What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,41
did, and over the past five months, she'd proven that she was willing to do anything for the woman. But after five months of dressing and undressing and bathing and feeding and medicating and catheters and diapers and sundowning and confusion, she ...
She wanted a fucking break.
And that's what Ari Sharapov was offering her.
A vacation, and I am the patron saint of travel, after all.
“Alrighty,” Val started, her voice shaky. “Let me get this straight. You pay for a nurse for me, and I just have to be available for day dates, or whatever, on the weekdays?”
“Yes. And just so we're clear – while I'm not about to force you to sleep with me, I don't think it would be very sporting if I hire some nice little nurse, and then you suddenly forget to answer your phone. This is a deal we're making here. You back out of it, you lose your payment,” he warned her, and she nodded.
“That's fair.”
“So if I call you next Tuesday and tell you I feel like ... playing Parcheesi around three in the afternoon, you'll meet me here?” he checked. Valentine nodded.
“Yes. As long as I don't have class and there's no emergency,” she amended. “My grandma's doing well now, but she's old and she's sick. Things happen. I'm not ditching her in some hospital because you want a booty call.”
“Understood. So then, do we have a deal, Ms. O'Dell?” Ari asked.
It was insane. Why on earth did he want to go through with this? And with her? They didn't know each other. If she didn't put out, he could drop in her a week and demand his money back. Del would lose his shit and probably fire her.
Ari was also an arrogant asshole, who didn't seem to care much about other peoples feelings. Val was over-emotional most of the time, and tended to care too much. It was an awful match.
But we're not trying to match, and he's not trying to spend time with Val – he wants Saint Valentine, patron saint of the best night club in the world, and nobody is better at hiding their emotions than her.
She shook her head to clear it, then stuck out her hand.
“Deal, Mr. Sharapov.”
He laughed, then grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips.
“How do you feel about sealing the deal with a little 'Parcheesi'?” he asked, running his lips along her wrist. Valentine shivered, then cleared her throat as something occurred to her.
“I'm not a prostitute.”
He looked up from her hand.
“I never said you were.”
“I just want to be very, very clear on that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You're only paying for my companionship. I could fuck you every day we're together, or never again, and it wouldn't matter, because you're only paying for my company. You're not paying me to sleep with you, I'm not some whore. If we have sex, it's just because we might be attracted to each other. I'm not a prostitute.”
Ari stared at her for a long moment, and she hoped he understood. Hoped he could see just how much it meant to her that he believed it; or at least, that he allowed her to believe it.
“I can see this is important to you,” he finally replied. “And I promise you, I don't think of you as 'some whore'.”
And instantly, it was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. Off her conscience.
“Okay,” Val let out a shaky breath. “Okay, good. Okay. Thank you.”
“And there's also no 'might' about it – I'm attracted to you. You're attracted to me. We're attracted to each other. So can we either start fucking, or can we play Parcheesi? Because I'm getting very bored with talking to you.”
Valentine burst out laughing, and he silenced the sound with a kiss. She smiled against his lips, then shrieked when he abruptly yanked her forward across his lap. She found herself on her back with him leaning over her.
“Wait wait wait,” she laughed when his lips moved over her chin. “I think I want to renegotiate.”
“Shhhh, Valentine. Quiet time now.”
“I object to your tone, counselor.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Just trying to give you your money's worth, Mr. Aaron Sharapov.”
“Don't call me that,” his voice was muffled against her neck.
“What? Mr. Sharapov?”
“No, Aaron. No one calls me that.”
“How do you get 'Ari' from Aaron, anyway? They're two completely unrelated names,” she pointed out.
“You so ... annoying,” he sighed as he pulled away from her.