Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (20 page)

“Some of us have been here for a few days. Unofficially, of course. Just hanging out as guests. I assure you, it hasn’t given us an advantage over you and your friends.”
 

“I don’t really have — ”

“Difference between them and you is, they seem to have decided to hop right in. Even the taller one. Before I came here, she let me lick her pussy.”
 

Jessica.
 

I look over at Kylie, but she’s still nonchalant, still watching the view. I don’t know why, but the flat way she just announced that gives me a thrill. Jessica didn’t strike me as a lesbian. But I guess you don’t actually have to be to play around, especially with points being tallied.
 

“It’s a big risk, Bridget. You might be eliminated entirely, out of hand. As a cold fish. An ice queen, with no use for her pussy. Unwilling to share it unless she’s alone with her man.” Kylie nods. “But on the other hand, it could be genius. Innocent little girl. What she loses in eagerness, she saves for later, behind closed doors.”
 

“Kylie, I — ”

“I won’t lose this. I know what it is and knew the minute I got my invitation. They think I’m some stupid ditz like the rest of you, but I’m not.” Then she smiles at me, and this time I see teeth. “I’m sorry. Present company excluded, of course.”
 

Kylie crosses her legs.
 

“I went to the website. I called the number on the invitation. The bank doesn’t reveal its clients, but rumors are enough. And everyone knows Ross is in with White and Parker Altman. I looked up the whois on the website and of course it’s privately registered, but you can ping the server and follow the IP traceroute and narrow things down. Sure, servers can be anywhere. But a company like Amour won’t want an outsider handling their data. You can follow the clues if you look. So when I knew this was probably about Trevor Ross, I did more research. Looked at his travel patterns and, from there, guessed some of his interests and maybe his beliefs. Such as the fact that he’s spent a lot of time in India, where the most successful marriages are arranged.”
 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
 

“Don’t you?” She taps her chin. “I don’t know. Seems to me you’re a smart girl. Maybe you’re like me. Maybe you agree with Trevor, that logic — not love — is the best way to pair people. Emotion is hit or miss. But logic is certain.”
 

I roll my eyes. Just a little, so she can’t see.
 

“Then good luck.”
 

“I know a lot about him, Bridget. Enough to make sure I’m his best match. I think you’re playing it too cool, but I have to agree that we’re both on the right track.”
 

I sit up. Turn more fully toward her to see one tan, toned leg bouncing atop the other.
 

“You think I left because I’m trying to attract Trevor?”
 

“Oh, no. Not at all.” She laughs, but I don’t believe that laugh for a second. “A little aloof is good, but Trevor wants a team player. You … ” She taps her head while looking right at me, presumably indicating a genius move I must have spent weeks plotting. “You, Bridget, know that
people
make all the difference. That it’s not
what
you do, but
who
you do that matters.”

I shake my head. I just want to be left the fuck alone until morning, collect the last twenty grand I need to pay Linda’s doctor, and then go home. I don’t like catty drama and never have. Kylie’s manner is brimming with it. I’m a straightforward girl and resent people who take their sweet time to make a simple point. If she wants to say something stupid, she should just fucking say it.
 

But I don’t want an argument right now. I don’t have the energy or the patience.

“I don’t even want to be here,” I say. “You want to suck the world off and win this thing, then the best of luck to you.”
 

Her smile becomes a pursed-lip expression of annoyance.
 

“Superior,” she says. “Just like I thought.”
 

“I’m not judging.”
 

“I know so many people like you. Always seeing the obvious and assuming they’re ends rather than means. Always leaping to the most convenient conclusion.”
 

“Kylie, I don’t give a shit about — ”

“I’d rather fuck the world than be fucked by it. Women like you disgust me. You want empowerment, but then you’re ashamed of your sexuality. If I use my body to get what I want, it makes me a whore, right? And yet that doesn’t stop you from doing the exact same thing.”
 

“Okay,” I say, making to stand and leave. “This has been fun.”
 

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
 

I look over. A satisfied smirk crawls across her features.
 

“Not Trevor. Daniel.” Then she mock-whispers behind her hand, conveying a tidbit of mock-gossip. “Because he’s the
real
decision-maker!”
 

“Have fun, Kylie. Best of luck to you after I’m gone.”
 

I turn, but she grabs me by the wrist.
 

“It won’t work, you know.”
 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
 

“I know I can’t tattle on you because everyone would think I was just trying to get you the boot for my own benefit, and I know that if anyone controls who sees the camera feeds, Daniel does. But I know what you’re up to. And you’re not going to take what’s mine.”
 

I shake her free. Her hand strikes the chair’s arm hard as it flies loose. She winces then glares at me. She stands, and I realize we’re about the same height. We’re face to face, six inches apart.
 

“Oh, but he’s
something
, isn’t he?” she purrs. “I don’t blame you, Bridget.” She turns a quarter turn, and I turn with her, knowing she’s leading but not wanting to lose now that she’s making me engage. “All those muscles. His face is so hard and so hot, I come a little every time he looks at me. And his tattoo. It’s like he’s scarred, but in such a panty-melting way. And you’ve seen where it goes. How it seems to
consume
him.”
 

I look away. And she pounces. Her hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes bug out. She’s the picture of fake surprise, her voice going light and giggly.
 

“Oh, you haven’t even
seen
it, have you? I guess you’ve just let him fuck you from behind, like a whore after all, so you can’t even tell … ” She trails off, shaking her head like
naughty-naughty
.
 

I bite my lip. I make fists at my sides. Then Kylie’s eyes seem to roll around as she’s thinking, and her shaming expression is replaced by one of dawning, girlish delight. Like we’re BFFs at a slumber party and she’s about to share a dirty little secret.
 

“He talks about you, you know.”
 

I want to walk away, but that stops me.

“When he fights. We’re not supposed to sneak up to Trevor’s quarters, but of course we do. They box up there, Daniel and Trevor. It’s supposed to be exercise, I guess, but Daniel fights like he’s got nothing to lose. Like an animal.”
 

She’s circling me. I don’t like playing her games, but I can’t move.
 

He talks about you.
 

And as much as I’m fuming inside, I need to hear more. To know what that means.
 

When he fights.
 

“It’s how they hold some of their meetings, I suppose,” Kylie says. “The two of them up there in a real ring. Shirts off. Absolutely
drenched
in sweat. Everything glistens, Bridget. I want to touch myself just thinking about it.”
 

Another half circle. A full circle, her voice a near-whisper in my ear.
 

“Trevor doesn’t like that you’re his favorite,” she tells me.
 

Kylie touches my side. My stomach. Her finger against my dress is slow, almost seductive.
 

“But not because of this average little body of yours, no. Do you know what it is, Bridget? Do you know why he let you play with us?”
 

Us. Play with us. His favorite.
 

And she whispers
, “It’s pity.”
 

Kylie steps back. She’s smiling with her mouth slightly open. Hands on hips. Her eyebrows up, tongue in the corner of her mouth.
 

“‘Pity,’” I repeat.
 

She nods. Then she’s right in front of me again, and she says, her voice like a purring cat,
“Did someone give your poor mommy a boo-boo?”
 

The sound of my hand striking Kylie’s cheek is hard. Flat. Undramatic.
 

And then Kylie steps back for the second time, her own hand now going to her cheek. My handprint is developing like a Polaroid. I hit her so hard, she’ll bruise if I’m lucky. But Kylie doesn’t retreat more than a step despite the fire that’s surely lighting my eyes.
 

She smiles instead. Then bites her lower lip and says, “You’re in over your head, little orphan girl.”

I wait until she leaves, trying to hide the pain I’m sure I’ve caused her. I wear a big ring on that hand, and it hurts like a bitch.
 

I don’t make it to my room. It’s too far, and I’m too tired.
 

I cry by firelight, beside the gaze of unblinking mountains.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I wake with the sun.
 

I don’t know what time it is. I feel like I’ve overslept, but as far as I heard before bunkering into my room, there’s nothing to rise for. This isn’t a cruise, though it’s not hard to imagine an activities director taking over now that this vacation’s purpose has been unveiled. Still, I can’t imagine them booking us for tennis at eight and bracelet making after brunch. Even if both are supposed to be done naked, with things shoved up my business.

I roll over. Stretch. There’s something traitorous about being comfortable in this place, but I am nonetheless. Billionaires know how to outfit a bed, with plush pillow tops, a featherbed below, and a comforter like a cloud above. I’m almost ashamed of how well I slept. I really should be going. I need to get the fuck out of here because there’s never been a place I’ve felt less wanted or that clearly wants me less.

There’s a cream-colored envelope on the floor, right near the door.
 

I crawl out of bed and open it. It isn’t sealed, just folded in on itself. The paper feels rich and heavy. I’m sure it costs a buck a sheet or more.
 

It announces breakfast at nine in the downstairs dining room, with socializing to follow. Which probably means fucking for points, like dining for dollars. Attendance is optional. I can get room service if I want, and the fancy slip of paper lets me know that if I do, I should indicate my choice of deliveryman. I can choose Tony, Richard, or Logan. But it says that waiting until after ten may yield unsatisfactory results.
 

“Jesus,” I mutter. I set the paper on the vanity by the mirror.
Unsatisfactory results.
I assume that means that with only three attendants and twelve girls potentially ordering breakfast, late orders might get limp dicks, after the boys have already done all the serving they can handle. Kind of like getting the last pancake on the plate, already cold.
 

I have to get out of here. Normal people don’t think this way. If I go down to the lower dining room, everyone’s probably naked, sipping coffee. The donuts and bagels are probably being kept in place on some guy’s stiff dong. No big deal.

I pull the paper back toward me, something dawning. It says,
Disbursements distributed.
 

Okay. Maybe I have to go after all. Disbursements must mean our money. I’ve got twenty grand coming: ten for the day, then ten for the landmark bonus of making it through the first night. I’m not sure if they’ll pay us every morning if I stay, and if they do, why they don’t just set up Hooker’s Direct Deposit. There must be such a thing.
 

Doesn’t matter. Last night, Trevor said we could do what we wanted. I did, right down to slapping Kylie hard enough to knock her sideways. Today, with money flowing in the search for an ideal bride, I imagine that more specific demands are coming. But my integrity is worth more than that.
 

I smile a little while changing out of the dress I seem to have collapsed in. Yes. I’m okay with going to breakfast to collect my check. I’d like to say goodbye to Erin and Jessica. This isn’t my scene, but if someone has to win this and make bank, it might as well be them. I’d also like to say goodbye to Kylie. Give her a few choice parting words. Maybe whisper to the other girls and the men that I saw her naked last night, and she’s growing blue cheese down below. Some sort of skank disease.
 

I hear a slight noise to my left as I pull on one of the shirts provided in the drawers. It’s plain enough, not sexy at all. Comfy even. And there are slippers, which I step into as I walk over to retrieve the newly arrived envelope.