But my mouth opens again. “How much do the girls usually make?”
“It depends,” she says, “but traditionally, around forty to fifty thousand Euros. The house does not take a cut.” My wide, panicked eyes must look very reassuring to her, she presses a button on her keyboard. “I’m sending the application and questionnaire to your email, take a look at both and let me know if you have any questions.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Forty thousand Euros, Sloan! Where else are you going to make that kind of money?
My brain’s split into two warring camps, arguing about the merits and disadvantages of selling my body for cash while Ihustle drinks, clear up dirty glasses, and give out directions to the bathroom 327 times.
How can I do this?
I can’t.
I’m desperate, I’m so desperate but stand on a stage and let men bid on me like a farm animal? My bastard of a stepfather would love this. He loved bragging about “owning” this police chief or that judge. That evil son of a bitch. He’s the reason I have to do this; work three jobs, sell the last of my mother’s jewelry, and stay awake worrying about the next doctor’s bill instead of sleep.
It’s just one night.
“Shut up,” I mumble, trying to turn my brain off. The poor guy I’m serving looks a little startled as I hand him his drink. “Sorry.”
“This DJ sucks,” Gabby complains, coming up behind me. She’s adjusting her boobs so they fit in the cups of her outrageously low-cut dress. “I heard him playing a mix of Eminem and Britney Spears earlier. It was horrifying.”
The man in question is smoothing his thinning hair and winking at two girls dancing in front of the DJ booth. “I’m not sure those two are even old enough to be in here.”
“I’ll tell one of the bouncers,” she says.
“Wait- have you heard about the- the auctions on level three?”
She turns back to me with a huge grin. “Ivy, you slut! I didn’t know you were into that! You’ve never brought a guy home, I figured you just had a frozen vagina.”
I have to laugh. “Oh, my god, woman! Do you really think I’d bring a guy home to ravish him on our couch?”
She shrugs, “I have.”
“Aaaand, I sleep there, so thanks for that. But have you? Heard of the auctions?”
Pulling me into an alcove where the music isn’t blasting so forcefully, she grabs my shoulders.“Cosa furtiva,you sneaky thing! Did Signora Mancelli invite you to participate?”
“Yes… I’m trying to wrap my mind around the idea, it sounds like a nightmare.”
“It would be good for you,” she pulls her top down a little while I nervously hike mine up before the girls escape from my shitty bra. “It’s a huge ego boost, standing up there, hearing all these rich bastards bidding for you, throwing money around like it’s confetti.”
“So youhavedone it!” I say triumphantly.
“Si,twice. Look, I have to get upstairs, my break is over. I can help you get ready and they have hundreds of designer dresses in the dressing room to choose from. Hell, it was worth doing just to wear that silver Versace,” she says dreamily.
“I’ll think about it.” My throat is dry and I gulp with an audible clicky noise.
“Don’t take too long,” she warns, “the next auction is this Friday.”
“Only two days away?” I groan. “I don’t know, it just…” Gabby kisses my cheek, leaving me with a wet red smear of lipstick to scrub off and saunters away.
Chapter Four
In which Ethan is on the hunt. And it's kind of sexy.
Ethan…
Michael complains bitterly about the abrupt end to our “boy’s weekend,” as I drop him off back at the MacTavish private jet.
