stop building. I squeeze my muscles, both inside and out. Can I make myself come without it being obvious to anyone watching or offering a show? Maybe I could climb under the covers and do it that way. But if I did, they’d know what I was up to even if they couldn’t see my goodies. And if there’s one thing I don’t want to give this
whatever-it-is
, it’s satisfaction.

As I resettle myself in the bedroom, there’s a knock on my door.
 

At first, I ignore it. There’s nobody here I want to talk to.
 

Erin passed as I was talking to Jessica, and she wouldn’t meet my eye. It was fine because I couldn’t meet hers. I don’t know anything about Erin, and I’m aware just how absurd it would be to judge her given what I was doing during her little interlude … and, if I’m honest, how much I secretly enjoyed the show. But we started out on one foot and are now on another, making the ground beneath us unknown and uncertain. I expect our next conversation to be awkward now that Erin’s made
come-join-us
eyes at me in the heat of passion, now that I know how she trims her pubic hair and what she sounds like when she comes.
 

I liked Jessica when we spoke, but ironically I’m afraid to know her. I like to keep my friends on one side and my fantasies on another, and it feels like a matter of time before this place swallows Jessica same as it swallowed Erin. We could have been girlfriends back home. Three fun gals who knew where the lines were drawn. But now Erin is on the other side of that line, and I can’t imagine Jessica will take long to follow.
 

So who’s left? Logan, whose sideways smile makes me think he already knows what I look like naked? Richard, who looks as sweet as Erin but who, if I wanted, I could command to make camp between my legs? Or Tony — our tour guide who went from affable to thrusting beast on a dime?
 

The knock comes again. Light. Considerate. As if the person on the other side is afraid to bother me.
 

“Bridget?”
 

Daniel. But the voice and the knock are so unlike what I’ve seen of him, I ask anyway. “Who is it?”
 

“It’s Daniel. From the interview.”
 

I just stare at the door.
From the interview.
As if there would be any question. Depending on your definition of things, we’ve had sex up to three times now. The way he feels it necessary to explain makes my brow bunch up, my mouth form a frown.
 

“Can I please see you for a moment?”
 

I don’t know what else to do. So I open the door.
 

He’s dressed in a tux, and holding a single rose.
 

He eyes me up and down, taking his time. His assessing look is, now, somehow different than before.
 

He holds the rose out to me. It doesn’t have a long stem. I look closer, and see that it doesn’t have much of a stem at all. In his other hand is a straight pin with a round white head.
 

“Do you mind? I can never do this right.”
 

It’s a boutonniere. I don’t know what else to do and it seems petty to refuse, so I pin the rose to his lapel. Its scent is rich and evocative, and Daniel’s musk is beneath it, which I now realize I’ve been smelling on myself all day.
 

I look up expecting to see a
gotcha
look on his face and realize that this strange interlude was yet another trial. To see if I can be domestic as well as submissive. To test me out for his boss, to see if I’d be to Trevor Ross’s liking. And maybe I’ll see lust in his eyes again. I desperately want to leave this place. But as I hear the rhythm of Daniel’s breath above me and feel the rise and fall of his chest as my finger pushes the pin the rest of the way, I realize that part of me wants him even more.

But Daniel’s just smiling. A familiar grin I seem to know from somewhere, beyond all of this.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I’m sure it’s tacky to walk through a billionaire’s arboretum barefoot, but I don’t give a shit. I won’t try it in heels. I took them off as we neared the garden door, but when I realized we were headed for an interior space instead, I set them down by the entrance. There’s one way in and one way out, so I won’t miss them.

“I made a mistake,” he tells me.
 

We’re walking past an azalea bush. There’s some sort of tall grass on the opposite side, not the kind of thing I’d expect in a place meant to showcase plants. Ahead I see glass within glass, and wonder if you can put one greenhouse inside another. If you can, I’d bet that’s where the roses came from. We’re headed that way. But then we turn, and we’re passing a fountain with a stone mermaid in the center, standing on her tail, spewing water from her mouth.
 

I feel my lip curling. He means the money. It’s not ten thousand dollars a day after all. Because that would be absurd.
 

“I thought the offer seemed too generous,” I say. “At first, I figured I misheard you, but then I talked to one of the others and she said — ”
 

“It’s not that. I shouldn’t even have brought you here.”
 

I stop. I turn. Immediately, my hackles are up.
 

“Just me?”
 

“It was a mistake. I regret it.”
 

A bitter smile touches my lips. It makes sense, but that doesn’t change how much it pisses me off. Not because I’m apparently being ousted, but because of what the situation has made me do under false pretenses. I used to think I couldn’t be bought, but this man and his unseen boss have proved me wrong, just as Daniel said. Everyone has their price, and the real cost for me isn’t missed opportunity. It’s truth about who I am and how far my integrity actually extends. Or, as the case may be,
doesn’t
.

“So that’s it? Nothing for Bridget? You told me you knew my situation. You used it to get me here. And if you try to back out of paying me now, I’ll — ”

“You misunderstand. I made a mistake. But now it’s too late to fix it.”
 

I stop ranting. My mouth slowly closes.
 

“Tell me,” he says. “Why didn’t you take Tony?”
 

I shake my head.
 

“Tony. He was supposed to … ” Daniel trails off. “When he took you around, he was for you, not Erin.”

Now that my mind reels back, I guess that makes sense. He kept looking at me, but it wasn’t possessive like Daniel. It was almost shy. The look of a man who’s eager to do a lady’s bidding but won’t act until asked. I noticed the glances. They even stirred something inside me. But Erin picked up on the energy, and I was happy to keep her between us.
 

“You expected me to have sex with some random guy? Just to score points in your stupid little contest? A contest that nobody has even explained?”
 

“No, Bridget. That’s what you’re not understanding. I expected you to be yourself.”

“I’m not following.”
 

“Everyone here, we’ve profiled within a certain margin of error. It’s not hard to predict behavior once you know someone and their triggers. For all of us, civilization gets in the way. It complicates things that are supposed to be simple. There is how we
mean
to act, and then there is a layer atop it that determines how we
should
and
shouldn’t
act. Remove the shoulds and shouldn’ts, and none of us, honestly, are all that hard to understand.”