Page 14 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
“Seriously?” She grips my wrist. “Why? Was he that old and gross?”
“No!” I yank my arm from her grasp. “I don’t care if he’s the most gorgeous man in the world. I’m not going to…sell myself like that.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “Uh, drama much? Men want it more than women. Why give it away when they’ll pay? Honestly, it’s a lot more fun than waiting tables. You know that.”
“Really? Then why did you need me to sub for you just because your parents are here? Did you tell them about what you do?”
Her face scrunches like a wadded piece of paper and her voice drops an octave. “Don’t be a hypocritical bitch, Annabelle. I know you have a sugar daddy you’re fucking on the side.”
“What?”
“You think I’m stupid? That job you had couldn’t possibly have paid enough for the rent, utilities, food and everything else for you and your sister. Just because you only fuck one guy doesn’t make you better than me. I happen to prefer variety. Sorry if I offended you. I just thought you might appreciate a new dick in your cunt.” She gets in my face until her nose grazes mine. “Now if you breathe a word about this to my parents, I’m going to tell your sister. Wonder how she’ll react.”
A sneer twisting her mouth, she marches out.
My knees shake, and I plop down on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. Caroline is right about the money I was making at the restaurant, damn it. And she’s obviously vicious enough to follow through on her threat.
The most frustrating thing is that I can’t get rid of her since there’s nothing I can afford on my own in the city, and I’d rather die than ask Mr. Grayson for anything now.
Breathe deep. This too shall pass, I tell myself. Nonny and I have survived worse. We’ll get through this as well.
* * *
Elliot
I’m standing on my penthouse balcony, drink in hand, gazing at the evening traffic. Caroline. I keep rolling that name around, but for some bizarre reason it doesn’t fit the redhead.
It’s been four days since my birthday, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Even as she bristled, her eyes were bright, her pupils dilated. The flush in her cheeks and neck betrayed her. I’m certain if I’d slipped a hand underneath her G-string, my fingers would’ve come out slippery and hot.
Wonder if she would’ve succumbed if I’d gotten up and actually touched her, turned up the charm until she had no choice but to give in to her need. But I wanted to see how far she’d go for money. Lots of it. I told her as much…that I could offer her far more than three grand.
Girls who work for someone like Madame G. often play coy, but they all ultimately want one thing—money. It’s the key that opens every pair of female legs in the universe.
So I wonder why she left, while saying all that stuff about a husband.
Would she let me fuck her if I married her for a year? It’s a tempting thought. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed for a while, provided she didn’t get all meek and boring.
But even if she did I might bear it as a “fuck you” to my dad. There’s no dick move he hasn’t made against me. Then he has the gall to preach about “upstanding behavior”. Fucking hypocrite.
My phone pings. It’s the doorman, informing me that my “guest” is here.
Madame G. is sending Caroline again, at my request. This time I plan to fuck her brains out before I let her leave.
I slip into the living room. Just as I settle on my couch, the girl walks in, a light trench coat around her. She’s in knee-high boots with stiletto heels that scream sexual availability.
What the hell?
She’s not the one from before. This one’s taller, with long coltish legs, and her hair is dyed. The makeup around her eyes gives her an obviously practiced, smoky look. But there’s nothing but dollar signs in their depths. Even her smile is bright with calculation as she drops the coat and reveals a young body clad in a lacy black bra and matching thong.
“Just because you have a cunt doesn’t mean you’re the one I want to fuck,” I say coldly as she starts toward me.
She falters. “What?”
I make a circle with my index finger. The girl turns obediently. Her body’s nice enough—big tits and slim hips—but it doesn’t do a thing for me. I might as well be reading an article on local crime statistics. “Are you Caroline?”
“Yes.” Her answer is too swift and firm to be a lie.
“There must’ve been a mistake. I requested the girl who came here before.”
