Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) (10 page)

I thought that, deep down, he knew that I was offering him the easy way out—and while it hurt, I was still glad when he took it.

“You know what, Penelope? You really are a whore. And not just because you used to sell your body. You’re nothing but a shallow, despicable, twisted whore.”

I didn’t reply—what could I have said to that? I already felt dead inside so it shouldn’t have hurt so much, but damn, it did. But just like there was some truth to that, I owed it to him to do this. For him—and for myself, too.

“I’m going to deliver the evidence that Agent Smith needs,” I vowed. “I’m getting you out of this, clean record and immunity included. But after that, you and me, we’re through, do you understand? We each go our own separate way.” It might have been theatrical to add a threat, but I wasn’t stupid enough to tip him off like that. Because, in all honesty, once he was free to do as he pleased, Adam could be almost as much of a pain in my ass as Darren had proven to be.

I waited for Adam to say something, but in the end he just nodded.

Turning around, I walked back into the apartment—certain that I’d not just broken his heart for good, but left part of my soul right there with him.

I didn’t sleep at all that night—which wasn’t much different from the norm. By four, I couldn’t take it anymore and took the elevator up to the pool, where I swam laps until six, when an unobtrusive attendant brought towels, a robe, and a bowl of fruit for me. Weird as my habits might have seemed to the staff, they were very happy to oblige me.
 

By seven, I walked into Brigitte’s place, fully dolled up for a day in the office. After our outing yesterday, it only made sense to start introducing me as the new face—or rather, voice—of her business. She still took all the calls that came in, telling each client that from now on, they would be dealing with me for the day-to-day tasks, but of course they could always rely on her if need be. I was surprised how many of them already knew me by name—apparently my reputation was preceding me. In the meantime, I continued memorizing the schedules of the girls who mostly dealt with regulars, and in the evening had a sit-down with three of the new ones. One of them—Evylyn—I knew was a goner as soon as she walked in. She had the looks, but not the attitude, and from what little she talked during the evening, I could tell that she already considered quitting—before even seeing her first client. Another—Becca—I gave a year, which was how long she would take to fall head over heels in love with someone and quit the day after. I was a little at odds with myself about the last one, though. She seemed like a keeper, but her attitude was a little too snooty, too high-and-mighty for my liking.
 

It was only when she left and I mentioned that to Brigitte that her bright smile told me what that had been about—Louisa was a lot like me. Like a fourteen-years-younger version of me. Ambitious, confident, sure that she knew it all—and it would be my task to teach her humility. Because if I didn’t, one of her clients would, and that was bad for both business and the girl herself. That, like nothing else, made me realize that I’d actually crossed the line and switched sides. So many times had I secretly railed at Brigitte when she’d either torn me a new one, or sent me to a client that did everything short of physically abuse me to make me see the ultimate truth: they paid, and they got what they paid for.
 

I went home that night feeling worse than the evening after Brigitte had sent Ray with me. Of course I’d been aware of the fact that soon it would be my job to keep the girls in line, but somehow I’d neglected to realize that also meant that I couldn’t remain their kind-of manager. I couldn’t be their friend, their sister, or their confidante. I had to be their madam, with all the harshness and steel that job required.
 

And as much as I’d sometimes hated Brigitte for having to do what was necessary—I hated myself more for now having to slip into that very role.

Another endless, sleepless night, followed by more swimming. I would have tried to run on one of the treadmills, but the “slap-slap-slap” of my feet reminded me too much of fleeing in a very physical sense. Swimming was better—and felt more on point. In constant motion I might be, but I couldn’t really get anywhere—least of all away from Darren.

I took my time selecting my outfit and makeup for my meeting with Alison. It would have been out of place to vamp it up for a business meeting—at least one of this kind—but I didn’t even own the typical corporate gimp suit of jacket and pencil skirt. It would have made me feel too much like an assistant, really. It was hard to judge, but from our brief talk I’d gleaned that Alison wanted to engage me on equal footing rather than talk down to me like the last time that she’d called me into her office.

In the end, I settled on a dark gray sheath dress with an all-over cherry blossom print, the silk making it look about as expensive as it was. It was something Darren would have approved of, I dryly noted to myself as I looked my outfit over in the mirror. Slightly understated, classy, yet at the same time accentuating my every curve. That made me smile, although it wasn’t a warm or nice grimace.
 

At exactly five to seven I swept into the building, my outfit and demeanor enough to let the door man know that I belonged here. A man whose dull outfit screamed accountant held the door to the elevator for me and continued to stare at my rack the entire way up—at least until he got off the elevator, three floors below my destination. I was a little disappointed that the snooty receptionist wasn’t in attendance yet, but Alison’s secretary was already at her desk, and I could see the woman herself standing in her office, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city sprawling below.

The assistant was about to get up, likely to tell me to take a seat until Alison would see me, but I stalked right by her.

“Wait! You can’t go in—“

“I take my coffee with cream, no sugar,” I told her, and stepped right into Alison’s office.

Glancing over her shoulder, Alison watched her helpless assistant flounder—the woman was likely as steadfast as a battleship under different circumstances—but greeted me with a warm, bright smile.

“I see you have ditched your manners with your ambitions to quit,” she quipped, gesturing toward the leather sofas in the sitting area.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” I replied. “It was all pretense.”

“Ah,” was all she said to that, then accepted her espresso from the harassed woman—who handed me mine with a small dish of cream on the minimalistic tray the coffee was sitting on. I nodded my thanks, then waited for Alison to speak.

“I’m not going to waste your time on small talk,” she started after taking a dainty sip.
 

“Much obliged,” I agreed.

She flashed me another smile, this one more feral than the first. “I have two propositions for you. The first I doubt you will have any objections to. The second, well, I hope you will oblige me there.” At my nod, she put down the coffee and launched into her explanation. “I take it that your plans to succeed your madam are working smoothly? Because that was why you were at the opera night before last? A twisted kind of cotillion, if you will.”

“And I do love
Tosca
,” I offered.

“That, too,” Alison acknowledged. “Anyhow. That means, if I was looking for someone who could supply, let’s say entertainment and company for clients of mine who happened to stay in the city for a day or two, you would be the woman to talk to?”

I let my pleasant smile widen. “You are at the right address, yes.”

“Splendid.” She waited patiently as I got a stack of cards out of my purse, in a nondescript, white box that looked like any other you’d get straight from the printer. The cards inside had only arrived this week—the paper thick, my name and number embossed silver on cream. No address and not even email—if you want to hire a whore, you do it the old-fashioned way. Either you call, or you show up in person, yet only after making an appointment. Alison fished out a single card and kept it for herself, putting the box back on the table between us.
 

“I presume that means that you’re no longer taking on clients of your own?” she asked, sounding genuinely interested.
 

I didn’t know what to make of that, and decided to play the humor card. “If you’re asking because you want to engage me for a threesome with you and your husband, the answer would be ‘no.’ As much as the offer would tempt me on an intellectual level, I’ve left that part of my life behind.”

She pursed her lips, and for a second I was afraid that she’d start pouting at me any moment now. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what my husband got up to with you, and I have no intention of being a part in that,” Alison stated, waiting for me to flinch, or in any other way react. I didn’t, because there was nothing I could have offered. When it became apparent that I was still waiting for her answer, she went on. “But all joking aside, I have another job offer for you. Make this imbecile of an overgrown infant disappear, and this is yours.” She held out a check to me—signed and all—and the amount it was stating made my eyes go just a little wide.

“I presume you don’t mean in the literal, decidedly criminal way?”

That made her laugh. “Of course not. Hiring an assassin would have come with a far smaller price tag,” she divulged. I wondered if she was speaking from experience. Considering who I knew her clients were, better not to go down that road.

“Exactly what do you want me to do?” I asked.

Rather than reply, Alison posed a question herself. “Have you fucked him yet?”

It was kind of tedious that absolutely everyone was up in my business—again. And while part of me wanted to grin—particularly with that check in my hand—I left it to the simplest reply possible. “Guess.”

It was strange to see the satisfied look on her face appear. “I knew he was taking too long just to use the restroom, and he had his phone turned off so it couldn’t have been a call from a client.” Then her mood visibly soured. “But still he went home with that git. I want her gone, do you hear me? Right there it was obvious that she finally realized that you’re not just some passing acquaintance whose goods he might ogle when she’s not looking. I don’t care how you do it, but get the message across. I need her to stop even thinking of him, let alone continue to lust after him. And, if you can manage it, I would very much prefer if you were to resume your previous arrangement, in whatever fashion possible.”

That sounded cryptic enough that I couldn’t keep from raising my brows at her. Alison was only too happy to enlighten me.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve bought either of your insipid excuses. Rafting accident, my ass.” She snorted. “Darren might be a lot, but an outdoors-kind-of-guy is not one of them. Do you even ski?”

It was hard to keep my right hand relaxed on my thigh, but I managed somehow. “Of course. I spend several weeks in Aspen each year. Many of my clients enjoy a little relaxation on the side.”

“But not in the summer,” she quipped. I opened my mouth to offer the in-detail story that I’d cobbled together—after all, there was that whole heli-skiing on glaciers business—but Alison’s offhand gesture made me close my mouth again.

“I don’t want to hear it, and, frankly, I don’t care. Fact is, since he hooked up with that floozy, he hasn’t been himself. And I need him sharp and on top of his game. Like he was with you. I don’t care if you become Chicago’s next sordid power-couple or not. I need this distraction to go away so he can resume being my top doberman in the courtroom. And if that’s impossible, I need you to let me know so I can take care of the problem otherwise.”

That sounded ominous enough that for a second, I was tempted to tell her the truth.

“And you think I can pull that off?” I asked instead.

“Easily,” she confided. “That money is just for alienating the girl into quitting on him. I expect that to not take longer than a month. For each subsequent month, I’m happy to write you another check.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I replied. Now it was her turn to eye me askance. “I can’t tell you how things between Darren and me will end.” And wasn’t that the truth. “But I can assure you that I will have resolved your problem in a timely fashion.”

I could tell that my confidence worried her a little, but she pretended not to care. “Perfect. Let me know if the escort-managing business doesn’t work out. I might just keep you on retainer as a problem solver.”

Completely legal my work might not be, but I was sure that this would ramp up to a criminal record in no time.

Looking at the paper in my hand, I folded it and put it away in my purse, then held out my hand for her to shake.
 

“Deal.”

Her grasp was as firm as I remembered it, and this time, her smile was real.
 

“Speaking of which,” she said, getting up to fetch a single piece of paper from her desk. “I happen to have a printout of Darren’s personal calendar, including the events where he intends to show Daliah around. You might find this very useful.”

I accepted the contraband from her, smirking when I saw that the weekends firmly belonged to my favorite place in the world—the country club.

“You know, it would probably help me if you’d foot me an invite,” I remarked. “Or, better yet, sponsor my membership. I can more than afford it. And I think I’m now of an age where having young, spunky boys wait on me hand and foot becomes interesting rather than embarrassing.”

Alison laughed, just as I’d intended her to.

“So no more awkwardly sitting at the bar, cringing whenever a disgruntled wife glares at you?”

I shrugged, the very memory making my gorge rise, but it was easy to ignore.

“I’m no longer the woman who their husbands cheat on them with. They all have sons. Sons-in-law. Or maybe even husbands that they want to divorce but can’t unless they are caught in flagrante because their prenups force them to take extreme measures. And if they are friendly with me, they might even get me to sic one of my girls on one of their rivals’ husbands? Who knows? The possibilities are endless. I just need someone to open the door for me.”