Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (18 page)

Daniel doesn’t shout for attention. He doesn’t have to. There are less than twenty people in the room, so he waits for them all to turn and acknowledge him. At the end of the other table, two of the girls take too long to stop chatting. Daniel waits them out. And by the time they notice his hard but patient gaze, I can feel the whole room’s embarrassment on their behalf.
 

Daniel raises a glass. His cuff slips an inch, and I can see the points of his tattoo like thorns along his wrist. I still haven’t seen that tattoo, not really. But for some reason, watching him now, I desperately want to.
 

His eyes flick toward me before he speaks as if my attention and interest are obvious, but it means nothing. Nothing to justify the feelings I keep having when I see him, or what I had the urge to do, yet again, between my illicit Skype call and touching myself up for dinner. I banned him from my mind. I just need to make it until morning. That’s all. Then I’ll never have to see or think about Daniel Rice ever again.
 

“Welcome,” he says. “My name is Daniel. Most of you know me already, since I flew out to meet most of you.”
 

I look at Kat’s profile. Her nose is tiny, and her eyes are chocolate. Then I look at the girl on my other side — a brown-haired girl who isn’t rail-thin like most of the others, yet in my mind is all the prettier for it. I think she’s foreign too, but we haven’t actually spoken. I wish Erin or Jessica were at my table, because my glance might mean something to them. I know Daniel retrieved all three of us, but does what he just said mean that he didn’t retrieve all of the rest? I’d assumed. But then again, I assumed he’d stuck his dick in everyone, too, but that’s clearly not the case.
 

My eyes return to Daniel as he resumes speaking, but before my head makes its full circuit I catch Kylie, the straight-haired brunette with the tiny silver nose stud who was giving me the stink-eye earlier, staring right at me.
 

I don’t want a pissing contest, so I demur. But then Kylie raises her glass ever so slightly and sends me a condescending little smile.
 

You sad little thing,
I almost hear her say.
 

“And most of you also know Tony — ” Daniel waves his arm toward the giant who Erin had so much shameful fun with earlier. “And Richard — ” He indicates the guy who looks like a quarterback. “And Logan.”
 

“I look forward to serving you.” Logan’s mischievous blue eyes fix me for a split second, but I see the little shiver that several of the other girls make and know he somehow just managed to eye-fuck (or at least eye-finger) every one of us.

“But you haven’t met the most important among us. It gives me great pleasure to introduce my very good friend and our host, Trevor Ross.”
 

Trevor stands then bows. A smile passes between the two men, but I’d swear there’s something off about the pleasantries. Maybe they are good friends, as Daniel says. Or maybe there’s more to their relationship than meets the eye.

“Now,” Daniel says, cracking a rare and dead-sexy smile. “I’ve been practicing this. Just bear with me.”
 

He points to a petite girl with a Mediterranean complexion and jet-black, razor-straight hair. “Ivy?”
 

Ivy nods, a small smile touching her lips.

Then he indicates Erin, beside her.
 

“Erin. And … Kylie.”
 

They both smile at Daniel, but for some reason Kylie looks at me again as Daniel moves on, the smile still on her perfect lips.
 

“Jessica. I got you last.”
 

“But not least!” Jessica says, clearly nervous, trying to break the ice at her table. I’m immediately uncomfortable for her because although her table mates laugh, it sounds feigned.”

“Abbie. Ruby.
Aaand … ”
 

With the first table complete, Daniel points toward ours. The first girl he indicates is across from me. She’s tall and thin, with a beautiful face and what appear in her gown to be tiny breasts. Like Kat, her features look exotic and Eastern. She has an accent as well. I haven’t talked to her, but I heard her worrying to someone earlier about loose ends she may have left unattended at home. “Did I feed cat?” she said aloud as I passed, forgetting to include the article.
 

“Blair. And Renee.”
 

The girl with all the curves nods.
 

“Kat. Malory. And Roxy.”
 

Roxy nods. Her hair is dark brown, almost black. There’s a tiny gap between her front teeth, and after Daniel says her name, she runs her tongue across it. I’ve been watching Roxy since we came in, and it’s possible she’s been playing with herself under the table, maybe even trying to play with Blair. Every single thing she’s done thus far has been sexual. Roxy reminds me of a girl I knew, back during an early stint at a homeless shelter, named Tawny. Tawny was homeless too but had a way of never going without anything she needed due to her in-your-face friendliness and street-tough body. Tawny used to say that she wished she had more holes, to accommodate more dicks. I get the same vibe from Roxy.
 

“And Bridget,” Daniel finishes.
 

Daniel pauses, and I think for a second I’m sure he’ll say something quippy about why he saved me for last. But then the moment ends, and he looks away. It doesn’t stop several of the other girls from turning their heads in my direction.

“As I’m sure you’ve figured out,” Daniel says, “you’re here for a competition. You’ve probably also predicted some of the nature of this contest, though I assure you, you could not have predicted it all. Some of you have, quite separately, decided to mingle with these three fine young men here and with each other. That is, of course, your business. Not something we’ve asked or requested in any way.”
 

Some of the girls look at each other, and even though I don’t want to, I find my eyes turning toward Erin’s. She still won’t look at me. It’s the oddest thing. She and Jessica don’t strike me like the others do, though it’s possible that’s only because the three of us are the newest. But I’d swear, we seem like three peas in a pod. Girls who aren’t right for this scene, even if Erin proved me wrong. Maybe that’s why she’s looking away — because she thinks I’m judging her. It’s also possible, given what happened and the way she looked at me back in my room, that she’s interested in me the way she was in Tony.
 

Still, something is wrong here. Something I’m missing.
 

Daniel has paused for a few meaningful seconds. I know what he’s doing —reminding them all that just because some billionaire invited them over and they decided to start screwing around with each other, there was and won’t be any coercion. I’d guess it’s also drawing the first of many lines between the contestants: those who were proactive enough to act early, those who abstained, and those who got their rocks off because they were horny — all contest considerations aside.
 

My mind flashes back to the mind games Daniel played with me when we met. Games at the website on the card included with my invitation. The survey. The interview. Little things, like Daniel tricking me into admissions I didn’t want to make.
 

“If your guesses about this competition in any way make you uncomfortable,” Daniel continues, “I’ll ask you to let us know now. I’ll have one of our pilots fly you back the second you’re ready to go, and we will pay you five thousand dollars for leaving.”
 

He looks around the room. His eyes stop on me for a fraction of a second too long, and a few more heads turn before he moves on.
 

Five thousand isn’t enough.
 

Come hell or high water, I’ll stay until morning.
 

“By staying past the end of this sentence,” Daniel says, “you are waiving your right to any action against anyone here barring overt criminal behavior, as stipulated in the contract you signed earlier.”
 

My brow furrows.
Contract?
I didn’t sign any contract.
 

He pauses again.

“Perfect,” Daniel says when no one objects.
 

He turns to Trevor, who again stands. The two men nod mutual thanks, and Daniel sits in his chair beside the throne.

“I guess I’ll take it from here,” Trevor says, smiling down at Daniel, “since I’m the one looking for a bride.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I let Trevor lay it all out. I’m bored by this part. The two of us hashed it out for weeks before setting things in motion, to make sure we got it just right. Say it wrong, and it sounds like prostitution, like we’re asking for sex in exchange for money. Say it wrong, and we get sued. We can make lawsuits disappear easily enough, given all of the company’s connections and our powerful friends, but there’s no guarantee the news wouldn’t go public. And none of us want the attention. Not because we’re afraid of scandal, but because scandal invites the spotlight. And with Caspian coming in a few weeks to negotiate terms on his GameStorming data, that’s the last thing anyone needs.
 

Not with what Alexa has in mind.
 

Not with what this company aspires one day to be.

So I listen as Trevor spools out the speech that, by now, I could probably mouth along to by heart.
 

How he’s finally ready to settle down and find a wife. But how, when your profile is as high as his, dating like a normal person is impossible. How (and this was something Trevor wanted to omit, but I insisted we include) people of Trevor’s means are used to always having the very best of everything, and therefore his mate should be no exception.
 

Why marry someone ordinary?
 

Why not find the very best?
 

Once we had an outline, dovetailing lies with truth became a simple matter of crafting a coherent picture. We didn’t try to hide the most unsavory, despicable parts of this because nobody’s naive enough to believe in pixies and fairy tales. Everyone is looking to play an angle; everyone thinks the rest of the world is playing an angle, too. So instead of dimming the baser elements, we game them a highlight, as if proud.
 

Why wouldn’t a billionaire, who could have anyone, be up-front that he wants a girl who will satisfy him like no other?
 

Why wouldn’t he want a woman who will let him —
encourage
him! — to have other women, too?
 

Why back away from our animal nature? Biologically speaking, women want men who can provide and protect. Men want women who will eagerly receive their seed and generate quality offspring. So Trevor plays it up. He makes it sound better than I am in my head, but we all know what this is about.
 

It’s gross; really, it is. Repugnant, I know. But Trevor says it well, and by the end of his little speech, everyone in the room knows he’s looking for a hot girl who’s a ton of fun. Clever but never malicious. Fun but not obnoxious. A girl with a mind of her own, but who won’t one day decide she can do better and take that mind elsewhere.
 

Hearing our speech come out of Trevor’s mouth makes me want to puke.
 

I stuff it down. I know the layers. When you traffic our sort of company, nothing is as it seems. There are always plans within plans, meanings within meanings. It’s always a mistake, around the Rosses and their associates, to believe that what’s happening is mere discussion, and a mistake to assume that the discussion isn’t a test, and that those in it aren’t being judged. It’s even a mistake to assume that the test itself is a meta-test, and that what’s really being watched is how a person responds to their own response when assessed in a way they’re supposed to pretend they don’t notice.
 

I get a headache just thinking about it.
 

But the girls take it all in. They nod, accepting the truths along with the lies, deceptions masquerading as candor, truths masquerading as lies, and the curious gray items that are somehow neither and both.
 

Twelve women, placed into competition for the rich man’s hand.
 

Ten thousand dollars per day plus landmark bonuses. By the end of the first week, all who remain receive an extra twenty-five. Fifty after the first round of eliminations. And on and on. If you add it all up, over the eight-week contest, the runner-up walks away with more than a million dollars. And the winner? Why, she walks away with keys to the castle.

Participate in the contests in whichever way you choose. For most of them, that means sex, and lots of it. Which makes sense because the billionaire heir to a sex-based empire wants a girl who can hold her own.
 

Who knows how to behave, and do what she’s asked to do.

Plenty of it is true. The rest is smoke and mirrors. The contest was designed to assess an ideal winner, but even more than that it was made to test limits. The things they’ll be asked to do as the days and weeks go on, it’s not exactly that Trevor or I or anyone else cares how well they do some of them. It’s more accurate that we care how they respond to requests. To being challenged.