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Chapter 4

He finished the rest of his whiskey, then laced his fingers together. “Marry my son,” he said. “Screw him. Make him—” he paused, rubbing a hand over his chin, “—make him forget about his duties for a while. The boy needs it.”

“Marry your son?” I squeaked. Gray-Haired Man nodded. “Is he, like, weird or something?”

“I want him to be challenged by more things than work.”

Plenty of the farmers came down from Crown Creek, but none of them had that kind of cash. What kind of farming business did he own?

I’d better get everything I could.

“Add fifty percent,” I said.

He chuckled again, then crumpled the napkin in his hands, a sense of violence lingering in his eyes. I shifted back in my seat, cupping the edge of the cushion.

“It’s already been arranged. One million for your cooperation. Not a cent more,” he said.

My heart clenched. A million dollars was a lot of money.

But I couldn’t leave Bambi.

“Two of us,” I said. “My friend. Bambi. We can both—”

“My son can’t marry two women.”

“Do you have another son?” I seemed to remember him talking about two different kids when I stripped for him a while back.

He smiled. “My youngest is still broken up over his last,” he paused, “fling. The offer is for you, and you alone.” He pulled twenty-five hundred dollar bills out of his pocket, then handed them to me in a firm handshake. “Take this as a show of good faith. A marriage. Sex. A million dollars. And you’d be free of this.”

Sex work was my life for the last few years. Bambi left with Green, and I followed her, afraid she would get hurt. Marrying Gray-Haired Man’s son? It didn’t seem that hard. And it wasn’t much different from my life already.

But it still wasn’t right to leave Bambi with Green. I’d find a way to make it work, to save her too.

I shook the man’s hand, taking the money. “Is your lucky son here?” I asked.

He pointed to a tall, barrel-chested man with black hair and the same pale blue eyes as him. The son glanced at me, then headed out through the exit to the side of the stage.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Let me take care of it,” Gray-Haired Man said. “Carry on as usual.

We’ll come to retrieve you.”

I crossed my arms. Why hadn’t his son talked to me himself?

“He knows, right?” I asked. “That you’re asking—” I paused. That wasn’t the right word. ‘Forcing’ was more accurate, but less delicate. “That you’re arranging for me to marry him?”

“I didn’t tell him about my specific request. The money, he can know about. But not the sex.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Why was that a secret? I clasped my hands together, running my thumb over the stretched pink scar. As long as I got my money, I suppose it didn’t matter why he was keeping the sex part a secret.

“Can I talk to him?” I asked.

“Be my guest.”

I headed straight down the stairs to the stage, reaching for that same door as his son. A white button-up shirt and a lime tie crowded in front of me. He ran a hand over his head, then stroked his blond beard.

“Where are you going, babe?” Green asked.

I grabbed his arms, squeezing him. “Just a date.”

“That old man promised me a lot of money,” he said. “You’re my best girl. Don’t mess this up.”

My best girl used to mean something to me. But now, they were a curse. I slipped the wad of cash into his pocket.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m working hard.”

With that, Green stepped out of the way, letting me exit. Twenty-five hundred was no small amount of money, but if Gray-Haired Man had been telling the truth, I could have lost a few bills to get Green off of my case.

Outside, spotlights hung off of the back of the building, lighting the wet asphalt. The smoking area was empty and gated around us. The man leaned against the wall, glaring out of the barred gate. Black hair. Groomed facial hair. Dull blue eyes. Dirt under his fingernails. His broad shoulders flexed, his burly muscles tensing under his shirt. Completely stiff. He glared at me. I had interrupted his peace.

I sighed deeply, resting on the wall next to him. I always tried to find something in common with the men I entertained. Making fun of the music was an easy go-to.

“If I have to listen to another crappy top forty song, my eardrums might explode,” I said. The man ignored me. He didn’t even grunt. “Where are you from?” I tried.

He was silent.

He knew about the arranged marriage. He had to know who I was. We were about to spend a lifetime together.

“Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do this?” I asked. “We?” he asked. Finally, he peered at me, tracing me from my eyes to my lips, down to my toes pooling out over the tops of my stilettos. Leather mud and fur permeated the air. His family must have had a ranch, then, not just a farm. He towered over me, even in the heels, and though he was wearing a suit, his muscles were big, like a man who’s used to manual labor. Like he was built this way.

I straightened my shoulders. None of that made a difference. In the end, he was a client. I wasn’t afraid of him.

“I can smell you from across the club,” he said.

I froze, but only for a second. I sucked in a quiet breath. I had taken a shower that morning. I hadn’t even had a date yet.

“You get a headache from vanilla spray or something?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, then said, “Wear a floral perfume. It’ll hide your scent.”

I rolled my eyes. Sure. I had been asked to do weirder things by clients before; wearing some cheap jasmine perfume was the least of my worries.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Cry—” I stopped myself. If I was going to marry him, then I might as well tell him my real name. “Maisie. And you?”

“You didn’t ask my father for my name.”

I huffed through my nose. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

“About what?”

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