“I just wanted it to be over,” she stated, then continued on down the stairs as people started down behind them. “Okay? I didn't want an apology – I don't want one. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want anything from you.”
“That's lovely for you, but I'm not done yet,” he said as they strode through the Music Room. “And I have some things I'd like to say.”
“You can't make me listen to you,” Valentine snapped, finally turning on him at the entrance to the club. “Just like you can't make me 'work' for you, Ari. I don't care what you bid in there – I'm not your whore, not anymore.”
“I never thought you-”
Valentine held up her hand.
“Don't lie,” she hissed. “I heard you. You said it. Don't fucking lie.”
He stared down at her for a second, and then shocked her by taking the hand she held up and gently pressing it to his chest.
“I did lie,” he agreed, nodding his head. Absurdly, she felt her eyes fill with tears. “But not to you.”
“God, I hate you,” she groaned, yanking free of him. “You just wasted a shit ton of money, I hope you realize. I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not even leaving this club with you.”
“I don't want any of those things,” he assured her.
“So, what? You paid twenty-five thousand dollars just to come and apologize to me?” she snorted, not believing him at all. He shook his head.
“No. I paid twenty-five thousand dollars for my own personal 'leprachaun' to do my bidding,” he informed her. She opened her mouth to inform him that would never fucking happen, but he continued on. “And I expect services rendered for money paid. For one week, you are obligated to work for me for four hours a day.”
“I'm not 'obligated' to do shi-”
“You're going to be my assistant,” he said, and she was finally stunned into silence for a moment. She glanced around them.
“Your what?”
“My personal assistant,” he said again. “I've taken on a pro-bono case recently, outside of my regular work hours, so you're going to help me.”
“You're literally putting me to work?” Valentine was shocked.
“That's what I paid for, isn't it?” he pointed out. “If you do a satisfactory job, I'll even kick in a bonus.”
“A bonus,” Valentine guffawed. “Ari, I don't want a job as your personal assistant. I don't want to be around you at all.”
“Then explain to Del why his charity donation will be short twelve or so thou,” he countered. Ooohhh, she really hated him. “I'll even sweeten the deal – I'll pay you, myself.”
“We're not doing that again – I will not sleep with you.”
“I'll pay you an assistant's salary,” he clarified. “Twenty five dollars an hour.”
Val let out a frustrated shriek and shoved him in the chest.
“I don't want your money! Fuck your money, Ari! Is that what you think of me? That all I want is money? I don't want your fucking money!”
She hadn't exactly spoken softly. As she huffed and puffed and glared up at him, she quickly realized that everyone around them had turned to stare. Gary, the bartender in the Club Room, moved to the edge of the bar, watching them closely.
“I don't think all you want is money,” Ari spoke in a low voice. It was obvious he was trying to keep his own anger in check. “But I do realize that you need money, and right now, it's the best bargaining chip – the only bargaining chip – I've got. Whether you want to admit it or not, that extra money will come in handy. How is your grandmother, by the way?”
Valentine sucked in air sharply, and once again found herself blinking back tears. She shrunk away from him, as if his actual presence alone could harm her.
Probably because it can. He steals my oxygen and my heart and my self-worth.
“I didn't think I could hate you more than I already did,” she breathed. “Yet here you are, opening your mouth and proving me wrong once again.”
“Well, I suppose it's a feeling you should be used to. Love your hair, by the way.”
Her hair? Valentine had practically forgotten she was at Caché, let alone all dressed up in a ridiculous costume. When Ari reached out to twist his finger in a curl, she was painfully yanked into the here and now.
“Don't touch me,” she snapped, slapping his hand away. “If you want me to be your assistant, then fine, I don't really have a choice. But I am not your escort. You're not my client. So don't fucking touch me, got it?”
“I knew you'd come around to the idea.”
“Work means exactly that – I'm not at your beck and call. I do whatever an assistant does, I go home, and it doesn't fuck with my classes or my job here or anything in my real life. I get paid at the end of the week. I'm Ms. O'Dell, you're Mr. Dickbag. Got it? Good, grand. Now get out,” she ordered him.
“Oh, I don't think so,” he chuckled, and he pulled something from his jacket pocket. A shiny gold card flashed in front of her. “My membership has been reinstated, and don't waste your time complaining to Del about it – consider it carved in stone.”
“Jesus, what did you do to make that happen?” Val groaned, rubbing her fingertips against her forehead. Ari went to respond, but she held up her hand. “Don't answer that, I don't want to know how much more I cost. I never should've left New York, I swear.”
He frowned down at her, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted. Someone stepped around him from behind, unaware of the wrath they were incurring as they did so.
“Val! You look amazing!”
Evans Daniels, an former work colleague of Ari's, walked right up to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed her, all while kissing her on the cheek. She stared up at Ari the whole time, watching his eyes narrow into slits.
“Sorry I got here so late – I meant to come and bid on you,” Evans was chuckling as he stepped back. “But according to the bouncer out front, I would've been outclassed. You're fetching quite the price tag these days!” He was still laughing while he spoke, and his arm was still around her waist when he finally turned to face Ari. His laughter quickly died, but the smile stayed on his lips. “Ah. I see. Membership fees have gotten expensive, I see.”
To say the tension was thick would be an understatement. While Valentine stared at Ari, his glare dropped down to the arm around her waist. Evans grinned at everyone, a drink in his free hand.
“Noon,” Ari finally spoke, but by then, his gaze was on Evans. “Monday. In the school parking lot, after your class. Don't make me come find you, Valentine.”
“You're going to regret this, Mr. Sharapov,” she warned him. His blue eyes shifted over to her.
“Possibly,” he agreed. “But not half as much as you will if you're not there when I show up.”
And with that, he nodded and walked away, disappearing into the crowd in the Music Room.
“Did he really pay -” Evans started the minute they were alone.