ARROGANT PLAYBOY (71 page)

Cortland’s hand lifts for a
brief second, as if he wants to place it on mine, and then he remembers he
can’t.

“Bellamy is a beautiful,
intelligent young woman. I don’t know her that well yet, but that much I can
tell.” Cortland’s lips must hurt from all the ass-kissing he’s done tonight.
“If all goes as planned, I’d like to ask for her hand in marriage soon. I don’t
want to let this one get away. I’d love for us to be starting our life together
before Christmas this year.”

On any other planet, in any
other world, this would be moving along way too quickly. My father doesn’t even
seem fazed by this conversation. He acts like it’s the most normal thing in the
world.

“The best courtships are
short,” my father says, “for practical reasons. The longer the courtship, the
more difficult it is to maintain appropriate physical boundaries. I’m fine with
that.”

“I agree.” I sit up straight.
“I want to move quickly. I don’t want to wait longer than we have to, you know,
if we decide we want to be together. I’m ready for the next stage in my life.”

Cortland shoots me a look only
I can see.

“Which is why I need to get a
job,” I add.
Money
. That’s what I
need. Money equals freedom. Money will get me out of here. I need enough to get
on my feet, get a vehicle that doesn’t have my father’s name attached to it and
save enough for an extended-stay hotel or an apartment.

I. Need. Money.

“A job?” Cortland scoffs.

“I want a big wedding. It’s
always been my dream. And I’d feel bad expecting our parents to chip in. Plus
I’ve always dreamed of a European honeymoon. I’m talking at least three weeks
going from country to country,” I smile big, like I’m speaking about something
I’ve been fantasizing about since I was a little girl. “I’ve always wanted to
see Paris.”

Lies.

All of it.

“Maybe I can work for a few
months? I’ll save everything I make, and we can put it toward the wedding.
Anything left over could be a down payment on our first house? Something big
with lots of bedrooms.” I’m singing their tunes. I know how this works. I know
how to tell people what they want to hear.

“I don’t know,” Cortland says,
drawing it slow like he’s waiting for my dad to chime in. “I make enough to
support us both…”

“Yeah, but what could it hurt?”
I shrug. “Extra money is extra money. I’m done with school, and I’m just living
at home. Why not work for a few months?”

My father scratches his five
o’clock shadow. “You know, Bellamy has a point. And it’d sure take a load off
us when it comes time for her wedding. I know how tough it is to start from
ground zero and work your way up. Might give you guys a nice leg up before you
start your life together.”

“Where would you work?”
Cortland asks. “Want me to get you a job in the office at McGregor Medical
Supply?”

“No, no,” I say. “I’ll find
something.”

Cortland’s brows furrow. He
doesn’t like this idea, but I don’t care. As long as my father goes along with
it, that’s the only thing that matters.

“I think it sounds like a great
idea.” My father’s words are music to my ears.

Thank
God.

“Cortland.” My father clears
his throat. “We’d like to see a lot of you around here. And we’d like to meet
your family too.”

“I do travel for work, but I’m
usually home on weekends and Wednesdays,” he says, turning my way and pinning
me with his gaze. “I’ll be here every chance I get.”

My father thanks Cortland for
coming and excuses himself.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say. The
moment I’d been waiting for all night has finally come, but I won’t breathe
easy until I see the red lights of his car growing smaller as he speeds over
the hill.

The second we approach the
foyer, Cortland peers around. We’re alone. He steps toward me, forcing me to
back up until his hands press on either sides of the wall behind me. I’m
trapped in his hold. His eyes penetrate with an unstoppable hunger, until he
pushes his mouth against mine to take what he believes to be his. His tongue
slides between my lips, and though the kiss lasts only a few seconds, it’s a
few seconds too long.

“You did good tonight,
Bellamy.” His voice is hushed, throaty and soft. “I knew you’d see it my way.
Won’t be long before we can finally be together the way we were always meant to
be.”

I wear the expression of a
docile and domesticated wife-to-be, but on the inside I’m kicking and
screaming.

“Can’t wait.” I want to spit
his taste from my mouth.

“Do you mean that?” His hand
leaves the wall and cups my chin, lifting it to his.

I nod. “You shouldn’t do this.
If my father sees you touching me this way, being this close to me, it’ll all
be over for you…for us, I mean.”

A long sigh drags past his lips
before he licks them slowly. “We still need to make time for…us. If you catch
my drift.”

I nod again. “We’ll figure it
out.”

“And while I’ll allow you to
work, it’ll only be temporary. And I should always come first. I’m your first
priority,” he says.

“Shouldn’t God be my first
priority right now?” I brace myself since he looks like he wants to slap me
across the mouth.

He backs away, but doesn’t
release me from his stare. “Don’t get smart with me, Bellamy. Let’s not go down
that road, okay? You don’t want to see where it leads.”

“Sorry.” I hang my head,
feigning shame.

Cortland grips the doorknob,
and I watch from the door as he climbs in to his Kia and drives over the hill.
The moment he’s gone, I jet upstairs to wash him off of me. Remnants of his
drugstore cologne reside in my nostrils and his taste still covers my tongue.

“Hey,” Waverly says when I
reach the top of the stairs. She leans against the wall like she wants to chat.
“So it went really well! Dad seems to love him. They’re practically the same
person.”

“Can you do me a favor,
Waverly?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Let’s not talk about Cortland,
okay?”

She laughs. She must think I’m
joking.

“I’m being serious,” I say,
squinting my eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know where
this is going to lead.” The truth lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not
sure if she’s ready for it just yet. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“So I’m not allowed to talk
about him?”

“I ask that you don’t. For now.
Don’t ask me about him. Don’t ask me about the courtship. Don’t say his name
around me.” I realize my requests are absurd, and I wish I could sit down with
her and explain everything.

I will eventually. When the
time is right.

“I-I guess. I mean, if that’s
what you want.” Waverly’s eyes turn from scrunched to sympathetic. “You were so
quiet at dinner. It’s like you don’t even like him.”

“Of course I like him,” I lie.
“This is a very big step to take. I take it seriously. It’s scary.”

“Everything’ll be fine.” She
runs her palm across my arm. “It’s all going to work out the way it should.
Courting is just…courting. I mean, yeah, it’s like a pre-engagement type thing,
but you can still change your mind if you’re not right for each other. God will
show you the way.”

If
only it were that simple.

“Anyway.” I inhale loudly and
wipe the anxious look from my face. “I’m going to go wash up for the night.
Maybe do my prayers and devotions early. Call it a night.”

My sister carries on, hopping
down the stairs, and I make a beeline for the bathroom. I wash Cortland off of
me. My hands, my neck, my face.

After changing into pajamas, I
crack open my laptop. Everything on here is filtered by some Christian software
my father installed the day he gifted me with this machine. The only reason I
got it was for school, and I’m shocked he hasn’t taken it away. I try to keep
it out of his sight, so as not to remind him I still have it.

I type in Careerbuilder.com.

BLOCKED.

I go to Jobdig.com.

BLOCKED.

My father blocked every website
that wasn’t related to our faith or wasn’t connected to the school library or
email system or research journals. I can’t even use a search engine.

I pull up my school email and
stare at a blank message as I rap my fingers across my mouth.

I whip up a generic email
asking for job search leads and BCC a handful of old instructors, but the
second I send it, I realize I’d forgotten my favorite marketing guru.

Professor
MacAbee.

A jolt of hope shocks my heart
into a rapid beat. I double-click an old email from him in my inbox and type up
a quick note.

Hi,
Professor,

How
have you been? I’m glancing at an old email of yours from the last day of
Marketing 275, and I saw that you mentioned knowing of some available jobs in
the area? I know it’s been several months, but I was wondering if those positions
might still be available?

I’m
in desperate need of a job right now, and I’ll take anything.

Thanks
and hope all is well.

Bellamy
Miller

I give it a quick read and
press send, chewing on the inside of my lip as I wait for a response. If he’s
anything like he was last semester, he should be glued to his email. Every
message I ever sent him was returned almost instantaneously.

With each refreshing of the
page, a small part of me sinks when I don’t see a new email pop up. Only when I
push my computer aside a few minutes later, do I hear a faint chime. Dragging
it back to my lap, my breath hitches when I see Professor MacAbee’s response.

Bellamy!
All is well here. Good to hear from you. I’m sure you’re enjoying your
permanent hiatus from my lectures, though I have to wonder if you miss my pop
quizzes!

One
of my old colleagues is looking to hire a bunch of college grads for some
simple office work. The job is in Salt Lake City, but I know he’d give you an
interview if I threw a personal recommendation his way. Give me a day or two to
get this all set up, and I’ll shoot you an email with the details.

Ciao,

Prof
Mac

My mouth pulls wider than the
Grand Canyon as I shut down my laptop. I knew he’d come through for me.

And
that’s how it’s done.

*Unedited excerpt

**Subject to change

“Don’t
take another step,” he said as the heavy hotel room door slammed behind me. My
heels anchored into the dense carpet, my body paralyzed by the assertion in his
command. The room was pitch black save for the sliver of light that broke
through the heavy drapes. In the corner stood a man, or rather, the outline of
a man. I couldn’t see his face. “There’s a blindfold on the table to your left.
Put it on.”

“Why?
Are you some kind of monster?” I meant to sound lighthearted, but the second my
voice broke, I showed my cards. My stomach flipped as I grabbed the blindfold
off the table and tied the fabric around my eyes. Satin. Maybe silk. Blackest
black. “Where do you want me?”

The
hotel air conditioning kicked on, bringing a quick chill to my mostly bare
skin. My left spaghetti strap fell down my shoulder.

“Leave
it,” he said as I attempted to fix it. “It’s going to be off soon enough.”

His
voice sounded closer. Licking my lips, I forced a smile, swallowing the warning
sirens going off in my head that drowned out my better judgment and scrambled
my thoughts. I could smell him. Vetiver and bergamot with a hint of cigar
smoke.

The
John’s arm gripped the crook of my elbow with firm intention as he led me over
to the bed.

“Bronwyn,”
he said. “Couldn’t think of a better hooker name?”

“I’m
not a hooker,” I spat. “And it’s my middle name.”

“Is
it safe for you to be giving out your real name like that?”

“If
it makes you feel better, you can call me any name you want,” I said, the
corner of my lip curling up into a teasing grin. My first name was Elinor
– Nori for short. But he didn’t need to know that. “My name isn’t all
that important.”

“Names
are everything.”

“That
why you won’t tell me yours?”

“Yes.”

“So
who’s name will I be screaming out tonight?” I flirted, though attempting to
flirt while blindfolded felt rather ridiculous.

“John.
Call me John.”

“Original.”

“You’ve
got a mouth on you.” His hand gripped my chin without warning, his thumb
tracing over my bottom lip.

My
heart leapt. Most of them men I spent time with didn’t like a girl with a mouth
like mine so I usually kept it shut, but something about his raw energy made me
act out of the ordinary.
 
He sounded
young. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty. Most of the men who
requested my company were sexually depraved, middle-aged politicians who bought
my exclusivity until they were bored with me or their bank statements were
looking rather bleak, and then they passed me onto someone they knew.

In
my business, referrals were everything. I didn’t need a pimp. I didn’t need to
walk the streets. My services more than spoke for themselves, and what fifty
year old man didn’t want a twenty-four year old honey on his arm with natural DDs,
bee-stung lips, and an angelic face framed by silken blonde waves? Their own
personal Marilyn Monroe. Not to mention I could carry on an intelligent
conversation courtesy of my B.A. in Art History from Georgetown.

I
didn’t think of myself as a hooker or a prostitute anyway. As far as I was
concerned, I was a high-class sexual concierge for the well-to-do. I supposed
if someone absolutely had to put a label on me, they could call me a sugar
baby. But this guy was too young to be a sugar daddy.

Much,
much too young.

“How’d
you hear about me?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

“Not
at liberty to say,” he said.

I’d
had four clients in the last five years. It had to have been one of them or
someone close to them who knew what they did under the veil of night.

A
man had been standing outside his door when I’d arrived, dressed in black as if
he were with the Secret Service. “John” was much too young sounding to be the
president, but whoever he was…he was someone important.

“Take
off your dress,” he commanded, his voice sending a commanding chill down my
spine that prickled my skin and sent a curious smile to my mouth. “Small talk
is over.”

To be the first to
hear when DARK PARADISE is available,
please sign up
here!

To be taken to Chapter One of ARROGANT PLAYBOY,
click here
.