His Price (4 page)

There had been dreams of owning my own restaurant, being head chef, creating dishes that would melt in people’s mouths. Ever since I was a little girl, that was all I wanted.

Some people spend their entire lives searching for that one true passion, that one thing that fuels and drives them. There had never been a question in my mind; I was going to be the next Martha Stewart.

I know it might sound silly, but I used to spend hours watching her with my mom. We would try and recreate her dishes and techniques. Those are the memories that bring me happiness.

And hopefully, in the near future we'll be able to do that again.

I had never expected in a million years that I'd be here, baring my body for profit. My family didn't know all the details of how I got the money they needed, and truthfully they never even asked.

I'm pretty sure the fact that their daughter, who had been working part-time, showing up with the sixty thousand dollars from thin air, made their heads spin.

But in the moment, there wasn't time for questions.

I had given them what they desperately needed, that was all that mattered. And if it meant that I would have to put myself on hold for a while, it was worth it.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. Glancing down, I saw that it was Fionna.
What the hell does she want?
She never called me for anything. To see her name lit up across my screen, I knew she was fishing for something.

Clicking the answer button, I said, “Hello?”

“Hey, Copper. It's Fionna.” The snap of her gum rang through the receiver.

The light sound hit my ear with a metallic pop. “What do you need, Fionna?”

“So, I hear you leave tonight for Martha's Vineyard?”

“Yeah, Gloria said my flight leaves at seven.”
Why is she calling me about this?
Fionna was good at pretending to be interested. She was one of those people who would act friendly to your face, then talk all the shit she could when you weren't around.

She treated Tigress like a high school cafeteria. She had her clique of 'friends', who without their knowledge, were bashed by her any second she could. Fionna put herself on a pedestal, expecting to be treated like a fucking queen.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted any company? It can be dangerous out there, so I'm offering my help if you want.” Her false concern floated through the speaker.

“Sorry, Gloria said they were very specific about their request. They only wanted one girl, me.” Personally, I would have liked to be able to bring someone else along, it was always more relaxing to have a familiar face. But even if I was allowed to, I wouldn't have asked Fionna.

I could hear her huff under her breath. She didn't like my answer. And she never liked me. Mostly, she hated the fact I didn't walk around kissing her ass like the others girls. I have a pretty bold personality, I'm not afraid to be honest, and I don't pretend it either.

“Well, I hope you know what you're doing. I don't want to see your face plastered on a missing person flier.”

Rolling my eyes, I paused before speaking. I knew what the risks were with our line of work. Yes, there was always the chance you could go dance for a private party and it could go south.

But Gloria assured me that this was a secure job. And seeing as how I owed her as much as I did, I wasn't worried she was going to put me in harm's way. She'd be the one losing out. To risk your loan, that would be a stupid move on her part.

“Thanks, Fionna. But I'll be fine.” Sarcasm flung off my tongue, smiling behind the receiver. Her real issue wasn't the fear for my safety, it was jealousy.

None of the others girls that worked at Tigress knew about my debt to Gloria. She wanted to keep it low key. The last thing she needed was the other girls seeing her as an open bank account there to dig them out of trouble.

So, even though they saw me making all this money, no one knew that seventy-five percent went to my boss.

As far as Fionna was concerned, I just stole another high paying gig from her.

Hanging up the phone, I grabbed a few scandalous dresses, a couple pairs of spiked heels, and stuffed them into my bag. I wasn't exactly sure what type of party I was going to be entertaining, so I wanted to have a few options.

If there was one thing I had learned from previous parties,
always go prepared.
You never knew exactly what might be needed to really maximize what you could make.

Gloria gave me the basics for my weekend away. I would be dancing for a party in a mansion off the coast. Martha's Vineyard was a high class town, with a lot of money. She said I would be spending the weekend and if they requested longer, I could choose to stay or not.

The biggest point she drove home was the money. They were willing to pay big bucks to have me there.

I can't lie, the idea of being flown out to the island was exciting. This was the first time I felt good about my job. To be personally requested for a private party made my belly warm, tingles danced across my skin.

I felt special. And I loved it.

I held up a plaid shirt, squinting my eyes with indecision.
Screw it, I'll need something to wear home that's comfortable.
Jamming the shirt inside, I threw in my sneakers and a pair of jeans.

For most of my life, I considered myself a plain Jane. I didn't like makeup or fancy clothes. Heels were only worn to weddings or the one school dance I attended. I was much more content wearing worn out shoes and loose t-shirts.

My weekends used to consist of comfy clothes and a lot of cooking. That had been my idea of a great day off.

This job sent me into a second dimension of myself. I was living a double life, a completely opposite image of who I was.

Meeting Gloria in the hospital that day had been a saving grace and a death sentence. She wasn't a bad woman, she had good intentions. But her drive for money and my desperation at the time placed us on a crossing path. The fork in my road had led me here.

I've asked myself on several occasions if I took the right turn, did I do the right thing?

When she found me, crying in the foyer of the hospital, I was desperate. Gloria seemed to sympathize with me. She had lost her mom a year before and understood what I was feeling.

She had offered to help, insisted that I let her help me. All I had to do was pay her back. That's when she offered me the cocktail waitress job.

I'd like to think I made the right choice, it's hopefully going to give my mom another chance to experience a life similar to the one she had been living.

For me, I was changed completely.

A horn blared outside. Looking out my window, I saw the taxi had arrived to take me to the airport. Zipping my bag closed, I grabbed my clutch and headed out the door.

The ride to the airport took about twenty minutes. Rifling through my purse, I pulled out the last twenty dollars I had on me. “Thank you,” I said, holding the bill out.

The driver shook his head, no, waving his hand. “You're all set, Miss. I've been paid already.”

Arching a brow, I slowly recoiled my hand. “Really?” I had called the taxi service myself, I didn't understand who could have paid for it. “By who?” I asked.

“Mr. H. He took care of it for you. Have a nice trip.”

Mr. H? Who the hell is Mr. H?
That wasn't a familiar name to me. Shaking my head, I stood on the sidewalk and shut the door. Maybe he was the one who hired me? But how could he have known who I called?

Gloria wouldn't give me a damn inch on any info about the guy who hired me. No matter what I asked, she just rooted the question elsewhere.

Stepping through the doors, I approached the clerk to get my boarding pass. Gloria had set up my tickets for the flight. Seeing as how we dancers used stage names, it was important to keep my privacy.

The last thing I needed was some creep knowing my real name and becoming a stalker. It had happened to several of the girls, and that was one thing I wanted to avoid.

“Hello, welcome to Greene. Can I have your name and license please?”

Pulling my I.D. from my wallet, I handed it to the clerk. “Noella Rawlinson,” I said. My eyes drifted around the screens, watching the flights as they were listed.

It had been a long time since I'd flown anywhere. The last time I was on a plane was when I was fifteen. My family and I had gone to visit my Grandpa in Oregon. To be honest, the whole flight experience was a blurred memory.

Mixed in between my excitement and curiosity, was a fucking bag of nerves. Being on a plane, alone; it sent my stomach straight to my throat.

“Thank you,” she said, as her fingers rapidly typed against the keyboard. “All right, you're all set, you can head over to gate eleven.” Handing me a slip of paper, she smiled and pointed behind me.

Lifting my bag, I walked in the direction she'd guided me towards. The numbers hung above my head; counting down I found the terminal for my flight.

Wow, I'm the only one here. That's strange.
I rested my bag down and took a seat.

I watched other people pass by, heading in all different directions. But no one else was coming to the terminal. Looking at my phone, I saw that the flight was set to depart in thirty minutes, and still no other passengers were sitting waiting to board.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A voice emerged from over my shoulder.

“Yes?” I asked, turning to see a stewardess. Her navy blue dress had a small silver plate pinned to the corner. Squinting to read it, I couldn't make out her name.

“Allie,” she said, pointing to the pin. “You can board now, the plane is ready for you.”

“Am I the only one flying today?” Arching a brow, I glanced around the empty space, confusion filling my voice.

The woman giggled as she spoke. “Well, yes. It's a private flight, Miss.”

Shifting my sight out the large tinted window, I saw a small jet parked at the end of the airbridge. “Excuse me?” I asked, not sure I heard her correctly.

“You're flying in on a private jet.” A smile spread across her face as I stood up shocked, wrinkles lifting across my forehead.

“You're kidding?” I couldn't believe it. A fucking private plane? For me?

I was numb; all the blood had drained from my face. My heart raced inside my chest; the pounding was so intense, I clutched my breast. Was this a joke? Was I really about to fly in a private jet, sent here for just me?

Gloria hadn't mentioned this, not once did she say I would be flown out in style. She had made me aware of the fact that this customer had money, but this was on a whole other level. The guy who hired me was fucking loaded.

“No, I'm not joking. But, you do need to board now. The pilot is ready.” She tugged the ticket from my fingers, reading it over and comparing it to my license. “You're all set. Enjoy your flight.”

This was incredible. My mind was twirling in disbelief, body trembling from head to toe as I walked down the bridge to the small open door at the end.

Another steward stood waiting at the entrance. “Hello, please let me take your bag,” he said, as I stepped inside.

The plane was stunning. Six leather seats, plush and shiny, filled the small cabin. A deep maroon rug spread across the floor, detailed dark wood lined the trim. I couldn't tell you what type of fancy wood was used, but the gloss and etched design told me it was expensive.

The man tucked my bag into an overhead compartment and told me to sit where ever I would like. I was speechless. This was the last thing I expected and I wanted to savor every second.

When would I ever have the chance again to fly in a private jet? Never.

The seat formed to my body as I sat down. Staring out the window, I watched the large commercial planes line the runway. The roar of the engine rumbled through my bones as the plane reversed and headed for departure. I noticed we had a completely different runway to use. One set off to the side, just for us.

“Would you like some wine, Miss?” the steward asked.

“Yes, please.” I wasn't really much of a drinker, but this occasion called for it.

If this was how my weekend was going to start, I couldn't imagine what else was to come.

“Here you go. My name is Jeff, and if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask,” he said, handing me a glass and filling it with wine.

Staring at the bottle, I noticed the crystal glass was adorned in gold designs. “Wow, this looks expensive. What kind of wine is this?”

His lips pulled back in a thin line. “It's Thistle Gold, Miss. And yes it's not cheap.” Placing the bottle inside a bucket filled with ice, he said: “Mr. Alexander requested the best for you.”

Mr. Alexander, so that's the name of the man who hired me. Where does Mr. H come in?
Maybe I was hired by a couple of guys, setting up a bachelor party for a friend.

When I asked Gloria if she knew anything about the party or who hired me, she would only say,
'All you need to know is you'll be making a shit load of money. The rest are minor details that don't matter.'

A piece of me had found it strange that she didn't give me more information, no guidelines to follow, no list of instructions.

Every party had some sort of requests or priorities that the guys wanted done. I'd been asked to sing like Cher, wear a pink wig and do the chicken dance-
that time was weird
- And once, I was at a bachelor party where the groom genuinely loved Miss Piggy.

You can imagine how that one went.

But this time there was nothing.
Maybe, this was a first time hire?
I had thought. It was possible that they'd never hired a stripper before, so maybe they didn't know what to expect.

I didn't recognize the name and frankly, I didn't care. This was fucking awesome. I was sipping gold wine on a jet sent just for me, a temporary star.

The engine turned into a high pitched thunder. Buckling my seat belt, I watched the ground around me shrink. The world below disappeared as the dimming blue sky and puffy white clouds lifted me into a high I had never felt before.

My nerves were running wild with anticipation; my mind was blistering with wonder of what else I should expect from this weekend.