The Bound Bride (4 page)

Cassandra moved from her computer with a joyful squeal.

Tonight!

Chapter Five

Oliver Chambers needed a partner. It was the Met’s gala opening night. He had business to conduct. It would look better with a
Lady
on his arm.

Faye entered his office, ivory walls surrounding maroon furnishings, with a glass of lime tinged water on a tray. She peeked over his shoulder and saw him clicking through a series of familiar photos.

“I liked the redhead,” Faye said.

Oliver looked up at her with a wicked smile.

“You would.”

Faye set the glass down and grabbed his mouse. She clicked back to the redhead. Mallory.

“Yes, sir,” Faye said. “She’s
a keeper.”

Oliver looked at the soft face, all blue eyes and freckles. He liked Mallory. He’d had
fun
with Mallory. But it was
been there, done that.

“Then
you
keep her.”

Oliver took the mouse back and continued clicking through the pics. Faye sat on the edge of his desk and tousled his hair.

“Ollie, you’ve been through the entire catalog.”

He’d used the services too many times to count. It was convenient and quick and entirely affordable when he needed a pretty companion to smile at him and everyone
else
.

“Faye—”

She slapped his hand away from the keyboard.

“Enough, Ollie. You spend more time on this than you should. If it’s just a dinner date, heck. Even I
could fit the bill.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair. Faye. Now
there
was an idea.

She was lovely with her ebony, Louise Brooks bob and big brown eyes. She’d look every bit the part in something red and low cut. But despite all that they were, all that she was to him, it wasn’t like
that.

And Oliver Chambers never mixed business with pleasure.

Faye was a pro. She kept his appointments in order and in line. She reminded him of campaigns needing slogans and artwork. And she brought him back to reality each and every morning.

He needed that. He needed her.

But he could still have a
little
fun at her expense.

Oliver lifted his fingers to her lips. His eyes danced up Faye’s legs, concealed in the creases of her trousers.

“You could,” he said. “Lovely. Very nice.”

Faye moved her mouth to his. Oliver couldn’t help but be curious for her kiss.

Their lips nearly touched when Faye turned her head away and tenderly slapped his cheek with a laugh.

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

She
did
kiss the top of his head. Oliver could have taken her right then. But he didn’t want to hold her in place. He liked her leaving and coming back.

He liked her that way.

He returned to the
Leased Ladies
.

They were stunning and for the taking. He looked to Mallory again. She had proven herself a worthy conversationalist when they hit the Man of the Year dinner that honored a member of the firm where his father had gotten his start. Mallory was
worthy
because she steered the conversation away from his father and asked him what he wanted.

He wanted more than she could ever really offer.

More often than not, he paid for something
extra. The
Ladies
were only too eager to oblige. Oliver brought them to the hotel room he had on reserve for every conquest. The girls, the
Ladies
, were out of their gowns before he could search his pockets for a generous tip. It was for services rendered. Services they felt they hadn’t yet rendered, but Oliver still pressed the bills into their hands.

They always seemed satisfied when the nights drew to a close.

Faye was on her feet and dragged a chair to Oliver’s side.

“So?”

He gave her small smirk.

“So what?”

Faye looked at the screen and licked her lips.

“The redhead? Looks nice. You make it with her?”

The first chance he got. She’d stripped in the room before Oliver could remove his watch. Her freckles trailed down her entire frame. He had imagined the feel, the
taste
of them against his lips. When he finally got to sample her wares, she was all sugar vanilla and body glitter. And sweat from the reception hall. He didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked the slightly metallic warmth as he tasted the rest
of her in other ways.

Oliver nodded at Faye with a mischievous smile. Faye raised her eyebrows.

“And you liked?” Faye asked.

“I like them
all
,” Oliver said,

“Naturally. Stud.”

Each Lady served her purpose. Looked good, tasted good, and left before it got too heavy. Not that he was ever rude about it. He’d offer them a drink. Sometimes the romantics in the bunch would finagle a night in his arms and dream of breakfast in bed. And Oliver obliged. At least before the sun was up. But he was also sure to rise first and start dressing as he spoke of important meetings that he had to attend. It was code for this was nice, and
now it’s done. With the size of the tips he doled out, they were wise not to protest. But he was sure that they still hoped
for another chance on his arm.

Keep hoping, ladies.

Oliver clicked past Mallory to another girl.

“Really, Ollie? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing. I just don’t do repeats.”

“Well, la-di-da.!”

Faye could scoff all she wanted. Encores were not part of his repertoire. Once he’d had a shot at the girl, he was done. There was no
point in pretending that any of these
Ladies
could represent something long term. Not in the way he needed most. Long term for him meant something beyond parties and fundraisers. Something much different.

And he was fairly certain that no one would ever want to share it with him.

He continued scanning the gallery. He didn’t have a type. Lean and fit was preferable, but he’d take curves if the hair was right. The eyes were of no consequence. Brown or blue or hazel. It was as if he would never find—

Or
green
.

Oliver stopped at the eyes of
Trixie Carol
and blinked. It was like a glimpse at a yesterday he had tucked away and vowed to never revisit. Not because he didn’t want to see the eyes again. But it was too painful to think of them closed, never to reopen. Now a shiver ran up his spine at the image of the girl on the screen.

He clicked it into larger view.

On closer inspection, she was
not
a doppelganger for his ghost. She had a slim nose, high cheek bones, and straight eyebrows. The face in his memory was softer, rounder in every way possible. But the eyes had it. There was a similarity
so
close to identical.

Oliver wanted to learn more about her.

“That one’s okay,” Faye said as she scanned the profile more carefully. “Sort of plain. But pretty. I guess.”

Oliver couldn’t even hear Faye as she whispered the girl’s particulars under her breath.

Trixie Carol
. What was her real
name? Where had she come from? Where was she now? Would someone else snatch her up and pretend to show her a good time? Or was she destined to be broken before she even had a chance?

Oliver’s head was spinning, and he grasped the edge of his desk.

“Whoa! Ollie? You okay?”

He reached for his water and took a slow sip. Faye rubbed his shoulder and repeated her question.

“Of course,” he said. “Absolutely.”

He clicked to view her video confessional. The question was always the same. What were they looking for in a man? Some were only in the market for fun. Some like to hone their more nurturing instincts. Some liked to give because it felt fantastic
.

What would
Trixie Carol
have to say?

I… I want someone who’ll keep me… safe.

Now it was about more than the eyes. Oliver’s heart crept up his throat. She wanted to be safe. Oliver had a very definite opinion on the subject. He’d tried it once before. His reasons were sound, but the girl in question didn’t understand. If nothing else, Oliver learned from his mistakes. If he was careful as he stepped into the waters, if he felt her out, if he paid for it…

He began the process of securing
Trixie
Carol
for a night at the opera.

Chapter Six

It had been nearly a week since Cassandra had signed up. And no one was biting. Cassandra scanned other
ladies’
profiles, some of whom had just signed up. And their feedback showed that their dance cards were already full.

What had she done wrong
now
? Was it her raw profile pic? Her filmed segment that seemed more and more pathetic as she watched it again and again? Or was there just a type of the month that explained her empty inbox?

She could find none.

The ladies getting leased were barely eighteen or just turning forty. They were blondes. They were brunettes. They were every race. They possessed varied sets of interests. Why wasn’t Cassandra mixing with the bunch? She knew she wasn’t the prettiest one on display; her profile didn’t claim that she was the best cook. But she felt she stood out in other ways.

And it stung that no
one was taking notice.

There was a knock on her door. Cassandra, still in her PJs and barefoot, didn’t move from her couch. She still expected eviction at any moment and vowed to stay silent.

“Cass?”

Always Iris. Just Iris. Cassandra shuffled to the door and swung it open. Iris’s smile fell at the sight of her friend.

“Geez, Cass. You are one hot mess!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and started down the tiny hallway to her even tinier bathroom. She flipped the switch and stared in the mirror.

Iris had been kind in her assessment.

She looked tired, kind of beat up. The
Trixie
Carol
photo actually looked good in comparison. And her hair, sticking up and out in every direction, unwashed since the day of her interview, was not helping matters. Cassandra hung her head as she felt Iris enter the bathroom and rub her arms.

“Cass, what’s wrong, babe?”

She turned away from the mirror. Iris lifted Cassandra’s face to hers.

“Cass?”

“Iris, it’s been like a week.”

Iris tossed her head back with a laugh.

“Cass, I said it was a good idea. I didn’t say it was Lourdes.”

Really? She’d implied as much. Easy money. Stimulating dinner companions who’d want to talk art and culture.

And all that came of it was nothing.

She took Iris by the hand and dragged her back to the couch. She was on the computer in a flash and pulled up the site. Once again, Cassandra was clicking through the profiles of every
other
Lady
.

“You see. You see.”

Iris took several seconds on each profile as Cassandra moved to the next girl.

“Everyone else is scoring. Even… even this one.”

Cassandra clicked to particularly large woman with acne scars and frizzy blonde coils for hair.

“Even her.”

Iris turned to Cassandra with a smile.

“Cass, she’s a
gourmet chef
. Her clients? What they want? No way can you compete.”

Cassandra pouted and reached for a cigarette. So she wasn’t Julia Child. Wasn’t this supposed to be about men on the go who could barely boil water or crack an egg? If they wanted course after course ending with soufflés, they should just make reservations at some five star joint.

“Okay. So I can’t compete with her clients. Maybe I can’t cook up a storm. I can eat.”

“If someone else is buying,” Iris teased.

“Very funny.”

“You know… you know you could start applying yourself.”

“I—”

“Just throw yourself out there. A little begging never hurt anyone.”

Iris would
say that. Cassandra met her at a party when the city held promises of tomorrow. Iris was well past the point of desire for the recent grads at the home of a friend of a friend. Iris danced and got drunker. And drunker. She paid the price with a beer-stained skirt. Iris was far from old, but she was also leaving young as she crept closer to forty. And she saw nothing wrong in a lot of degradation for a little bit of a good time.

Even in her current state, Cassandra… but who was she kidding? Iris had a job. Cassandra had nothing. So a
little
begging—

Before she took that
step, a ding emerged from the laptop’s speakers.

Incoming mail.

Iris and Cassandra locked eyes, and they viewed the promise of the unopened message together.

“Open it, Cass!”

Cassandra’s fingers quickly did as she was told.

Hi, Trixie Carol
.

You’ve been LEASED! Prepare for a car to take you to The Empire Hotel at 5:00pm. You will accompany your client to the opening night gala at the Metropolitan Opera and the subsequent after-party. The client requires a striking companion capable of appreciating the finer things. That’s you, Trixie! Congratulations and enjoy!

LeaseALady.com Support

Cassandra slowly turned her eyes to Iris. She had an intense desire to throw an
I told you so
in her face. But she was too excited to do anything but jump up pump her fists in the air. Iris was quick to follow and held her friend close. Cassandra savored the moment. She’d done it. On
her
terms. And she’d soon have the cash to show for it.

“Cass, now it starts!”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. Red carpets, paparazzi, a dashing gentleman of her arm. Just who was he? She was dying to know. She returned to computer and examined the email again. Just under the automated signature was the link to another profile.

“This has to be
him
right?”

Iris nodded breathlessly as Cassandra clicked the link. She left LeaseALady.com and opened another browser, typing the name in. Cassandra read the name aloud.

“Oliver Chambers.”

“Ooh! Sounds sexy.”

Cassandra scrolled down the page.
Oliver Chambers
was a CEO of Chambers and Waters, an advertising firm. She had little interest in what he did. She was more curious as to how he looked.

Despite the gallery of images at the website’s disposal, the building, the office space, she could not
locate Oliver Chambers. A Google search proved equally futile. She knew nothing but his name. That
and the fact that he had selected
her
. Why? Because she said she enjoyed opera? Or was it something else that she had yet to know but wanted to?

Either way, she’d accept.

Cassandra’s eyes moved to the lower right corner of her laptop’s screen.

2:17.

She was suddenly in a panic. It was hardly enough time to get ready for such an important event. Important because it was an event for celebrities who usually who didn’t fancy opera in the natural order of things. Even more important because it was her
chance
. And with her current hairdo, she was destined to screw it up.

“Iris?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Iris pushed Cassandra towards the shower and turned the water on. Hot. Cassandra was already removing her PJs and stepping under the warm needles of water. Iris drew the curtain closed as Cassandra heard her rifling through the hallway closet. She doused herself in coconut scented shampoo and tropical mango body-wash. As she scrubbed the days of worry from her skin, her mind went to choices of attire. With more time, she would have maxed out her last remaining credit card, the AmEx, and bought something black and sleek and stunning.

But there was no time.

“Iris!” she cried out. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“I got it, Cass!”

“I don’t have—”

“Yes, you do. Wash!”

Cassandra obeyed and finished her shower. She reached for the towel hanging from the door and pressed it around her shaking frame. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw Iris’s ingenious solution to her problem.

“Iris, what would I do without you?”

It was the raspberry chiffon she had worn at the wedding of Allison, her former roommate. In the days leading up to the happy event, Iris was full of suggestions as to how to accessorize. But that had hardly been the problem.

When the dress arrived in the mail, it was too big.

With the alterations, she had been out nearly five hundred dollars. She remembered the seamstress sucking her in and adjusting the hem. She had stood before the mirror and silently bemoaned the expense. Especially at the thought that she would
never
wear it again.

Never was
now
.

Before she slipped back into the single-strapped gown, Iris dried her hair. She swept it up about her shoulders. Cassandra applied her makeup with more care than she had ever known. It wasn’t professionally done. But it was close enough.

The silver wrap she’d used on the night of Allison’s chilly October wedding was still hanging where the dress had sat, devoid of purpose. Iris eased it around Cassandra’s arms and strapped her into the pair of ivory shoes that Allison had ordered and the bridesmaids paid for. Iris finished the picture with a silver clutch. She took a step back and admired their mutual handiwork.

“Nice,” she said.

“Really. You think I look—”

“Like a rich man’s wife.”

Cassandra let the words sink in.
A rich man’s wife
. For tonight, she’d play the part.
Be
everything that Oliver Chambers wanted. Beyond that, she could only hope.

She paced the floor as she waited for her phone, still sitting on the coffee table, to buzz with the call that the promised car was waiting. She wanted to smoke but thought better of it. The last thing she needed was stray ash singing a hole in all that she now was. She sighed and sat on the arm of the couch. Iris was answering a quick text. With a lascivious smile.

“What’s that all about?” Cassandra asked. She was grateful for a change of subject.

“It’s Adam,” Iris said. The tone of her voice suggested that Cassandra was to understand without another question.

“Adam?”

Cassandra didn’t understand.

Iris sent her message and smiled with secrets about to be revealed.

“Met him at the diner. He’s a regular. Good tipper. Even better in bed.”

Iris was at it again. On any other night, Cassandra would have warned her to be careful. Not to get in over her head. But the butterflies in Cassandra’s stomach prevented her from doing anything but tapping her toes against the carpet.

They could have taken more time. More prep time would have distracted Cassandra from the bought and paid for date. The waiting seemed as if it would never end when her phone finally buzzed. Iris picked it up and pressed it into Cassandra’s hand.

She answered the call.

“Yes?” she said, her voice cracking.