"How much time do you have?" His voice is matter-of-fact. Like we're colleagues prepping for a meeting.
"I work at eight today."
"I'll keep it quick."
"Thank you."
Footsteps call my attention. Another waitress—a different one—drops off our drinks. Motions to Ian's melted glass of ice. All finished?
He nods. Says thank you. Holds up his fresh drink.
I take mine.
The glass is cool against my fingers. Real glass. Not the cheap plastic we use. Something breakable. Something valuable.
This restaurant is unconcerned with drunk idiots dropping drinks. If that's what comes with his offer—
It's already a compelling argument. Serving drinks in actual glass. With no concerns of drunk idiots. Or need to hear men debate how much they'd spend to fuck a dancer.
"Your freedom again?" I suck in a deep breath. "Isn't it bad luck to toast to the same thing twice in a row?"
"Is it?"
Maybe. I have no idea. "Is that what you—"
"What do you celebrate?"
That's an even better question. With Addie, I'm happy to toast to anything. She's alive. That's what matters. But I'm not sharing that with Ian. And there isn't anything else worth celebrating. I paid the rent on time. Hooray? "My hair looks great."
"It does."
"That's um… probably the highlight of my day."
"Eve, that hurts."
"So far." My cheeks flush. God, I already like him. How can I like him? I don't know him. "To the staying power of Special Effects Sonic Green."
"To Special Effects." He taps his glass against mine.
My fingers brush his. That same rush of desire. Heat against the cool glass.
I bring the drink to my lips. Let the ice try—and fail—to cool me.
This is the best gin and tonic I've ever had. Floral gin. The bite of lime. The strong taste of quinine.
Refreshing.
Balanced.
Unable to lower my temperature.
I swallow another sip. Suck on an ice cube.
It doesn't help. It gives me ideas. Which is ridiculous.
I'm not going to drop to my knees for some strange man. No matter how much I want to.
Why the fuck do I want to?
His gaze shifts to my lips. He watches me crush and swallow the ice cube. He watches like he has the same ideas.
Usually, that annoys me. Not on Ian. He's just so…
Sexy.
And vague about why I'm here.
But, right now, I don't really care. I want to watch him watch me.
I want to take in his deep eyes, his strong posture, his intense presence. For a minute. An hour. Forever.
Only I don't have forever.
I barely have an hour.
Ian takes another sip. Sets his cocktail on the table. Focuses every ounce of his attention on me. "I won't waste your time, Eve."
Okay…
"I do want you for something. I suppose you could call it a job. But not a traditional one."
I take another sip.
"I did work for British Intelligence. I'm still in information. And I came into information about you."
"About me?" What is there to know about me? I have teal hair and love The Handmaid's Tale. I live with my sister. I spend too much time watching TV and not enough soaking up air-conditioning.
"Your financial situation."
Oh. Of course. It hits me like a ton of bricks—
"You're a virgin."
"And?"
"A man made you an offer. Fifty thousand dollars. Am I right?"
How the hell does he know that? "Are you a cop?"
He shakes his head.
"A federal agent? Some international officer trying to break up sex-trafficking?" My head spins. "It was his offer. I didn't take it. I barely listened. And who do you think you are to try to stop me?"
"I do want to stop you."
"I'm not—"
"I'd like to outbid him." His eyes bore into mine. "So tell me, Eve. What will it take? A year of rent? Tuition paid in full? Give me a number and I'll make it happen."
Chapter Nine
Eve
What the actual fuck?
What will it take?
What number buys my virginity?
I…
He…
What?
I take another sip. Swallow hard.
The gin is just as refreshing. The drink is just as delicious.
I'm just as hot.
Ian's offer should repulse me. It should convince me he's a disgusting asshole. Some cretin with a virginity fixation. Someone totally unworthy of my time.
What kind of man tries to buy a woman's innocence?
I try to find rage.
I have a reserve of it. My deadbeat father. The jerk who runs the club. The high school boyfriend who slept with his lab partner.
The other one. Who dumped me because I was smarter than him.
He never used those words, but it was obvious. He didn't want to be with a "pretentious buzzkill." To him, that meant anyone who read books outside of school. Or for school. Why not use Spark Notes?
I hate all those asshats.
But I don't hate Ian. My simmering rage refuses to latch onto him.
I just…
Why? Why in the world does he want to pay me?
He's incredibly handsome. Powerful. Rich.
Every woman here wants him.
I want him.
A few more drinks, another date or two… there's a good chance I'd say yes. Very good.
Now…
"Eve? Are you all right?" His voice stays steady. Totally in control. It doesn't ruffle him at all, asking the price for my virginity.
No, I want to want to tell him to fuck off. But I don't.
Besides, I don't have that luxury.
I need the cash.
Badly.
"Why?" I take another sip. It's more refreshing than the last. But I'm still burning up.
"Does that matter?"
I don't know. Logically, it's a minor concern. But my heart… No, my heart is ice. It doesn't get a say until hell freezes over. "There must be a reason."
"Are you set on this?"
"On what?"
"Are you looking for higher bidders or looking to stop all offers?"
I'm not set on it, no. But I owe it to my future to consider it. What does that say about me?
No, I'm not letting other people's expectations define me.
Yes, some people will call me a whore or a slut for considering this. But they've never been where I am. They've never stared at a mountain of bills, wondering how they're going to pay them.
If they'll ever find someone, anyone who's willing to help.
This is my chance. This is my help. And it's practical. Entrepreneurial. Savvy.
My virginity is worthless to me. A little extra skin. An activity I haven't done yet.
My index finger traces the lines of my forearm tattoo.
Don't let the bastards grind you down. I needed it then. I need it now.
This is what makes sense.
But it's terrifying too.
"I, um…" Can't think with those dark eyes on me. It's impossible. "I should get to work." Figure out what the hell I'm doing.