The Pawn (Endgame #1)(20)

“The woman of the evening,” he says warmly.

A shiver runs through me. That sounds ominous. I force myself to smile. “I’m not sure it will take me two hours to get ready, though.”

He laughs. “Candy asked for the whole day. I told her she’d have to make do.”

“Candy?”

“Ivan’s girl. She’ll be the one taking care of you.”

Ivan Tabakov? I’ve heard his name spoken, but only in whispers. And didn’t his wife used to strip at one of his clubs? I guess I couldn’t ask for a better guide in the art of selling sex to dangerous men, but I’m almost more afraid of her than the men. This is a different world, requiring a different set of skills than the ones I’ve been building my whole life.

He directs me up the stairs and into the room where the photographs were taken.

A woman tinkers with makeup brushes on a small table against the window. I have the impression of beautiful blonde hair, long and flowing enough to make her a fairy-tale princess. Her hair might seem innocent, but her body is pure sin. The dress she wears clings to her body, accentuating her perfect curves. Good Lord. She won’t be at the auction, will she? As soon as a man sees her, he won’t want me. Of course, I doubt the crime boss Ivan Tabakov would be willing to share his wife.

She turns, and I’m struck breathless by her face—by the perfect heart-shaped prettiness, by the wide blue eyes. Based on the piles of makeup on the table, I had expected something over-the-top, but hers is perfectly placed to emphasize her features.

“Avery,” she says, smiling. “Come in. I won’t bite, I promise.”

I relax by the smallest inch because she does seem genuine. In the hallowed halls I usually walk, many women will tear you down if they can get away with it. I’m so used to it that it’s a shock to see someone I don’t know with sympathy in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m kind of freaking out on the inside.”

She reaches around me to shut the door. “We’ll make those bad old men wait until you’re good and ready to see them. In the meantime we’ll get you cleaned up.”

I flush because she makes it sound like I’m something the cat dragged in. I can’t even disagree with that assessment. Next to her I feel completely unsophisticated. “What are you going to do to me?”

Her laugh sprinkles over me like fairy dust. God, no wonder the scary mobster fell for her. “That depends on what you need, of course. Let’s get that dress off and see what we’re working with.”

I pulled a designer evening gown out of the back of my closet, one I first wore to a senator’s inaugural dinner with Justin at my side. It shows off one shoulder and has a high slit. Justin was in awe of me that night—but maybe that was manufactured, just like he pretended to care about me.

My stomach clenches for an entirely different reason than when I took my dress off in front of Gabriel. I know that she isn’t looking at me like something she wants to devour, but she’ll still see my insecurities. How can a woman like her understand what it’s like to be too small in some places, too big in others, forever the wrong thing? How can she understand chili juice and the shame I always feel in my body?

I’m frozen with my hands clenched in fabric, my mind in a panic. How will I get through this? She’s just another turn, and I need to make it all the way to the center of the labyrinth.

Her hands grasp my shoulders and shake gently. “Avery, look at me.”

After a deep breath I meet her blue gaze.

“You’re beautiful, and you’re brave, and you’re unspeakably strong. Nothing those men do out there can change that. Got it?”

And somehow I realize she does know what it’s like—the shame and the fear.

That knowledge allows me to pull the dress away and reveal myself.

She nods in satisfaction. “We’ll have the boys eating out of your hand.” Her gaze drops between my legs. “But first things first, that has to go.”

“My panties?”

“Your hair.”

I glance down, part horrified, part curious. The navy-blue panties I’m wearing cover the neatly trimmed hair underneath. “How did you—”

“How did I know? Oh honey, I’ve been doing this a long time.” Her eyes study me as if they can read every secret that way. “You’ve never been completely bare, have you?”

It always felt unnecessary—and okay, a little scary. I shake my head.

She smiles, turning to a small pot that’s plugged into the wall. Something’s melting inside there. Wax. “It’s freeing, I promise. And it only hurts for a few minutes.”





Chapter Eleven





An hour later I’ve been waxed and primped all over my body, whimpers escaping me while she murmurs sympathetically. Now I’m wearing a robe while she does my makeup, a natural look that’s somehow using more makeup than I’ve ever seen. Contouring, she calls it. I can’t deny the effect is stunning on my cheekbones. My eyes almost look bare, even though there’s shadow to make them wider. More like a doe. On my lips she paints a pale pink, like cotton candy.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Relieved the waxing is over,” I say honestly. I’m still feeling tender there.