“Sure you were. Check the recording back later and say that again in the morning. You were all in. She was doing weird things to you.”
I’d have countered some more if the ping of a brand new bid didn’t sound loud and clear in front of us. I saw it appear at the bottom of the listings, just a few rows down from where my cursor was hovering.
No. Fucking. Way.
I heard Eric take a breath as mine caught deep in my chest.
The name of the bidder burned my vision even as I tried to soak it in. I’d almost managed to cast it aside in my memory as part of daily business, believing it to finally be a never to be seen again entity in our enterprise after the radio silence these past few years.
“Is that shit really real?” Eric asked, but I was already clicking to be sure myself.
It was there. Real. Bold as brass.
The name was royalty. Actual royalty. The traditional nobility of lifetimes leading a picture perfect life in front of the media.
Edward Macmillan York wasn’t an heir to the throne, he was simply a younger contender in the blood line, but still, he was regal enough that the paparazzi ate up his daily activities for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
What they didn’t know, miraculously, was that Edward Macmillan York was a sadistic, deviant cunt of the highest order.
A personal friend of Drake and our highest ever bidding client, disturbed enough that I’d fought my own limited moral instincts as I’d accommodated his requirements with several of our earlier sixty-day girls.
That had been some time ago. Rumour had it he still watched our broadcasts, but had busied himself with some other lines of in person activities.
Rumour had it some of them were extreme enough to put our filthy violence to shame as a universal rating.
And now here he was. Bidding hard. Bidding a serious sum of cash for my pretty little Paige.
As his name scorched the screen before my nerves flared high in my ribs.
I wasn’t used to nerves.
Not in the business. Not while dealing with Drake. Not while dealing with any fucking thing.
But here they were. Burning at the thought of him destroying little Miss Emmerson with his disgusting requests.
“Aren’t you gonna click on it?” Eric pushed, and I wanted to punch him all over again.
It’s then that I heard the ringtone of his private handset and flicked my gaze over sharply enough to see Drake’s name flash up on screen.
And then I knew it.
Of course I knew it.
His royal fucking highness wasn’t coming to us unprompted. He’d had an invite. A personal push in this sorry direction by his cunt of a school chum, Henry fucking Drake. The man on a mission to create the biggest tornado of cash bidders going.
It took every scrap of resolve I had to click on the bidding details and check out his requests. All I wanted was to fire off a click to the reject button. Still, the repercussions would be huge. The conflict with Drake would be propelled to a whole new fucking level if I turned down his royal highness.
I was hovering. Urging myself to click the reject button as Eric’s phone started ringing afresh with the same cunt of a caller.
“I should answer it,” Eric said.
I shook my head. “Leave it. He can call me.”
“You never answer…”
“He can fucking wait,” I finished, and held my breath as the York bid details maximised in front of me.
Eric took a breath as they appeared. I didn’t need to look in his direction to know his eyes were fucking widening as he scoured the text.
“You gonna click accept?” he asked. “You gotta click accept, right? I mean the money… the money and Drake… and she’ll survive it… she might not be quite the same for the rest of her life, but she’ll survive it… You can’t turn down York, not if you ever want to handle Drake again…”
“Shut up,” I grunted. “Just shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life, will you?”
For once in his fucking life he heeded my instruction.
And for once in my fucking life I went against the grain of my own fucking liking.
I took his handset right off the table while Drake’s number was still fucking flashing, then pressed the call accept button as I made my way out to the back porch for a fucking cigarette.
Drake would learn soon enough he could go fuck himself. And so could Edward Macmillan fucking York.Chapter SixteenPaigeI can’t have been asleep all that long before my eyes flickered open. It was a struggle to get my bearings. The room felt strange, and so did I.
I was warm. More comfortable than I’d ever been used to, wrapped up tight in such a plush bed under generous covers. It was only when my body shifted sideways to look for him that I registered the full battering my flesh had taken.