As I start to wash the worries and pleasure of the day off my body, I can’t help but wonder what actually might have been different now if I’d stayed the night with him. Would I have found out who he is? What he does? Would any of this debt issue have come up again?
Would I have liked him?
Hot water runs down my body, and that thought lingers in my mind for a while. He seemed alright that night we spent together. I never would have known a thing was amiss if he hadn’t strolled into my club and announced that he’s a mobster, here to do mobster things at my mobster-owned club.
I put my forehead against the wall, hugging myself while breathing the hot air around me. Maybe my body’s impulses aren’t entirely wrong about Ivan’s offer.
I know I want this. I know myself well enough not to fool myself in that regard. But is this really the best thing for the club?
It would totally free me of my debt. I’d never have to worry about the mob breathing down my neck ever again. I’d be able to use that spare $4,000 a month for anything. Savings, maybe a new expansion, raises for all the staff of course, a decent place to live. Just the thought of all that makes me almost giddy, almost ready to forget what I’d have to do for that kind of freedom.
Almost.
What if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain? What if he decides I’m not good enough after a few months and sticks me back to square one? What if he’s not even being honest in the first place and this is just some ploy to humiliate me?
No. I can’t do this.
I nod to myself, the useless gesture a silent resolution to myself. I don’t want anyone else dangling charity over my head. If I’m going to weather this storm, I’ll do it on my own or not at all.
It isn’t worth the risk to put my life in the hands of some mobster who just wants a piece of meat to fuck for a year and toss aside. That’s how criminals work, after all. None of them can be trusted. They put Dad and me in this situation in the first place, and they’ll just put me right back in it when they’ve had their fun.
I finish washing up and turn the water off, stepping out onto the tile of the bathroom and wrapping a towel around my body. I wipe some of the condensation off the mirror and stare at my reflection.
I’m going to face whatever comes at me tomorrow, one way or the other.
* * *
The sky is overcast yet again as I drive to work today. I’m wracking my brain for the proper words to say, unsure how exactly to explain to Ivan that I have to decline his offer. Not that it isn’t a tempting option, at least on some level I’m refusing to entertain at the moment, but my father’s influence is powerful over me. I know he would want me to say no. Of course. And any woman in her right mind would object to her being treated like a sex slave for a year, wouldn’t she? Seems pretty common-sense.
But then again, it’s not every woman who ends up in this kind of predicament to begin with. Who’s to say I’m not making a huge mistake in turning down my one chance at eventual freedom from these mafia thugs? It does sound wonderful — the prospect of being able to live my life without the shadow of the mafia hovering over me and shading everything I do, every choice I make. I could finally do the things I want to do with my money. I could fix up the club a little more, add some of my own touches. I could finally give Natalie the raise she deserves. Hell, I could finally put away some money to travel, see the world like I’ve always wanted to.
No, I tell myself firmly, it’s not that simple. After all, despite his claims to the contrary, I am pretty damn certain that Ivan is a dangerous, dangerous guy. Probably not the type of man I want to be chained to for a year. His “whims and desires” might actually include some messed-up stuff that I should want no part of.
So here I am with my dilemma. How does one politely tell a Russian mobster no?
As I’m pondering all the miniscule variations of “thanks, but no thanks” I pull my car into the parking lot and cross the pavement to the front door of the club. Once again, the motorcycle has two helmets dangling from it and a smirk crosses my face. Are Natalie and Ashton just carpooling (bike-pooling?) or is there something else going on I need to address? I suppose that since I’m technically their boss, I might have to lay down some ground rules about dating your coworkers or something.
But when I get inside and settle into a seat at the bar, it turns out that I’m on the receiving end of an interrogation, rather than the opposite.
Natalie and Ashton are both leaning on the other side of the bar, nursing coffees and staring at me with gleeful expressions, looking very mischievous. And to think, Ashton was such a sweet, innocent girl when she first started here. I make a mental note to goad Natalie later about being a bad influence. At the moment, I am eyeing the pair of them suspiciously, waiting for the barrage of questions to begin.