It wouldn’t have taken much for my heartbeat to skyrocket, and the brief graze of a guest’s fingers did the job.
Jeez, if I can’t even handle someone brushing their fingertips across my forearm, how on earth am I going to handle giving myself over to someone to use as they wish, before the night is over?
I’m doing it for the money, I keep telling myself.
If I can just get my hands on a hundred thousand dollars, I can pay off Callum’s debt and never have to step foot in this club again. Even if it’s a tenth of that amount, I can invest it—I’m sure Google can help teach me a few stock market tricks—and shorten the length of my sentence just a little.
Trying not to tug at the hem, I glance down at the dress that was already waiting for me when I arrived.
It’s a similar style to those I’ve worn every night up to now, only this one feels a little tighter and shorter, and there’s a gold tag shaped like a pair of angel wings stitched just beneath the shoulder.
The tag marks me out as a bidding item—something someone can own for a short period of time. I suppose I should consider myself lucky there wasn’t a branding iron involved.
I also have to wear a gold, intricately woven mask—all Angels do. Though, in my case I don’t see the point, because guests I’ve served in the past few days will see me waiting tables and know who I am. Still, it helps conceal my nerves a little.
The club feels different this evening. More discerning. Guests are seated as they are most evenings—solitarily, in couples and in small groups. There’s laughter, but with an edge to it. There are conversations, but they’re short. And there’s people-watching—on another level.
I’ve felt the gazes before, mostly curious and appreciative, but tonight there’s an undertone of intent. Tonight the gazes feel predatory and possessive, and there’s a kind of jovial hostility in the air because guests are competing for their prizes.
The bidding is anonymous and recorded on a privately hosted network accessible by registered cell phone. Over the course of the evening I’ve watched as men and women periodically reach for their phones, glance up at the merchandise and tap out bids.
There’s a hum of adrenaline lurking within these velvet curtains—from people performing in the hope of earning themselves a bid and a lot of money, to people setting their sights on someone they like and defending their bids like lions with their kill.
The one person yet to show his face is Il Diavolo. When I mentioned this, as casually as I could, to Hallie, she said he would likely be in the offices watching as the bids come in. And, she added, that’s probably where he’ll remain all night.
Something deflated in my chest when she said that, and Irealized Iwantto see him. He’s treated me with nothing but silent disdain since I joined, and his harsh, puncturing gazes knock me entirely off balance, so I don’t understand why mine gravitates to him like he’s oxygen whenever he walks into the room.
My heart flutters along with the butterflies in my stomach and the air around me heats up a few degrees.
It must be the power he wields. Power is supposed to be an aphrodisiac isn’t it? And it’s obvious he holds all the power in the room. Everyone defers to Il Diavolo, drifting into his orbit like the tide toward the moon.
I hate the effect he has on me, especially because I’m basically his prisoner, but it also makes me tremble with something that feels a little like lust.
My weight shifts slightly on my heels. It’s been a long time since I lusted after anyone. And never someone I haven’t exchanged words with. And there’s nothing worse than lust without an outlet. It just simmers beneath the surface, making parts of me I didn’t know couldache, ache.
I should be relieved he’s not in the room this evening. My focus needs to be on the guests with their eyes on the golden tags and phones in their hands. I don’t just need a bid—I need a biddingwarif I’m going to raise a hundred thousand dollars.
Plastering a broad smile to my face, I pick up a tray of champagne flutes bubbling with Dom Pérignon and work my way around the room.
When I return to the podium, a recognizable figure is waiting for me. My mouth drops open when I see a gold mask identical to mine and the familiar gold tag attached to her dress.
“Hallie… You’re an Angel?” I whisper. “What about… your previous experience?”
“I need to fund another move,” she says, plastering a broad smile to her face for the benefit of potential bidders.
I suck in a gasp. “The stalker?”
She nods. “He’s been outside my apartment. Right outsidethe door. It’s getting way too close and it’s starting to freak me out.”
It’s onlystartingto freak her out? I would have been freaking out daily since the very first sighting.
“I completely understand. I would’ve moved sooner had I been you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t have the money. But I could have it tonight, if all goes well.”
I turn back to the room and exhale a shaky breath. “So, what happens now?”
She takes a deep breath. “Now? Just keep doing your job, Fi. Let them see you. Talk to people and get them interested. The more people who bid, the more money you’ll raise.”
