Torrid (Sordid 2)

The radio turned down to almost nothing. His voice was patronizing. “The little virgin got a taste of my cock and now she wants more?”

I swallowed a thick lump in my throat.

He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at me, and took in the hesitant look on my face. I’d been trying to be bold, but all my courage vanished. He flashed a knowing smile. “I’ll let you blow me later. Just not when I’m driving a car I need to sell for seventy grand.”

He put his cold hand on mine and pushed it away. I felt flushed. Shouldn’t I have been relieved he’d rejected my poor attempt at seduction?

Faire Avenue was a high-end department store attached to one of end of a sprawling mall. Vasilije parked in the garage and said nothing as he got out of the car. He expected me to follow him like a servant, and I had no choice but to do it.

We had to be an odd match as we walked through the set of double doors. I wore clothes purchased from Goodwill, which probably hadn’t cost much when they’d been new. He was wearing his suit with fancy shoes and accessorized with an expensive watch. It was basically male jewelry, because as we entered the store, he pulled his phone out and checked the screen.

“Are we on a schedule?” My voice was devoid of any emotion.

“We have an appointment.” He pointed two fingers down the aisle, gesturing to the escalator up.

Overloaded Christmas trees decorated the intersections of the main flow areas, and glistening snowflakes hung from the ceiling. The holiday shopping season was already in full swing since Thanksgiving was later this week. The opulent displays made it easy for me to exaggerate my gawking at American culture.

When I stepped onto the escalator, Vasilije moved right behind me and climbed up onto my step, invading my space. A shudder thundered through me as he placed his hand in the small of my back. It wasn’t a sweet gesture. This was about control.

He pressed me forward to the counter where two women were working. They both looked up at us at the same moment, and the conversation between them halted.

“We have an appointment with Daphne,” he announced.

The younger of the two women, who was probably in her thirties, nodded her head of corkscrew tight curls and gave him a bright smile. “That’s me. Mr. Markovic?” She stepped around the counter. “It’s nice to meet you.” They shook hands, and then she turned toward me, her hand offered. “I’m Daphne.”

I acted on pure habit. “Oksana.”

“Oksana,” she repeated, and her eyes lit up. “That’s so pretty.”

Her gaze evaluated me from top to bottom, probably for sizing, and then it floated to him, evaluating for budget. If she was concerned about how young he looked, it didn’t show. The ease in which he wore his tailored suit wasn’t lost on her. He reeked of money and oozed confidence.

Daphne motioned toward the back of the store. “The fitting rooms are this way. I pulled a few pieces we can start with, and build from there.” She talked as we moved. “Your boyfriend tells me you need to expand your wardrobe. Are there any pieces you’d like to see, or colors I should steer clear off?”

My what? I fired a stunned look at Vasilije, but he was tapping something out on his phone, texting while he walked and ignoring everything around him. I knew she was waiting on an answer, but my brain struggled to find one. “Uh . . . I don’t look good in yellow.”

Or as Vasilije Markovic’s girlfriend.

When we reached the antechamber of the fitting rooms, he plopped down on the couch beside the three-panel full length mirror, never looking up from his screen.

Daphne grabbed a rolling rack with one manicured hand and pulled it toward the first dressing room, then unlocked the door and ushered me inside. She pulled several hangers down and hung them on the hook closest to the door. “Let’s start with a few staple pieces.”

She searched through the pairs of black pants until she found the size she was looking for and took them off the hanger, passing them to me.

“Try these, and pick one of the tops you like from the collection.” She motioned to the other hooks around the room. “Anything you don’t like goes here. Pieces that make the cut go here. If you need different sizes or styles, let me know and I’ll be happy to pull them for you.”

She flashed me a final smile, one that said I was a lucky bitch, right before she pulled the door closed behind her. I stared down at the pants I was clutching. The price tag said they were almost two hundred dollars.

As I changed, I could hear Daphne making small talk with Vasilije, and a sinking feeling came over me. There wasn’t a mirror in this dressing room, and they were both waiting for me to come out and stand before them. Of course he’d want to inspect his purchases.