Best of 2017

But no, no fucking way.

“Three twenty,” I say to Claude.

My father tips his head. “This girl, she’ll have a tit job, yes? And get those dangling fucking pussy flaps trimmed off?”

I could kill the sonofabitch with my bare hands as Claude responds in the affirmative. “Buyer’s expense, of course.”

My father nods. “Three fifty.”

“Four hundred,” I counter.

Claude’s eyes widen, a greedy smile on his face as the room murmurs. It’s safe to say everyone else is out of the running.

“Four-fucking-twenty!” my father shouts. “Don’t be a fucking fool, boy!”

But I am a fucking fool, a fucking fool with a raging hard on in my fucking trousers and an unstoppable desire to block his chances of ever laying a finger on that poor girl.

“Five hundred grand!” I snap.

The room goes silent. Dead silent.

Claude’s gavel hangs paused in the air.

My father shrugs, laughs to the crowd. “He used to have a crush on Debbie Harry, silly little teenage thing.”

The rooms laughs with him, but I don’t care. I’m past fucking caring.

“Five hundred grand,” Claude says. “Any further bids?”

Once, twice, three fucking times, and the gavel comes down with a bang that makes my heart soar.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ALEXANDER

I’VE PAID a cool half a million for one night with some little blonde slip of a girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s signed up for.

I think my fixation with the cleaner was less insane than the craziness I’m involved with now, but that doesn’t matter. My heart soars, and it’s a welcome rush.

It would have been worth it just to win the standoff with my cunting father, but there’s more to it than that.

Amy.

She excites me.

The prospect of pushing her limits excites me. It’s base, and thoroughly immoral, the intent to corrupt something so innocent, but this is not a charity endeavour. I’m going to take my money’s worth.

The only saving grace is that she’ll spend her first time with me and not my father. She’s dodged a bullet there, one she’ll never be aware of.

I fill in the specification form as soon as I’m home, listing my preferences for tomorrow evening. My criteria is easy. Simple.

Wear whatever she likes.

No preferences on makeup, or waxing, or what kind of scent she has on.

I want her, as her, exactly as she is.

Claude’s message tells me he’ll confirm ASAP, within the hour.

Good.

I’ll be waiting.

MELISSA

BOTH DEAN and I jump to attention as the email alert sounds on his phone.

I can’t look. I really can’t look.

I ask him to read it for me, perched on the edge of the sofa with my heart in my hands.

His fingers are shaking as he calls it up, his voice croaky.

“Tomorrow night.”

I can feel my heartbeat in my temples. Tomorrow. I really didn’t think it would be so soon.

“Does it say anything else?”

“An instruction box with client preferences.”

“And?” My eyes feel like dinner plates.

“And it says none.”

“None?”

He turns the screen and I scour the text. He’s right, it says none.

“So I wear what I like?”

“I guess so.”

Guess. I can’t believe we’re guessing over something like this.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Reply or… it’s not too late to change your mind…”

I take the handset from him. Click the button to confirm my availability.

“I guess I’ll hear more before then.”

“Before you rock up to fuck some random in a hotel room somewhere? You’d fucking hope so, Lissa.”

I nod.

He’s right.

The confirmation goes through, and I wait.

It’s all I can do.

ALEXANDER

SHE’S AVAILABLE.

I scan Claude’s suggestion. Harley’s Tavern. 8pm.

But no. Not this time. I’ve used Harley’s so many times over the past couple of years, but this is different. I don’t want to take her first time in a place I’ve been so many others’ every time.

No, I reply. Book Delaney’s spa.

Reckless. Close to home. But I’m feeling it, dancing on the edge.

I’m not sure I care about falling off.

A ping straight back.

That’ll be extra.

Cunt. Like I haven’t paid enough already.

Fine. Let me know it’s confirmed.

Another message. This purchase also comes with compulsory five percent cash tip on the night. It’s in the small print.

Sure it is.

My fingers jab the handset as I type out my response.

Just fucking book it.

I toss my handset to the side.

MELISSA

ANOTHER EMAIL. I feel heady as I stare at the screen, weirded out by how surreal this is.

I’m expecting Harley’s Tavern, of course. I’ve already looked it up again on Dean’s phone.

I’ve scoped out the route on the underground, know just how to get there.

But no.

Delaney’s Spa Resort. Kensington Gardens.

I’m shaking so bad.

“It’s not Harley’s,” I tell Dean, and his eyes widen.

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know. But it’s Kensington…”

He looks as stressed as I do. “That’s gotta be good, right? Close to his house…”

I shrug. “I really don’t know.”

I scroll further down.

You’re booked into room 216. Your client will be waiting in suite 12 at 8 sharp.

Dress to impress.

Ok. I breathe. Room 216. I guess I check in as Amy Randall. Cool. I’ve got that.

A couple more lines of text reinforcing the earlier rules about money, not talking about it, not counting it.

And then finally, one final little line.

Your client is Ted.

I remember Cindy’s voice, so clearly. He has a private email address, some random account under the name Ted Brown. It was open on his screen one day…

A breath. A gasp.

Surely… surely it has to be…

A moment of staring at Dean in crazy, mute shock.

And then I dance around my living room.

I BARELY SLEEP A WINK, but I feel ok for it, running on adrenaline and more than a bit of excitement.

Dean holds up a picture on his phone as I feed Joe his breakfast cereals.

I stare at the metallic crystal and take a breath.

“Native bismuth is known to be found in Australia, Bolivia, and China.”

Dean nods. “Good.” He holds up another.

“Moldavite, found in the Czech Republic. Known as the Holy Grail stone.”

“You got it.”

I’ve only got one final job on my list today.

We take Joe to the park to feed the pigeons on the way, and I soak up the sunshine, realising all over again that tomorrow I will be twenty grand better off, and not a virgin anymore.

Ted.

I pray to God it’s really him. Really, really him.

I wish I had a bigger budget as I step inside the New Age shop on the corner of Barrow Street.

I pick out a couple of nice looking stones. A sparkling amethyst and a tiny little lump of garnet. A green banded malachite.

And an angel hair quartz, its sides so smooth. I roll it in my palm.

This one. This is the main event.

Dean takes it from me and holds it up to the light. “Nice.”

I smile. “Angel hair, for good luck.”

“You’ll want it.” He nudges me, then h

oists Joe up on his hip.

I pay for my crystals and a little velvet pouch to put them in.

ALEXANDER

I COUNT twenty-five grand from my safe in used bank notes.

I put the envelope in the case with my sex toys.

And then I choose my suit for the evening.

It’s an easy choice.