“In that case, I’m going to have to change out of these clothes,” I say. “Any chance you have something I could borrow here?”
Sydney shows me to the master bedroom, where half the closet is already filled with her clothes. Her suitcase is neatly put away underneath with James’s shoes piled two rows high to accommodate the space.
“You don’t waste much time,” I joke, slipping on a comfortable pair of leggings and a loose pullover.
“Oh my God, this is heaven,” I mumble, lying down on the bed and enjoying the feel of my body in something that doesn’t poke and shape it in any particular way.
It’s not that the outfit I wore didn’t make me feel unbelievably sexy, it’s more that I really hate wearing things like that. Letting the sleeves hang past my fingertips, I finally feel in my element.
“You look beautiful,” Sydney says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Earlier? Yeah, I felt pretty hot.”
“Earlier…and now.”
I give her a smile.
For a moment, I wonder if the fact that we ran into each other in a place without many inhibitions is going to change our relationship.
But looking at the way she gazes at me now, I realize that nothing is different. We were best friends before and we are best friends now.
There is nothing romantic or even sexual about the way she is looking at me, she is just one friend telling another friend how beautiful she is.
“You looked pretty awesome, too,” I say, watching her change into a pair of joggers and a crop top.
When we get back into the living room, the men are mildly surprised.
“What happened to the thongs?” James asks, making a dour face.
“If you are going to stuff yourself fully dressed, then so are we,” Sydney announces.
The food arrives fifteen minutes later. While James and Sydney head to the front door to collect it, I turn to Nicholas to find out what happened.
“It’s off. He left.”
“Who?”
“Our mark.”
“Yes, I know.” I roll my eyes. “But you never told me who he was.”
“He was someone who was there for two hours and who is now gone. Probably on his way back to New York.”
Shit, I say to myself. I want to ask his name again but I hear Sydney’s voice and I know that the timing is all wrong.
We don’t hang around James’s house long after we finish dinner. Everyone is tired and overly excited from the night’s activities and Nicholas says that he has an early morning.
We drive back to his house in silence. I attempt to ask more about who we were supposed to do a job on this evening, but he doesn’t give me much except for a few grunts. Since there is no radio signal out here, I go through his Spotify playlists to find something to listen to.
“All you have is Led Zeppelin and the Yardbirds.”
“I have at least twenty playlists there,” he corrects me.
“But they’re all kind of the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“Classic rock. Rock anthems. Contemporary Rock. Modern Rock. It’s just rock, rock, rock,” I whine.
“What do you want to listen to?”
“Something…soothing.”
He grabs his phone away from me, scrolls down then up before landing on the Beatles’ Blackbird.
“I was thinking something more folky but I guess that will have to do,” I say.
“What did you think seeing Sydney there?” he asks after a moment.
“I don’t know…I was pretty shocked. I never thought she’d be the type.”
“And you?” Nicholas asks. “Did you ever think you’d ever go into a place like that?”
I shrug.
“Tell the truth.”
“No.”
“Would you if I had asked you?”
“You mean, if we were like…dating?”
He nods.
“I don’t know. I really don’t but…” My voice trails off. I’m not sure if I am comfortable telling him this yet.
“But what?” He pushes me.
“Well, being there tonight…we were there for a job…but it didn’t feel much like work. I mean…it was…really sexy.”
I don’t know why I feel so embarrassed admitting something like this.
It might be because I’m a woman and we are all told by society that having sexual urges is something that’s wrong.
Or maybe it’s just me.
My upbringing.
For men, sexuality and being aroused isn’t limited to one person and no one blames them for that.
But for women? There’s something wrong with it. There’s something inappropriate even.
But if that were true, then who the hell are all of these men fucking?
“It is sexy,” Nicholas says. “Watching you watch them…made me really hard.”
His words bring me back to that moment, and I can’t help but lick my lips.
“But the terms of the offer remain the same,” Nicholas says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“If you want me to sleep with you, you’re going to have to beg for it,” he says.
“I accept your challenge,” I say with a smile.
14
When I get a call…
The following morning, I wake up late, head straight to the pool, and swim a few laps before Nicholas shows up. As soon as I see him, I know he’s agitated. His hands move around in little jerks as he asks about my night’s sleep. He rubs the back of his neck as if he has something else on his mind.
“Are you okay?” I ask, giving up on making small talk. There’s no point to it if the other person doesn’t play along.
“I’m just upset with myself. With how everything went down last night.”
I play with the ends of my hair.
It feels like I should apologize as well but I’ve done that already. I had no idea that Sydney and James would be there.
Neither of us did.
“Have you made your decision?” Nicholas asks, dragging his hands through his hair. “About my offer?”
“Did I pass last night’s test?”
He considers that for a moment before giving me a small nod.
“One million dollars for staying with you for one year plus a percentage,” I clarify.
“Yes, yes,” he says quickly.
“How will you pay me? Every other week would be ideal,” I joke.
“Done,” he says, surprising me.
I take a deep breath and say, “I have to send my employer an official letter of resignation.”
I expect a hug or at least a smile. Instead, Nicholas spins on his heels and starts to walk away.
“Send it today,” he instructs before disappearing back inside the house.
Despite the chilly reception, I can’t help but feel giddy. One million dollars divided by twelve months is a little over $83,000 a month! That’s more than I make a year at my old job. Divided by two, it’s a payment of $41,667 every two weeks!
I dive under water and scream at the top of my lungs.
This isn’t imaginary money. This isn’t potential money that I will make if a con pays off. This is real money. He’ll pay me this no matter what.