I’d have to break her in. Thoroughly. I’d have to use every sorry little scrap of experience the years in this business had granted me to ensure she was as primed as possible to deal with the onslaught. Either that or let her go, set her on her way with the same overly generous cash reserves I’d bestowed on Annabelle Fisher.
But no. Not this time. Even my somewhat erratic common sense hadn’t bailed quite that far. Plus there was more to the picture this time around. I couldn’t let such a pretty little doll go free with so many bids at stake and risk the Drake war reaching new heights before I knew what forces I was truly up against.
I’d been a mouthy prick on the phone but still wasn’t blind enough to think I could take him down straight off in a battle of wills. Still I’d rattled my mouth off, telling him he was an interfering cunt who had no business in the sign-up process. I’d barked at him to steer well clear of my performances and leave well alone. But no. Hating Drake’s input or not, I couldn’t cancel sixty days with this magical little minx and humiliate the hell out of this whole enterprise.
I struggled to find solace in my smoke as I replayed the Drake conversation in my mind. He’d been quiet. Worryingly fucking quiet for a piece of shit like him. Festering on some deeper plan of action he had no intention of revealing in that conversation. My hackles bristled as I took a final drag and tossed my second cigarette butt out of the window.
Even if I did want to turn down the bulk of the client bids, Edward McMillan fucking York would be a virtually impossible client to sidestep or rein in on his sadistic requirements. He would be a virtually impossible bidder to turn down on the offers front. Too well connected to refuse, no matter what vile atrocities he was planning the poor little slut be subjected to. Paige Emmerson was a nothing as far as he would be concerned. Permanent damage to her would mean nothing. Additional compensatory pay if he pushed it too far would mean nothing. Hell, even permanently silencing a girl like her would mean nothing. Not to him. Certainly not with Drake onside.
My temples were pounding hard as I took a deep breath of cold air before pulling the window closed. The pain didn’t surprise me. Life had felt like a whirlwind of crazy bullshit ever since Miss Emmerson’s first desperate ping came through. I didn’t feel like myself standing there in my nakedness that morning. My concrete footing on reality felt strangely brittle in her sleeping presence, and her words rattled around my brain soon after Drake’s finished replaying. Over and over and fucking over.
Her love is everything mentality was sickening to the pits of me. Her sweet naivety should have made me laugh out loud, not churn in the gut. Telling her to shut up and lose her idiocy should have been number one on my list of wants, not finding sleep next to her with her dainty little limbs tangled in mine.
Because I did want that.
I did want to shut myself off from my swirling fucking head and find some kind of peace beside her, past giving two fucks for the seedy dollars she was set to generate these coming weeks. Past anything but shutting myself down for one paltry fucking day and enjoying something. Anything. Because when was the last time I’d truly enjoyed anything that didn’t involve my dick at full hardness?
More specifically, when was the last time I’d truly enjoyed being close to anyone full stop? But it was bullshit. Utter fucking bullshit. Nothing but a risk to the spine in a world determined to buckle and break you.
I told myself to write off every word that had sounded loud from those sweet lips. She knew nothing. Fuck all. Nothing about this sordid world and what really makes it turn on its perverted axis. Nothing about what makes people click and tick and go for gold in life.
Maybe one day you’ll find a love that makes you think again.
Stupidly naive words from a stupidly naive girl. There was no love in this world that would make me think again. Not a single strain of love in this world that could ever counter humanity’s selfish hunger for money at the right price. I’d learned that the hard way a long time ago. Pity for her, but I was sure Miss Emmerson would learn it for herself soon enough.
I dug out my phone from my jacket pocket to check the latest status update on her dregs of a sister and found nothing but a simple ‘doing ok’ waiting for me. So she should be doing fucking ok. Sending her to rehab was costing a damn sight more than ‘doing ok’. I demanded to know more by return, sending off a ping with a fresh bout of venom before tossing my phone aside on the windowsill.