"He's definitely here?" I question as we stand behind the curtain, watching a dancer I met earlier on stage. I wonder if she's the opening act? I suppose she is. I'm not sure what I thought they'd be doing until it was my turn, but wasn't expecting to wait for someone else to come off stage. She's a really talented dancer, too. Strong. Flexible, obviously. She's setting the bar really high for me and I'm not sure I like it. Not that I'm dancing, but the flexible thing.
It's loud. The entire place is loud, decibels higher than it was when I was here earlier.
"He's here," Vince assures me. I can't see the customers from my vantage point behind the curtain. The seating is cast in shadows from where I'm standing. It's not a large room, not many seats. It reeked of exclusivity and privacy when I viewed it earlier. When I convinced myself this would be easy. I'd think of the stage as a runway and imagine myself a model rather than a hooker, I thought.
I'm thinking a little differently right now.
"Why do men need it to be so loud in order to get laid?" I ask. The noise from downstairs is making the floors shake and I wish I could adjust the volume as easily as I do on my iPod.
Vince shakes his head and laughs. "We'll turn it down during the auction. It'll be over quick."
Quick for him maybe.
The song ends, the dancer exiting the stage, brushing past us on her way past. The music changes, like a cue that I'm up, and I feel sick. It's lower and hypnotic and sexy and terrifying.
"He's on the left," Vince says. "Let's go." Then he's pushing through the curtain, holding it open so I've got no choice but to follow. Follow or turn and run like hell.
I follow, because these are not running heels.
The lights blind me for a moment as my eyes adjust, even though it's certainly not what I'd call bright on the stage. There's a spotlight, I realize. I'm on display like something pretty in a store window. Vince is speaking but I couldn't tell you what he's saying. I'm too busy blinking and breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.
Focus on the goal, Lydia.
I glance to the left and—and I don't see Rhys. I see the head of the legal department at the Windsor, Lawson McCall. My steps falter and I reach out and grab the pole to steady myself. Next to him is Canon Reeves, head of security. And then Rhys. Why didn't it occur to me that he'd bring his friends? Why didn't I just think? These are men I'll have to see again. At work. My knees feel like they're going to buckle so I steady myself, gripping the pole so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Maybe Rhys isn't here because he wants me. Maybe he's here to fire me. I summon the courage to drag my eyes up and dart another glance in his direction.
He's looking right at me.
He doesn't look happy.
He looks mad. Really mad.
I'm so getting fired.
A voice from the right calls something out and I turn my head, reminded I'm not alone in this room with Vince, Rhys and his friends. There are other bidders. Oh, God. The sound I heard was someone making a bid, for me. The man is older. Older than my dads. Handsome, hair graying at the temples. A sharp suit.
Then Rhys is saying something and my attention snaps back to him. He's wearing a suit too, I notice on second glance, because he's standing now, taking the jacket off. I wonder if he dressed for the auction. For me.
The older man is still speaking again. He's calling out numbers, nonsensical numbers to my ears. Rhys barks, “Enough,” and then he's stepped onto the stage next to me, wrapping his jacket around me and physically turning me around. His hand is firmly on my back, pushing until my feet move, until I'm off the stage, until the curtain has fallen into place behind us.
"Get dressed," is all Rhys gets out before the curtain rustles again, Vince and Canon a moment behind us. "Now," Rhys adds, his eyes flashing when I continue to simply stand there, staring.
The hallway to the dressing room is a lot shorter on the way back than it was on the way to the stage, but it may be because I near-run down the hallway, not even caring about the heels or my ankles now. I push open the door and then collapse against it when it closes again.
"Nice jacket." Payton is sitting sideways in a stuffed leather chair, legs hanging over one side, her blonde head over the other, dangling grapes over her head. She bites one off the bunch and raises her brows at me. "That was quick."
"Payton." I push myself off the door, still shaking a little. I kick the heels off and they drop to the floor one clunk at a time. "That was horrible."
"What happened?" She sits up, eyes wide.
"Lawson is out there. And Canon!"
"Oh." She leans back in her chair. "Well, yeah. They're friends, so that makes sense."
"Why didn't it occur to me that they might be here? I'm so embarrassed." I pull Rhys' jacket closer around me before remembering his instructions to get dressed, but the jacket smells like him and I'm loath to take it off.
"Did Rhys win you or what?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"Because I don't know. One minute I was standing on stage under a spotlight and the next he was wrapping me in his jacket and telling me to get dressed."
"Sounds like you're leaving with Rhys."
"Maybe," I agree while slipping my jeans over my hips. "I am so messed up, Payton."
"Agreed. But tell me why you think you're messed up so we're on the same page."
I shoot her a dirty look before turning my back to remove the silk negligee and put on the fancy lace bra that matches the panties I had on underneath. I don't think I've ever owned matching underwear before. Like, matching matching. Normal matching is a white bra and underwear that has white polka dots or stripes or something. I pull a shirt over my head before turning back to Payton as I free my hair from the shirt collar.
"Because it turns me on. The idea of leaving here with him when he's paid for the right. Even though I hated being on that stage, I liked it when he dragged me off and told me to get dressed. But really, who the hell is he to tell me to get dressed, you know? I'm in charge of me. I can wear a nightie in public if I want to. I can have sex with whoever I want to, whenever I want to. I know I don't need to justify myself for wanting Rhys to take control, to boss me around, to lead. But am I contributing to some outdated patriarchal model about sex because I like it?"
"Whoa."
"I know, right?"
"No," she says with a big sigh. "I thought we were going to talk about the sheet pajamas."
The door opens and we both turn. It's Vince. Vince with an actual smile on his face.
"After a small bidding war I got him to five."
"Got who to five?"
"Rhys," Vince says, looking at me like I'm crazy. "Wasn't that the entire point, Lydia?"
I replay those words in my head as I sink into one of the leather chairs in the dressing room. The chairs were another touch I wasn't expecting, along with the fresh fruit tray Payton was eating from, but now is not the time to focus on either of those things. "Five hundred thousand dollars, Vince?"
"I could have easily gotten him to a million, but I consider him to be a sort of friend, so I let him off the hook at five." Vince shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lip, as if charmed by either the idea of friendship or the exchange of half a million dollars, I'm unsure which. "You've really got him by the balls, haven't you?"