"I don't have him by the anything!" I shriek. "If I had any idea how to have him I wouldn't be here right now talking to you!" I suck in a breath before continuing. "He knows I don't have any secret sex skills, right? You didn't oversell me, did you? What did you promise him? What bidding war? What does he think he's getting for five hundred thousand dollars?" My voice gets louder when I repeat the amount, because it's insane and now I'm panicked. "Does he think he's getting a party? Because I'm not doing his friends or anything weird like that. I'm not."
"I would," Payton pipes in. "You only live once, am I right?"
"I've got no idea what the guy is into," Vince says. "You're the one who wanted him so badly." He shrugs as if what Rhys is or isn't into is no big deal. "Lydia, relax. What kind of a monster do you take me for?"
There's a long awkward pause because I don't really have an answer for that, do I? I have no idea what kind of monster Vince is or is not.
He raises an eyebrow at my silence and shakes his head. "You want me to spell it out? Pussy. Ass. Mouth. I told him you're on the pill. As for the rest of it, you'll let him know if something is too much or if you're uncomfortable. I'm not a goddamned sex broker, for fuck’s sake. I'm doing you a favor."
He's not wrong. Then he adds two words that throw me for a loop.
"One month."
A month? I chew on my bottom lip, lipstick be damned, and stare at Vince without speaking. I bounce my knees and fidget with the hem of my shirt while I think. A month? We never talked about a time frame because I'd assumed hookering was done in hourly increments.
But apparently that's negotiable.
And logically, a month is a huge win for me.
"I thought it was just one night," I finally say, tilting my head back to look at Vince. "Where did a month come from?"
"You've got to give and take when you're negotiating, Lydia. We gave a month, we got half a million."
That stupid half a million. It's ridiculous and makes me a little sick to my stomach. Maybe averaged out it isn't so bad? I do some quick math and determine it comes out to fifteen or sixteen thousand per night. Which is still too much, way too much. I hope Rhys isn't always this financially irresponsible. Then again I'm still using my parents’ Netflix account so I shouldn't be so judgey.
"Are we actually talking about this? Is this conversation really happening?" Payton glances between Vince and I with a look of disbelief on her face. "She accepts," Payton tells him and then turns to me. "You accept. It's time to earn your Rhys badge."
Seventeen
LYDIA
Rhys is outside waiting for me. Outside as in he's pulling his car up to the back entrance.
I'm not sure if I should be offended by this use of the back entrance or if that's how he picks up all his girls.
Vince and Payton walk me to the door, Vince pushing it open and holding the door wide for me to pass through. "Have fun," he says, while Payton adds, "Break a dick!" as I step outside.
There's a car straight ahead, sporty and low, the engine purring and the headlights casting a wide beam across the parking lot. The passenger door is on my side so I don't have far to walk, for which I'm grateful, because even with flat shoes my knees are feeling a bit wobbly.
It's chilly, which for Vegas means it's dropped below sixty. The only coat I have with me is Rhys's jacket, folded over my arm. I hope he doesn't want to go anywhere, because I don't have a jacket of my own. It's already late though, and I can't imagine he has a walk in the park in mind for tonight. I hope he doesn't have a walk in the park on his mind for tonight. When I get to the car I open the passenger door and bend, peeking inside to make sure it's Rhys before I get in. Can you imagine if I hopped in the wrong car after all of this?
It's Rhys.
I slide in, pulling the door shut behind me. He's staring straight ahead and the car is in motion before I even have a chance to buckle up. I drop my bag on the floorboards, his jacket crushed in my lap, and grab the seat belt, clicking it into place as he accelerates out of the parking lot and merges into traffic.
He still hasn't looked at me.
"Hi," I offer, because I'm not sure what else to say and he's being weird.
He grunts in response.
I straighten his jacket again, smoothing it carefully so it doesn't wrinkle. Then I toy with the hem of my shirt, bunching the fabric nervously in my fingers because I don't care about wrinkles on my own clothing. When I shiver Rhys punches a button on the dash and warm air blows lightly from the vents.
"What were you thinking, Lydia?"
Okay, so we're talking now.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
And he's mad. Real mad.
"Is it the money?" I ask. "Because—" I don't get very far because he cuts me off.
"No, it's not the money, Lydia. Half a million wouldn't even cover the swag for the casino opening. You cost less than the party favors, so don't worry yourself about the money."
Wow.
He's rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow and his forearm muscles flex as he handles the wheel. His jaw clenches and he's still not looking at me.
"Just tell me, was this always your plan?"
What? "No, of course not." This plan is less than two days old, so no. It's hardly even a plan, more of an irrational crazy idea.
"A goddamned virgin. I thought you were different, but fuck, Lydia."
"Wait, you're mad at me for something I haven't done? That's not even fair. It's discriminatory. You can't discriminate against me for being inexperienced."
"You let me whisper filth in your ear thinking you knew what the fuck I was talking about."
"I liked the filth!"
"Jesus Christ." He takes a hand off the wheel and drags it across his jaw as if he's stressed.
"Okay." My voice catches and I steady myself so I don't cry. "You're mad. I'm sorry. I just thought—" I stop myself from saying more. "Just take me back. You're obviously not interested in me. I don't know why you bid on me. Just take me back." Vince is going to kill me. Maybe literally, I don't know. He'll have to refund Rhys and he'll probably make me reimburse him for the money he lost which I'll never, not ever, be able to do. He'll charge interest and the balance will just keep getting bigger and bigger—as it does when you owe the mafia money—until I'm forced to make a deal that involves me burying a body or lying to the feds.
I literally cannot believe the effort I've gone through for this jerk.
"Take you back?" He laughs, but I don't particularly care for his tone. "I've paid in full. I'm keeping you."
"Whatever! Fine, if you want to."
"If I want to?" He exhales like I've exhausted him in the few short minutes we've been in the car together. "I don't have time for this right now, Lydia. In case you haven't noticed, I've got a lot on my plate right now."
"I know, but I looked it up on the internet and read that on average most couples have sex for seven to thirteen minutes and I don't mind if it's closer to seven minutes. We can be quick."