It isn’t just the accommodations, though. I’ve never seen clients like this. The air is pungent with the scent of luxury and opulence, prestige and power.
Sex.
I lean in to speak to Gwen. “How do you like it here?” I whisper.
“Oh, it’s fine,” she says with a casual flick of her wrist. “If you like this sort of thing.”
Fabien has taught me that I do, indeed, like this sort of thing.
When I’m with him, that is.
“There are like these complimentary services,” she continues to whisper. “The suites are bigger than some houses I’ve seen. And there’s like this gorgeous pool with these huge windows that overlook the sea. A spa that’s open twenty-four hours a day, a salon, a fully equipped gym. These adorable little mini fridges inthe rooms, with small bottles of wine and sparkling water and snacks.”
Her eyes are as wide as a child’s.
“But there’s a cost for all this, Cosette,” Gwen reminds her.
“Oh, I know…” Cosette bites her lip. But I can see the wheels spinning in her head.
What would it take to be a slave to a master? Would it make being an escort look easy?
While Joëlle left for a job with her cousin in Amsterdam, Gwen and Cosette have both taken jobs here that were meant to be temporary, but it’s been a while…
Thayer and Fabien are speaking in hushed voices. I don’t know, and honestly, don’t much care, what kind of business they’re dealing with now. Thayer’s phone rings as Lyam walks in and gives Cosette an obvious wink. He walks away, his shoes clicking on the marble floor, then presses a button for the elevator.
“I saw that,” Gwen says warningly. Cosette bites her lip and shakes her head.
“Drop it, Gwen.”
“Not on your life.”
I look from one to the other while Fabien and Thayer continue to talk.
“Something you want to tell me?” I murmur to Cosette.
When her cheeks flush pink, I know I’ve struck a nerve.
“Nicolette,” she whispers, leaning closer so only I can hear her.
“Yes?”
“He likes…he told me he likes…he likes pets,” she stammers.
I feel my lips threaten to turn upward, but I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her.
“Who, honey?” I whisper back.
“Ly-Lyam,” she stammers again, shaking her head.
“I know, he has snakes and things like that,” I begin with a grimace, when she shakes her head vehemently.
“Nicolette,” she moans. “No. Not that kind of a pet.”
“Oh. Oh.” I blink. “Well…” I wonder if I’m in way over my head here.
If we all are.
I wonder if I should suggest to Fabien that we go back to Paris. The very idea of Savannah, my little sister, ever even knowing this is here?—
