Good Girl(27)

"I told Brady I'd stop by tonight. I need to run some numbers with him about that idea we had for opening a satellite location of Hennigan's inside the Windsor."

"Lydia won't be at Brady's tonight," Canon tells me.

"How do you know that?" If he's doing one of his creepy security stalking things on her I'm going to be pissed. Sometimes he hacks people just because he can, or because he's bored. Or curious. Or because it's fucking Wednesday. Canon with time on his hands isn't good for anyone.

"Because she's going to be at Double Diamonds," he says, handing his phone to me.

His words hit me in slow motion. Logically I know I'm processing what he's saying in the blink of an eye, but illogically, it feels like it takes me a few minutes to get there.

Lydia.

Up for auction.

In the back room at Double Diamonds.

A virginity auction.

A goddamned virgin?

What did I say to her in the bar? What kind of filth did I whisper in her ear? I asked her how she liked to fuck, for Christ's sake. I told her I wanted her to choke on my cock. I talked to her like she was an experienced whore, not an innocent virgin.

Did she answer me? Or did she just smile and duck her head? Bite her lip and suggest we move to her apartment? I thought her a sweet little tease, too likely to want more from me. Like dinner or a repeat. Or worse, my time.

I wondered why my pants were still on and why she was rocking one out on my leg like it was her freshman year in high school. But a virgin? A twenty-two-year-old virgin, for fuck's sake. The thought never entered my mind.

Why in the hell is she doing this? Selling herself? She has a job and a place to live, so what in the hell is her end game? Money? Is it all about the money for her? What was I? A diversion? A practice run? A potential mark?

I thought she was different. Real. Too real for me was my worry, wasn't it? When it turns out she's just my type—for sale. The thought makes me itchy, worry about what else I've been wrong about clawing at me. My fingers inch into a fist, imagining her leaving that auction with any random entitled prick who can afford her. Someone who will whisper filth into her ear and fuck her like a whore.

Someone like me.

"How much?" I ask Canon, my jaw tight. I know I'm fucked up, because a good man would not be having the thoughts I'm having right now.

"It's an auction, not a buy now," he replies. "Bidding starts at a hundred grand."





Fifteen





LYDIA



"Are you seriously going to do this, Lydia? All fun aside, it's a little drastic. A lot drastic. You don't have to do this. Are you sure?"

I've never seen Payton nervous before and it does make me question just how far I've veered from the lane of sanity. Yet I'm sure. Sure that I'm going to do this. I'm reasonably sure that Vince will follow through and get Rhys here. Half-sure that Rhys will be interested. Semi-sure that Vince won't double-cross me and sell me into an underground sex ring, never to be seen or heard from again.

This is pretty dumb.

But I've got Payton, so it's not as if I'm here alone. And if we both disappear she's left instructions with her cousin about where to look for us. He's in law enforcement, which won't help us at all if we're dead.

Wow. This plan sounded so much better before I thought it through. I have a flutter of panic, and by flutter I mean a punch to the stomach. How exactly did I get here? This happened too fast. Yesterday Payton told me about Rhys and the hookers and this morning I concocted this insane plan and tonight I'm going up for auction.

Yet the thought of leaving, of running out of here, of going home, of opening that dating app Payton helped me set up and replying to any one of the men who've messaged me… it's not what I want. I want Rhys. And I need to know if he wants me too. Even if by the most unorthodox means ever concocted.

"The thing is, Payton, he just does it for me. I think he might be my swan." I fidget with the silk robe covering the lingerie I'm wearing. White. Staci insisted it be white. Once we'd come to terms Vince sent me to Staci for orientation. Orientation—his word, not mine. I wasn't sure if he was mocking me or not, but in any case Staci set me up with everything I needed.

We went to the mall, in case you're wondering. She said we didn't have time to do an online order, so she took me to Victoria's Secret. I told her there was no way I would be parading around in a thong in front of anyone. She'd blinked at me and then laughed, a little incredulously, before picking out a pleated babydoll with spaghetti straps and a lot of cleavage. She let me get matching lace panties that covered my butt though. The top half of my butt anyway. My cheeks are definitely hanging out, but at least it's not a thong.

"What the hell do swans have to do with anything?"

"They mate for life."

"But you haven't mated with him."

"I know," I say, dragging out the word, "but swans don't just randomly pick another swan and go at it, Payton. They choose carefully so they don't accidentally mate for life with just any random idiot swan that crosses their paths. They choose. Carefully."

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

"No, I meant wow, you're a nerd. Did you get a swan badge?"