Selling Scarlett

I think, not for the first time, how ridiculous it is that someone taking charge of their sexual assets, someone like me who’s making money off them, is looked down upon. I can’t wait to write about this.

"It’s not about money, not all the way. It’s about me doing something interesting, doing something that I want. I see it the opposite of how you do. I’m tired of waiting for the right guy. As you’ve known for years now, he doesn’t exist.” She opens her mouth, I’m sure to say something like ‘You could meet him tomorrow,’ so I beat her to the point. “I don’t even think if I’d want to lose it to a boyfriend, to be a virgin when he’s not. A twenty-three-year-old virgin." I make a face. "I want to go ahead and experience this, put it behind me. And if I can make half a million dollars in the process, what’s wrong with that? In fact…"

I trail off, because Suri’s mouth is hanging open. "Did you say half a million dollars?"

"Maybe," I say, like it doesn’t matter.

Suspicion stretches her features as she stands up, grabbing for a napkin on the counter and using it to dab her mouth. She lowers the napkin and frowns. "So this is about Cross."

"It’s about me," I say.

"So you’re not planning to give the money to Cross?"

I open my mouth, then close it, not sure what to say. Suri’s eyes narrow to slits. "I saw the news today, Lizzy DeVille. I’m your BFF, not a moron. Remember, I have money. I can help. I’m Cross’s friend, too. In fact, I think it would be a travesty if you went out selling…selling yourself, when I’m right here and perfectly willing to help Cross."

"You just bought a huge house, Sur. Listen to me," I say, catching her hand in mine. I press our joined hands on top of the stylish flowered table mats, which coordinate perfectly with the green gingham table cloth beneath them. "Have I ever done anything I regretted, other than what happened that night with Cross? Have I ever made a really big, bad, stupid choice, one I ended up hating myself for?"

"There’s a first time for everything," she says. “I have money, and I want to use it to help Cross. You need to let me, and you need to forget this craziness.”

I shake my head. "This is something I want to do. It’ll be an experience. And as for money, this was my idea. If you had extra money to throw around, I have no doubt you would have the second that you heard about him getting moved. You can chip in if you want, but I’m doing this, too," I say vehemently. “You might not understand, because you’ve had sex. You’ve done it. I’m just…waiting. Like…I don’t know…a dairy product outside the refrigerator.”

Suri screws her face up, then lets out a little hoot. “Did you just compare yourself to a dairy product and take the extremely anti-feminist stance that you are somehow spoiling?”

“No! All I’m saying is it’s bugging me. That I haven’t done it. I feel like…the suspense is just getting to me. I’d like to have it done.”

"What about…opinions?" she asks quietly.

I squeeze her hand and let it go. "I’ll be using another name, and my face will be shadowed the night of bidding. When they advertise me, it’ll just be my body on billboards or whatever. No one will know."

I’ve already called Richard back and asked him not to reveal my true identity to anyone, even—especially—Marchant Radcliffe, Hunter’s friend. Marchant owns Love Inc., where the deed is getting done.

Suri’s eyes are swimming with tears, and I feel a spark of annoyance.

"I know you’re just showing me you care, and I appreciate it, Sur, I really do. But I’ll be back in a month, just the same as I am now, but a little more experienced. I’m having one sexual encounter with a man who’ll likely be very nice to me, and I’ll have more protection than the Pope. I’m okay with this. It’s my choice."

"You’re doing this for Cross," she says again.

"Part of it is for Cross. Doesn’t that make it even more meaningful, though?"

Suri nods slowly. "I guess so.”

"See, I’m fine." I stand up, spreading my arms, and she hugs me, speaking into my hair. "You’re a good friend, Lizzy, a really good friend. Just remember you don’t have to do this. I don’t think Cross would want you to.”

"I want to do this. It’s an experiment for me."

In more ways than one. A good twenty percent of this idea’s allure is in my eagerness to get rid of my V-card so I can stop saving it for Hunter. I need to be freed of that idea. Freed of my crush. I hope that after spending some time at Love Inc., I never blush in the middle of a sexual encounter ever again. No Hunter West or anybody else will be able to knock me off my feet, and I like that idea.

Suri hugs me one more time and we call Albert. We’re going shopping for gowns and robes in every color of the rainbow. As we walk down the stairs to our waiting ride, I feel more peaceful than I have in weeks.

Chapter Thirteen

~HUNTER~

I swear to God, Priscilla is psychic. That woman knows how to find me after a bad day. And the worse the day is, the more likely it is that I’ll end up rolling in the covers with her, whipping her and spanking her, pulling her long hair and pressing my hand over her mouth until her eyes are wide and I’m afraid I’m gonna kill her stupid, spray-tanned ass.

Tonight I’m on my jet. There’s a bed and a recliner but I’m too pissed to relax. Instead I’m sitting at the table, twirling an unlit cigarette around in my fingers like a showgirl’s baton. I want the damn thing, but I’m not a smoker anymore. I keep a pack of Marlboro Reds in the freezer of every place I have, but I don’t smoke them.

I’ve got my fingers tightened around the cigarette, thinking about snapping it in half, when the intercom crackles and Frank says, "There’s something on the runway you need to see, Mr. West."

I dim the lights and look out the oval window, and the cigarette snaps. Of course it’s f**king Priscilla. A brisk breeze is tossing up her ass-short, blood-red skirt and I can see her panties. There are sequins around the seams, so they sparkle in the runway lights.

I can tell by the way she steps toward the plane, waving as she moves, that she’s in high heels. I can see the red light of her cigarette’s cherry.

My head pounds, letting me know it doesn’t appreciate the handle of bourbon I gave it last night. I press the call button, sinking a hand into my hair and rubbing hard. "Let her in, Frank."

I sweep the pieces of the cigarette into my hand and dump them in a garbage can inside a cabinet. Then I sit back down and watch her sashay into my cabin.

“Well hello there, big boy.”

I grit my teeth. I am so not in the mood for her bullshit.