“But the girls only get a fraction of the sale price, right?” I asked slowly. “Someone else gets the bulk of the money.”
Mr. White shrugged.
“Not really. We’re the Billionaires Club, so trust me, there’s more than enough to go around. But yes, the fee is split – fifty percent to procurement, and fifty percent to the girl. With a two million dollar price tag, that’s a million for the girl, minimum,” he said meaningfully.
I shook my head, confused once again.
“Procurement? What the hell? What is that, and what’s being procured?”
The big man threw his head back and laughed again.
“The girl’s being procured of course,” he said lightly. “Someone’s gotta go out and find these chickadees, screen them, make sure they’re mentally and emotionally healthy, that they know what they’re getting into. Someone’s gotta run the paperwork, the medical check-up, the psych tests, all the good stuff. It’s a tricky job because the Club demands the best, so yeah, if you do this type of recruiting for the Club, you can get really rich. That’s why we have off-shoots,” he added casually. “That’s where you were tonight. We’re always sourcing girls, testing the goods, and the handlers you saw were part of the procurement process.”
Suddenly, I realized what had happened at the bar, with the sequestered seating spaces, meeting guy after guy after guy. They were testing women. The Billionaires Club had come to NYC to set-up a pop-up spot, to mine the talent in the Tri-State area and see if there were suitable females to ship off to Nevada. And unwittingly, their net had caught me. Mr. White was working procurement for the Club, and he’d ensnared me in the drag.
“So you work for the Club then,” I stated slowly. “You’re one of their employees.”
The dark man shook his head, blue eyes glimmering.
“Naw, I’m a member,” he said. “But you’ve got to keep an eye on things, the boss has to be there himself sometimes, you can’t just let people run off and do whatever. So I came to NYC to see what the set-up was like, to take a look at the talent pool myself. And yeah, this pop-up wasn’t going too well, the dudes they’d invited, the girls that were working were fucking zeros for the most part. I was just about to shut down the production when you waltzed in,” he said with a smile playing over his lips. “You made it worth it, Abby. Girls like you are hard to find, real hard.”
I sat back, overwhelmed. So Mr. White was telling me that there was this sordid group of dudes, rich as Midas, who bought girls, and he’d come out on a recruiting trip to scope out female flesh on the East Coast. Jared nodded, as if reading my mind.
“I know it sounds bad honey, but again, you’d be surprised at how many ladies love working for us,” he drawled. “In every capacity,” he added meaningfully, eyes gleaming again.
I should have felt disgusted. I should have been turned off by the details, by the fact that there were men out there who bought women for money, turning them loose after a week of sex play. But the thing was, if everyone was good with it, and it was all legal, then why was it wrong? Why was it wrong, if everyone was a consenting adult, if money was knowingly exchanged for services? And more importantly, who was I to judge? I was an eighteen year-old naïf, and this tale shocked the senses, yes, but at the same time, I knew enough not to make any split second decisions.
“So you think I’d be good for the Club,” I said slowly. “You think I’d be a good fit for the auction.”
Jared nodded then, eyes growing dark.
“You’re more than a good fit,” he growled. “You’re absolutely fucking perfect. Like I said, baby, virgins go for a premium and honey, with your intact hymen, you’d go for millions. You’ll be a rich woman if you step onto that stage.”
My body shivered, but not with anticipation. Because I understood what Mr. White was saying, that if I sold myself, spent a week of my life with some no-name billionaire, I’d hit a gold mine. I could make so much that I’d never have to work again, my pussy would set me up for the good life. But despite all that, I didn’t want it. Call it solid middle-class values, but I’ve never thought about selling my body for money and the thought made me shudder, my soul cringing.
“But what about you?” I said, trying to sound normal. “What do you get from all this?”
Mr. White leaned back then, that big frame relaxed yet radiating intensity.
“I sourced you, but I’m not taking a fee because I’m a club member. Club members don’t get paid for recruitment,” he ground out.