“You’re serious?” Maslow stared at me a moment more, then pushed back to open the desk drawer and rummage again while muttering, “I’m gonna need my calculator for this.”
Keys tapped, and the total climbed. After a few seconds, he spun the adding machine toward me. It was a lot of zeros, all right.
“Twenty grand,” Maslow announced the number on the digital display. “That’s on top of the ten you racked up in your limo. And my bathroom.”
I thought I heard another hiccupped breath from Zephyr, but I carried on past it, plucking a check from my money clip and smoothing it on the desk.
“Done,” I declared.
The pen Maslow had been writing with lay on top of his ledger book, and I snatched it, using it to fill out the check for a staggering thirty thousand dollars.
How many singles’ cruises could I get for that?
While Maslow watched, his beady eyes bulged. “Damn, Beckett, how deep are your pockets?”
After scrawling my signature on the bottom corner, I pocketed my money clip, then shoved the check toward Maslow and sent the pen skittering along behind. “Are we done here?”
I didn’t wait for his confirmation to turn toward Zephyr,who sat huddled and trembling. I wanted to take him in my arms and carry him out of here, but not with the wraith looking on. So instead, I offered my hand to help him stand.
Maslow lurched from his desk chair. “Now, now, don’t rush off. For that kind of expense, you deserve a receipt. One you can sign.”
He turned the ledger toward me, and I scanned the words written.
10 Limo Orgasms
1 Bathroom Fuck
24-Hour Incubus Rental
$30,000
It should have been comedic, but all I felt was blinding fury. Maslow had turned a “receipt” into a contract with his name penned at the top and a space at the bottom for mine. It would settle my debt, but it also ensured I would have Zephyr back at the designated time. Savvy of him, because I was already scheming how to wrest my incubus from his clutches for good.
I read the note again, then asked Maslow, “My word’s not enough for you?”
He nudged the pen toward me. “Twenty-four hours, Mister Beckett. I won’t bother with the fine print because I don’t give a shit what you do to him as long as he’s back before the club opens tomorrow night.”
Nothing about this had gone according to plan. I had answers, but I hated them. Just like I hated putting my name on the half-assed contract that turned Zephyr into Cinderella, due to be returned before the clock struck midnight. Or tomorrow afternoon about two.
In the end, I signed the damned thing and threw the pen down before turning to Zephyr.
“Let’s go.”
I rushed him toward the door, but not quickly enough to miss Maslow’s parting words.
“Maybe you can rent him out on the Strip!” the wraith called out. “Might turn a profit on the whole thing!”
The demon in me rebelled once more, but I kept it contained. I held myself together because Maslow didn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching me unravel. He’d already seen through me too easily.
Thundering down the spiral staircase, I ushered Zephyr toward the front door. No need to slink or hide this time, though I wasn’t quite ready to hold my head high. I’d just bought a man. Rented him like a sports car I was taking out for a joyride. And I’d played directly into Maslow’s hands.
If this was a game, he was winning—for now.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Zephyr
