Richer Than God - Amelia Wilde Page 0,20
of me like a pebble hitting a windshield, the broken part spidering out through thick glass. My hands go to the hem of my uniform—just take it off, quick—but I can’t do it.
“Awww, she’s nervous.” Savannah leans her head on the other girl’s shoulder, pouting at me. “Do you need help getting your dress off?” Snickers echo off the ceiling. “There’s plenty of us to help. Come on, girls. It’s Brigit’s first day. We should give her a hand.”
Nobody’s going to fall for this. Right? Wrong. Savannah is only the first to advance on me. She picks up her head, and the second girl follows, and more of them get up from their places, and a seizing terror closes my throat. What the fuck are they doing? Do they really mean to undress me? They exchange knowing smiles as they get closer and closer.
“Stop.” It’s a strangled gasp, not the confident refusal that I planned on.
Savannah cocks her head to the side. “Strip.”
I’m out of time; any fool could see that. Wait any longer, and they’ll do it for me. This room—this spa—it’s so lovely, so expensive. And it’s a trap. I pull the maid’s uniform over my head and bundle it into my arms.
Savannah reaches out with one hand and bats it down to the floor. “You won’t need that.”
I lift my head, because there’s no other option, and unhook my bra, humiliation making my chest flush pink. I’m not at my best. I went to sleep last night with wet hair, and this morning I got trained in a way that frankly I never thought was possible. And now there’s nothing to hide that.
One girl looks me up and down and makes a noise—hm—and then she’s gone, trailing off toward the mirrors. Savannah covers her mouth with a delicate hand. It does nothing to hide her grin. And the rest—God. The rest take turns coming by like I’m an exhibit at the zoo. The room is back in motion, and I’m still at the center.
“Lydia,” Savannah calls, voice as smooth and as cutting as ever. “Zeus says she needs to get waxed. Are you ready?”
“Of course.” Lydia’s voice—it must be her—comes just off my elbow, scaring the shit out of me. And then her hand is on my shoulder. Savannah follows us over to the waxing table and hovers nearby. “Did he have any specific requests?”
“I’m sure he wants the full treatment.” Savannah winks at Lydia. Horrifying. The full treatment—I don’t dare ask what it is. It’s too late to ask anyway, because Lydia is helping me up on the table, and I can’t force a single question past my lips. “Oh my God, Brigit. She can’t wax you when you’re like that.” Savannah looms above me and reaches for my knees. She’s stronger than she looks, wrenching them apart in one easy motion and letting them flop down on the table. “Keep them like a diamond,” she says breezily.
I focus my eyes on the ceiling and try not to look terrified, but I am. Lydia is getting wax ready; she’s stirring something, muttering to herself, and Savannah won’t leave. She wants to see this. Her eyes track Lydia’s movement while she nears with a cleaning solution and rubs in oil. All of my energy goes toward acting like this is not the most humiliating thing that’s happened to me in the last five minutes.
The worst. The worst. The worst. My heart beats with it, thunders with it, but there’s nothing I can do to stop this, short of running away. And I can’t run away. I’ve already done that. “Enjoy the show,” I tell Savannah, and my voice doesn’t shake.
She snorts. “I will. I bet you haven’t been waxed before, judging by how red you are. Delly, come watch.”
Delly takes my attention off the wax, which is touching me where Zeus’s mouth touched me, which is touching me everywhere. Hot. It’s so hot. I didn’t expect it to be this hot. Jesus. Why didn’t I get a wax before this, at any point in my life? Delly. She’s the redhead from last night. She passed inspection, which means…. Did this already happen to her, or is it just a special torture for me? Savannah hooks her arm through Delly’s, and they stand together, faces bright, like someone is about to hand them an ice cream cone.
A breath.
And then Lydia rips off the wax.
My body arches up off the table. I don’t scream, but I hear it in