Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush 1)

I don't believe him. He's pushing too hard.

"Do you question all of your whores like this? Push until you get what you want?" My teeth dig into my bottom lip again, rolling over it. "Why do you want this so bad?"

"I'm not fucking repeating myself. I've already told you the reasons why I want you."

James taps the side of my thigh, ushering me to move. My heart sinks into my stomach. I don't want him to leave. I want to be around him. The last thing I want to do is upset him, but I can't give him what he wants. I can't tell him the truth. Just thinking about it makes me feel foolish and stupid. No whore gets a happy ending with a client.

Reluctantly, I move off him, breaking our connection. I don't want to be anywhere where I'm not wanted anyway.

"Where are you going?" I ask, watching him walk toward the table with his clothes and belongings. I sit against the headboard and place a big, fluffy pillow in front of my body. My shoulders fall forward in defeat.

James doesn't answer. He just dresses, finishes off his drink, and then buckles his belt. Walking over to me, our eyes lock as he slips his wallet into his back pocket, then he leans over and places his hands on the bed and kisses the top of my forehead. I swallow hard, closing my eyes. He starts to walk away, and I feel a part of me leaving with him. I wish I could explain what it is that I feel, but I can't. It's just this feeling that takes over my body, like a rhythm of a heart that’s beating only for him. Like that knowing feeling I just don't want to accept or even acknowledge.

"We're gonna get too attached," I yell at his back before he leaves the room. My voice cracks a little, but that doesn't stop him from walking away.

"Too fuckin' late for that, sweetheart."

Thirty-Three

I don't waste any time.

Pulling myself together, I get dressed and take a taxi to Sanctuary Cove, where I ask to speak with Christine. It's late and I have class early in the morning, but I can't wait any longer to put a stop to this.

I take in her ornate office while I wait, looking around at how exquisitely designed it is. I'm a little edgy, the effects of the pill still working over me. I don't want to get fired, but I need to get it out and talk to her.

I can't allow James to ever see me again. As much as it's going to hurt, it's for the best. Nothing good could come from us being together. Except maybe sex, but even that comes with emotional strings I'm not trying to tie in a bow.

A door opens and Madam Christine walks in. There's no an expression on her serene face and I'm not sure how to handle that. I dig my teeth into the side of my cheek. Should I stand? Do I shake her hand and greet her? I hope I didn't interrupt anything.

She takes a seat behind her desk and leans back casually. I've never seen black hair so straight and sleek looking.

"I take it this is about your job tonight?"

My stomach knots, heart pounding. Fuck.

"Did someone complain?"

Her lips curve, but her voice is soft, pleased. "Quite the contrary, actually." Christine pauses and studies me. The way she looks at me makes me think she's trying to get a psychic reading on me. "You were praised. Not only did you get a very generous tip from Reece, but from James as well."

I falter, my jaw bobbing. "I didn't know I was given a tip."

Madam Christine reaches into her desk and pulls out an envelope and places it on the table. She slides it across to me. It's about two inches thick of what I'm sure is hundred-dollar bills.

"Thank you."

"James wants you as his own." I catch the slightest smile on her face. A rare commodity. "Do you know the pay involved with that? The requirement?"

I blink a few times, trying to process what she said. Christine is beyond thrilled. I can understand why. Her clients are being serviced, and she's getting richer off me. Only she doesn't know the whole story.

I'm surprised James got to her before I could. Even though he knows how I feel and where we stand, he still wants me and doesn't think of the consequences the way I do.

"No, I'm not aware."

"It's a hundred thousand monthly, a fully furnished and paid-for apartment wherever you choose, an American Express Black Card, and a personal driver. One year of your time is required. When that time is up, both parties can either go into a new contract or go their separate ways."

Jesus Christ. I almost don’t want to refuse an offer like that.

It's surreal to think that I could make over a million dollars in one year, but I know in those three hundred and sixty-five days that I would lose a part of myself I'd never get back. That's not something I would give to any client, not just James.