The Seduction

Prologue

Music blares through my headphones as I study for an exam in one of my advanced business courses. It’s my senior year in college, and I’m so close to the end I can taste it. Taste it. Hah. Considering I want nothing more than to be a chef one day, that’s the perfect line. One step at a time though. Finals first.

I move my head to the beat of the music, letting the words on the page rhythmically enter my brain. I’m weird, but that’s how it works for me.

Suddenly I think I hear my father’s yell. I rip off the headphones and listen.

“Chloe, get yourself down here now!” He doesn’t sound happy, and I scramble off my bed, rushing to see what he wants. It’s never a good idea to keep either of my parents waiting.

In the kitchen, my father paces back and forth while my mother stands, hands at her waist.

“It’s about time,” Dad says.

“I was studying.” I glance at my mother. Her face is pale, and my dad looks furious. My stomach flips, and I wonder what I did to upset them now.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“What’s wrong? Joseph, she wants to know what’s wrong.” My mom’s voice reaches a high, anxious pitch, and she gestures to the laptop on the counter. “What kind of trash allows herself to be caught on video having sex?”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But my stomach roils, and I know I just might throw up.

My boyfriend, Scott, and I recently started sleeping together. He’s my first, and taking that step was a big deal. I might be twenty-two, but I waited. He knows what it meant to me. He wouldn’t record something so personal. So special. Would he?

“See for yourself!” My mother points to the laptop again. Steps over in her designer heels and clicks play.

My face flashes quickly across the screen. I recognize the dress. As if in a dream, I see Scott untie the strap on my halter in a move I thought at the time was sweet. Images keep coming. Memories, my memories, flicker across the screen, raw and painful.

I can’t bear to watch and I look away.

“Oh no. If I have to see it, so do you,” Marion, my mother says.

I fold my arms across my chest, pressing hard against the building pain, and glance at the screen. I try to turn numb as the awful movie continues, my body out there for anyone to see.

“How?” I ask. “Who sent it to you?”

“It’s gone viral,” my father grits out.

My mother tucks her perfect blonde hair behind her ear. “Violet’s daughter showed her, and she thought I should know and be prepared.”

What about me? Didn’t anyone think to break it to me gently?

I glance at the screen. It’s more graphic than I can handle. Devastation and betrayal shoot through me. “Shut it off!” I cry, tears in my eyes.

“Gladly.” My mother slams the computer top down, ending that part of my torment.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“As if that matters. It’s a disgrace. Humiliating. How can your father show his face at work? At the country club? How can I?”

I glance at my father. He won’t even look at me. My mother has no such problem and glares with utter disdain. I’ve always felt like a mistake they tolerated in life, and somehow I learned to cope, but this was beyond. Their reaction now held no compassion or sympathy. Just pure anger and disgust.

“What should I do?” I ask, my voice breaking just like my heart.

My father remains silent and unmoved.

“Get out,” my mother says. “I can’t stand to look at you.”

As I run from the room, fresh tears slip down my cheeks unchecked.

Chapter One

Four Months Later

I define my life by the main event. Before the sex tape and after it went viral. It’s ridiculous when you think about it. I’m not a household name. I don’t have big tits or a big ass. I’m not interesting to look at, yet I can’t go anywhere on campus without people staring or laughing. Guys wink and make lewd comments. Girls shake their heads and look down at me.

Get a life, I want to yell at them. Don’t you have sex? Just because my jerk ex-boyfriend decided to post us doing it on the Internet doesn’t make me a porn star. A laughing stock? Yeah, I have to live with that one.

I rush home from class, grateful my roommate isn’t there.

After the scene with my parents, I decided to give my mother what she wanted and get gone. I asked to live on campus, and they agreed. I’m sure they’re grateful to have me out of the house. They jumped on allowing me to leave fast enough.

I actually wanted to go to culinary school, but the parents refused to go for that. They wanted me to get a business degree so I could do something useful with my life. I still want to please them, though I never will, but at least I’ll be able to use a business degree if I ever open my own restaurant — another lofty goal of mine. So I am going to graduate in May and get my degree. They’re happy to pay for room and board now and pretend the sex tape never happened and I don’t exist.

Something good came from the nightmare though. It forced me to take a good look at my pampered life and do something about it. The day I moved out, I found a job. I’m determined to make money and learn to stand on my own and prepare for my future. I work at a restaurant that has a bar and grill on one side and finer dining on the other. It’s attached to a hotel in Soho.

Although I spend a good chunk of time waitressing in the bar side, I also get experience filling in in the kitchen and learning from the chef.

I’m in my dorm room and I change for work. Tonight is bar work. Black short skirt, tight black top with a low-neck vee, the words The Tavern glittering across my breasts. I’m grateful for comfortable black sneakers I’m allowed to wear while on my feet all night.

I glance down and remember I need to change my bra. I switch out the regular everyday one for the pop-up special that gives me just the right amount of boobage. As much as I hate it, I rely on the cleavage for better tips. The more I show, the better the girls look, and the more money I make. It’s a hard line to walk, flirting and acting friendly with customers without sending out the wrong message. I might be sex-tape girl, but I don’t want guys to think I’m easy just because I just trusted my ex.