Richer Than God - Amelia Wilde Page 0,24
with shame. Only me.
Brigit clears her throat. “What would be worse? Them, or you?”
“Me.” Without hesitation, me. I’m surprised she even dares to ask the question. “But there’s something to be said for the devil you know.”
“I don’t know you.” Also true.
Dinner arrives. “That’s for the best.”
“Is it?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, which have been expertly covered in a lipstick that I want to wipe off with my thumb.
It is better for her not to know. Much better than the alternative. I pick up my fork and look her in the eye. “I’m not the one for sale. Now, hurry up and tell me more about you, Brigit. It will be so much easier to sell you off that way.”
10
Brigit
I can’t tell what’s going on behind those golden eyes, and it’s the most frustrating thing. How could someone so gorgeous be so difficult to read? I want Zeus to make sense, but he doesn’t. I want him to look rough, with dark hair and dark eyes and scars, but he doesn’t. I want him to be kind, but he’s not.
That’s a lie. I’m not sure if I want him to be kind. If he did that, then what he said would be true—I don’t know him at all. But I do. I know his mouth on mine and between my legs, and I know how his hands feel. I know the way he watches me. That’s not nothing.
I keep telling myself it’s not nothing all the way through dinner. The waiter clears my plate before I’m finished, and then Zeus stands, towering over the table. “Come with me, sweetheart. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” My heart climbs up into my throat and beats there. He can’t possibly mean it’s time to take on a client. Take on a client—that’s the clinical way of putting it. Let a man fuck me for money. Spread my legs for that man. I can’t do it. The thought makes me lightheaded. “I thought you said—”
“Men will like you better if you’re pretty and compliant and silent,” he comments, leading the way out the door. He’s so tall that I have to hurry to keep up with him, making me unsteady on the high heels. The other girls dressed me up like one of them. They made me look elegant and knowing, but my steps aren’t elegant.
I lose track of the twists and turns, and he doesn’t slow down to let me get my bearings. He doesn’t so much as look at me. Zeus walks directly to a huge, dark door looming up in the middle of a wall decorated in deep-green paint and gilded frames. Opens it. Goes through. At the last moment, he catches my elbow in his hand and pulls me through with him, keeping me close by his side. It’s a fleeting touch, like I burned him.
It’s a large space, but it looks intimate, because the ceilings are low and the only light comes from lamps on tables snugged close to sofas and armchairs. And the chairs are filled with men.
Men talking in low voices, the occasional burst of laughter rising above them. Men with their white sleeves rolled up to their elbows, jackets slung over the backs of chairs. Men with their hands around thick crystal glasses full of an amber liquid. Men with bright eyes.
They’ve come here after work. Men in suits, coming to this lounge after work like it’s any bar in the city, any restaurant.
Something’s missing.
My memory supplies the women in the spa this morning, their dresses shimmering in the light, and their absence taps me on the shoulder.
I’m the only one.
A hush ripples out from where I’m standing, and Zeus touches me again, fingertips light on the small of my back. An electric sensation burns up to the base of my neck. Forward. Go forward. We move closer, and the silence ripples out. It’s the break before a storm, the eerie quiet with a green sky. And then the first droplets come.
One of the men stands up, drink in hand, and then there are more. Even the ones who stay seated watch, eyes tracking every movement.
“What did you bring us, Zeus? She’s got small tits.” I’m torn between wanting to know who said it and pretending to be nonchalant, so I only catch the moment when the man smiles. It’s a predatory grin. Cold lances across my gut.
“Is her pussy tight, at least? I bet it is, with a dress like that.”
Laughter, low