“My associate,” he explained.
Anassociatewasn’t a partner—at least not romantically—and that small reassurance eased some of the tension coiled in my chest. I turned and set my water glass on the bar, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. Beck had seen me in far less, of course, but with him standing so close, thetemptation to let him see, touch, and tasteeverythingwas dangerously hard to ignore.
My stomach grumbled another complaint that I rushed to talk over. “How can I help you?”
The question was for either of them, but Beck answered first. “I think you and I need to discuss… things.” He glanced at the mass of bodies populating the room, and his lip curled. “Is there a private area nearby?”
Coincidentally, we had a room with that exact label on it
The thought of taking Beck there made my mouth go dry. Amidst all the equipment and restraints, I’d be vulnerable, and more than that, complicit in Maslow’s scheme. Considering that scheme was arguably the only reason I was on Earth, and my boss had made no secret of his ability to discern when I was keeping things from him, it seemed I had reached the end of my resistance.
I needed to eat. To get my strength back. To resume my place under the spotlight and in the air. To keep myself from fading.
It wasn’t just want or hunger anymore; it was survival. The cruel mechanics of my existence demanded it. I needed sex to keep performing, to keep seducing, to keep pretending I liked this.
I wasn’t sure what moved me first—resignation or despair—but I offered Beck a small nod.
“This way.”
Edging around him, I made my way through the crowd. Every step was a brush past sequins and sweat-slick skin, and the throb of music trailed behind me like a second pulse. Beck fell into step, silent and watchful, and I wished he would put his arm around me. It would have been a welcome touch, the kind I so rarely got.
Colette’s voice chased us as we passed the bar. “I’ll wait here, then,” she said, a hint of amusement stitched into her tone.
We passed out of the main area into an adjacent hall. The noise of the club was swallowed by the hush of the corridor as we shuffled along. The air back here was cooler, but my skin felt too warm, too exposed. My palms were clammy as I curled my fingers into them and fixed my eyes on the path ahead.
Beck walked beside me, silent until he began in a gruff whisper, “Zephyr?”
“Just a little farther,” I said, pretending like it didn’t make my insides twist when he said my name. The name his associate claimed she’d heard many times recently.
From him? What had he been saying about me?
“I should’ve been clearer from the start,” Beck continued despite my dismissal. “And behaved more… professionally. There’s no excuse, really. I know how this works. I’m a businessman. So are you.”
My eyes angled over, rife with skepticism.
“Anything’s a business if you get paid for it,” he explained.
“I haven’t been getting paid.”
He heaved a sigh. “I know.” When he thumbed open his suit coat, I nearly squirmed out of my skin.
Drawing to a halt, I spun toward him and pressed my palm over where his had dipped inside his jacket. “I don’t want your money.” I expelled a heavy breath of my own before admitting, “My boss does.”
Beck blinked but failed to appear surprised. “That’s his prerogative.”
I hummed a low note.
“And you deserve to be paid. Your…” He paused to take in the scope of me. “You have worth.”
The words resonated as something Maslow would never say. Something I hadn’t even thought of myself.
You have worth.
My hand fell away from Beck’s chest, and I swallowed, trying to regain my grip on the plan. My intention to appease Maslow. To behaveprofessionally. Because I was abusinessman. On that note, maybe I should have taken Beck’s money.
But I would start with getting him into the room.
“The, uh… private area…” I took a leading step onward. “We’re almost there.”
