The Arrangement Anthology 1(176)
“Why? She doesn’t have enough money to roll around in?” My arms are folded over my chest. I repress a shiver but it makes me spasm anyway.
Gabe reaches over and cranks up the heater. “Nah, supply and demand problems. She has more client requests than she can fill. Black knows she’s losing money and pissing away cash ticks her off.”
“What?” This is news to me. I thought I was expendable, as in totally replaceable. “Like she doesn’t have enough call girls?”
Gabe smirks at me in the mirror. “I didn’t say that. Did you hear me say that?”
Crazy old man. I shake my head and smile at him. “Just because you didn’t say it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll kill you if she figures out that you told me anything.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one she sends for shit like that and it’s not like I plan on roughing up my own face, so I think we’re okay.
“Besides, my point is that she needs you. Don’t let her push you into things you don’t want to do. You’re a tenderfoot with all this. You shouldn’t have more than one guy a weekend—she knows that—but she accepted these clients and has to deliver someone.”
“So she’s sending me? What about all that stuff about preferences and trying to set us up with guys that are my type?”
Gabe snorts. “Princess, right now, every guy is your type.”
This doesn’t sit right with me. I glance out the window and wonder if she played me. All those times that Black tried to get me to sign the preference sheet and I didn’t—I wonder if she manipulated me. Am I that stupid?
Maybe.
Mel’s words ring in my ears, It’s fun, like a really good date. But it isn’t. I feel like I’m being bought and sold. I don’t feel powerful or sexy when I do this. No, it just feels like I’ve lost control of my life, that I have to do these things to survive.
Resentment is lodged in the back of my throat. I swallow it down because it won’t do me any good now. I have to cram my emotions into a box and lock them up, or I’ll cry. I can’t even imagine what Black would do with that.
Gabe stops in front of the hotel. Before he opens the door, he shoots me a look. “I’m keeping a close proximity tonight for obvious reasons. Black wants confirmation the deed is done.” The corners of his eyes are wrinkled, like he’s seen too many sunrises that made his gaze narrow with disgust. The guy is a fighter and for some reason he’s looking out for me.
I nod and slip out of the car when the hotel person opens my door. It’s a young guy, maybe a year or two younger than me. His dark eyes sweep over me once and he smiles. “Good afternoon, Miss.”
If this guy complimented me like that a few weeks ago with his flirty smile, I would have felt something, but now I just nod. There’s no normalcy any longer. The young man looks taken down a notch, although I didn’t mean to do it. It’s like the other night when I was talking to Sidney—Peter’s girlfriend. I said something stupid and accidentally insulted her. In my head it sounded light and playful but when it fell out of my mouth, well, I know I was a bitch for saying it. I wasn’t myself that night. I haven’t been myself for a long time. What happens to people when they lose sight of who they are? Can they ever come back? Is the old version of me gone forever, or can I pull her back from the depths?
Since my parents died, my life has been filled with nightmares, and grief so thick it feels like globs of fat, coating my skin, suffocating me day by day. The fake smile that spreads across my lips as I smooth my silk dress, the slight sashay to my walk, the confidence in my stance, it’s all fake. A few male heads turn as I walk by. I know this by now. Something about a confident, well dressed woman makes them look. They wonder who I am and where I’m going, and a good chunk of those guys wonder how it would be to get between my legs. They admire the man who landed me. I’ve seen many impressed glances the times I was with Sean or Henry in public. But the truth is, if anyone dared to look, they’d notice that I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t care. Maybe if I act like I’m into whatever Henry wants, then he won’t notice that I’d rather be anywhere but here.
If I could only be so lucky.
As walk through the front doors to the hotel, I confidently move toward the elevators. This is the same place I met Henry the last time I tried this. My stomach is twisting in knots as beads of sweat break out across my forehead. The elevator doors shimmer as they open and I step inside. I dab away the perspiration on my face, terrified that I’m going to hurl in the elevator before I even make it to his door, but I’m not stopping. I won’t quit—not that I have the option—and it’s not like Henry is horrible. He’s actually pretty sweet, but I don’t feel like that toward him, and that’s the problem. I don’t feel anything toward Henry, except friendship.