Sonia perked up. “You never say that. You always say your life is dull as rocks.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“So…” I hesitated, shocked at the words which needed to come out of my mouth. “So, my father is in one hundred thousand dollars of debt and to get the money, I’m gonna sell my virginity.”
There was a long pause.
“Hello? Sonia, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Another pause.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Mad?” I could just picture her eyes, agog at the very implication. “Of course not. Not at you, anyways. I’ve got some choice words for your father, but — not you. I’m just nervous for you, I guess. That’s a big thing to do.”
“Yeah.”
She seemed to mull it over, then said, “Well, I guess you’re probably nervous too, and we can’t both panic, that’s not productive, and you’re the one selling your virginity, so you’ve got every right to be on edge. So, what I’m saying is, I’ll be calm for the both of us.”
I smiled, and hoped she could hear my grin through the phone. “Thanks, Sonia.”
“When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
“All right, I’ll come over on Friday after work and get you all dolled up and ready. Some billionaire is gonna drop beaucoup bucks on you, baby.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“I’m just being a good friend,” she countered. “And, in the meantime, Ki, remember that you can always change your mind. You don’t owe anybody shit.”
“Definitely.”
Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t altogether true. I was in far, far too deep to back out now. Plus, if I did, I wouldn’t have the chance to do this again. It was like bobbling on the edge of the diving board and on the third bounce, deciding not to take the plunge — my feet were already unsteady, my body tilting forward into the cold water. Nothing to do but jump.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Sonia. Love you.”
“Love you too, hon.”
I hung up and revved the Jeep’s engine.
CHAPTER 12
Tate
I AWOKE TO the sounds of trashy reality TV.
“And then I was like, kill the bitch! So anyways I smashed a glass of Bacardi over her head and called her a slut and now we’re best friends.”
Through mountains of fluffy white sheets, I managed to focus on the enormous TV, which was closer to the size of a standard movie screen than a regular one.
Oh, great. This dreck must have been playing all night. Guess I’d turned it on when I’d stumbled drunkenly into the suite last night.
A girl was about to whack another over the head with a fake Louis Vuitton when I managed to find a remote and turn off the offending program.
With a groan, I flopped back down on the Egyptian-cotton pillows. Why the fuck had I come to the penthouse?
Technically, I have my own penthouse in Dazzlers. It’s called the Owner’s Suite, but I’ve been told the employees privately refer to it as the D & P suite. The D, because of the casino name, obviously, and the P… well, I’ll let you suss that out for yourself. Let’s just say that, in his heyday, my father got around Vegas. This isn’t exactly the kind of information you want to know about your dad — I could’ve had a much healthier childhood, being in the dark on his nighttime sexual escapades — but such was my lot. The staff still grumbled about the suite because my father’s parties in here would leave them with a mess that took them days to clean up.
But anyhow, I never stayed in the penthouse. It was much too flashy for my taste. It was situated on the fiftieth floor of the casino, one secret story above what we told our most exclusive clients was the top floor. Everything was covered in gold, exotic skins, crystal, and the occasional inlaid ruby. It was a bachelor pad extraordinaire, and tacky as all get-out.
I much preferred my personal home, a quiet, modern oasis in the suburbs of Vegas that I’d designed with the help of an architect. No gold, no precious jewels, just wood and white.
Which begged the question, why the fuck had I crashed here?
With a start, I remembered the escort from yesterday. Alice.
Fuck, did I bring her upstairs? I wondered frantically, trying to get my bearings. I’d been so certain that I’d dismissed her in the private kitchen, but maybe I’d changed my mind…
I looked around, searching the covers for a lithe blonde girl, then collapsed back with relief.
No, no, I was right, I definitely hadn’t brought Alice upstairs. Phew. Not that anyone would punish me for sleeping with a call girl, but after last night with Kiki… well, it would just feel wrong.
Kiki.
Ugh. Memories of the previous evening inundated my brain. There had been something real between us, right? There was no way I could fabricate a connection that strong. Or, it had been, up until my dumbass entourage had pulled that little stunt. It was like the universe was reminding me that I hadn’t chosen — or been born into — a life that allowed for genuine romance. The moment I got close to a girl, my money and the group of followers it attracted reared its ugly head.