Page 12 of Hayes
I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Peter.
* * *
Me: They put me in the penthouse. This has to be a mistake. I can’t afford this.
* * *
I wait a couple of minutes, not touching anything in the room for fear they’ll charge me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to pay this moment off.
* * *
Peter: No mistake. The penthouse allows for the privacy we need. And the fee will be passed along to the final winner.
* * *
Me: But then I’ll get less money if they have to pay for this suite as well.
* * *
Peter: No, trust me. You’ll get more because they will understand your value by staying here.
* * *
Me: I think you’re crazy, and no one is going to show up. I’m not paying for this hotel room if no one shows up. It wasn’t in my contract.
* * *
Peter: You’re not going to have to pay for anything else ever again in your life. Your future husband’s money will. I’m about thirty minutes out. I expect you changed into the dress in your closet and presentable by the time I get there.
* * *
Me: Yes, Dad…
I start to text that and then stop. He is acting like my dad. My eyes water, thinking about how much I miss my father and what he would think of me now.
Proud—he’d be proud of me for helping my family. And he’d hate himself for leaving me in this position.
I pocket my phone without texting Peter back and harden my heart. I’m going to need a heart of steel to survive this weekend. I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it without emotion.
I repeat that mantra in my head the entire time I’m getting dressed. Peter arrives with a team of people to set up the penthouse, and I keep repeating my mantra. Man after man strolls into the room—all of them here because of me.
My jaw is slack as I watch the living room of the expansive penthouse fill up. Hiding in the corner in my long, white dress, I somehow feel like a goddess about to be slaughtered by an angry god. The dress has thin straps that cut down in a V between my breasts, barely containing them before flowing out in a long dress that brushes the floor when I walk. I sip a glass of champagne waiters are bringing around, trying to keep my nonchalant composure, but I’m shocked by the number of men that have shown up.
It’s just because they like seeing a woman tortured. They don’t want to marry me—they just want to fuck me or watch someone else fuck me.
Any doubt of being able to make enough money goes out the window when I see some of the wealthiest Retribution Kings here. These men have so much money that dropping a couple million on me would be like an average person dropping a hundred dollars on a nice dinner. It wouldn’t even make a dent in the amount of wealth they have.
Peter walks over to me with a smug smile on his face looking around the crowded room.
I swallow my pride enough to say, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve convinced them to show up—we still have to persuade them to spend their money on you.” His eyes cut to me. “Although, that won’t be a problem in that dress.”
I blush and try not to squirm under his gaze. I’m going to have to get used to men looking at me like I’m a property to be bought and paid for soon enough.
“How many more?” I ask, wondering when things are going to get started.
“One.”
