Monty’s gaze flicks between us. “What publishing contract? You meanthepublishing contract?” He looks at Daphne. “How do they know about that?”
“How do younotknow that they know about it?” she says. “Did you not hear them outside the door when we were talking in the back room?”
“No. Your hearing is better than mine.”
William gives me a simpering look. “Weenie, you can’t bargain away your virtue for a publishing contract.”
“My virtue? I’m sorry, I thought I was in Faerwyvae, where sexual freedoms are respected.”
He clears his throat, his confidence faltering. He takes on an oddly serious tone as he lowers his voice. “We may be freer here, but there are many in seelie society who value propriety.”
I’ve never been fond of propriety, especially when it primarily seeks to control and repress women without placing nearly as many restrictions on men. Hearing him push propriety’s virtues only serves to inflame me more. “Are you afraid?” I taunt.
“For you? Yes.” His tone has returned to normal, his arrogance back in place. “You’re going to be humiliated. I’ll win as soon as I walk away.”
Panic slices through me. I was so wrapped up in the thrill of our exchange that I never once second-guessed the core of our conversation.
A bet.
Of seduction.
For all my talk, that is not my forte.
I’ve had my share of courtships, some of which included sexual relations, but I’ve never seduced anyone. Oh God, what was I thinking?
“Hold on. Stop, stop, stop.” Monty holds up both hands, and I could thank the saintly man for coming to my rescue. “William is right. This is too easy. We need terms. A good game has clear rules. And you’re bargaining something rather important.”
“Monty, stop trying to get involved,” Daphne says. To us, she mutters, “Ignore him. His personality is twisted.”
Monty places a hand over his chest and pretends to stagger back. “You wound me, Daph!”
She rounds on him. “You’re the one who said so! It was the first thing you told me when I started my internship. You said, ‘I must inform you my personality is twisted. Don’t take me too seriously.’ Then you gave me that idiotic nickname.”
“Daph? Oh, you mean Daffy Dear.”
Daphne bares her teeth and then faces us once more with a roll of her small black eyes. “Monty is the kind of person you would absolutely pay to see get struck down by lightning, but…you’d also sort of be sad if they died. Like, I’d laugh if he got hit by a train, but I’d still weep over his remains. You know?”
“Aw, I’d weep over your remains too, Daffy Dear,” Monty says in an exaggeratedly sweet tone. Then he rolls up his already rolled-up sleeves, flourishes his hands, and flicks his wavy blond locks from his face. One would think he was about to perform surgery or some other impressive feat. “Now, rules. What exactly does winning entail? Assuming you two know what I think youknow, Mr. Fletcher is going to offer the contract-you-aren’t-supposed-to-know-about based on sales during The Heartbeats Tour. How will a bet sway his decision?”
“I overheard you saying we’d be given a choice,” I say. Wait, why am I entertaining this whole bet idea again? “If one of us refuses, the other will be offered the contract instead, correct?”
Monty wags a finger at me. “Ah, I see what you’re getting at. The loser must refuse the contract, if offered. We’re taking sales out of the equation and basing this entirely on sex? I like it.”
“Let’s stop this nonsense,” William says with a shake of his head. He’s serious again, so unlike his usual self. “We can’t stake our careers on one night of sex. It’s asinine.”
Seeing him flustered urges me on. “What are you afraid of?”
A tic feathers the corner of William’s jaw, but he says nothing.
“William is again correct,” Monty says. “One night is too easy. So, let’s make it…many nights. Whoever can seduce the most lovers by the end of the tour wins.”
The wordwinrefuels my excitement, as does the prospect of extending the duration of our bet to the end of the tour. That will give me multiple chances to take the lead from William. I could steal back the contract without having to beat him in sales. The clarity sharpening my mind reminds me this was my idea. My most brilliant and clever idea. Of course it’s going to work in my favor.
A smile spreads over my lips.
“You’re out of your mind,” William whispers. “Drink some water. Sober up.”
“I’ve never been more sober,” I say, every word as clear and controlled as ever, demonstrating my point. If I were drunk, I’d be slurring my words, which I’m obviously not. “You just don’t want to lose.”
