It was my pleasure to turn those women away.
My pleasure to find one or two or half a dozen who reacted with lust, their eyes glazed, their breathing fast, their décolletage beaded with sweat or flushed rosy, and send them on their way at the end of the night.
The girl, or girls, invited to stay were given not a rose, but an implement.
In the beginning I'd set them against each other, with cash prizes or jewelry but while that was entertaining, nothing was better than doing it myself.
Mystery Dinner Party.
There were two girls left at the table. The other three for the night had been led away. Josh and Curt had seen them home, innocent rides in town cars that ended with nothing more than a thank you and a parting gift of a very small diamond on a chain. Anything else would encourage repeat visits or lawsuits or blackmail.
I didn't have time for such bullshit.
Angela and Bailey. An ash blond and a brunette. They wore nearly matching ice blue and ice lavender dresses with plunging necklines. That didn't seem planned, just the luck of the draw, and maybe part of the reason I'd chosen them.
"Tell me what you think of the current situation with the presidential administration," I said, addressing Angela. She looked startled for an instant, her pale glossed lips an O of surprise I wanted to take advantage of. But then she closed her mouth, ordered her thoughts, and came back with a considered, reasonable account of what she thought.
I enjoy intelligent people. I enjoy good conversation and debate. When I pressed her, she defended her views, paraphrasing resources and more or less showing her work.
In my line of work, I dealt with intelligent people all day. Pharmaceuticals are literally life and death, whether because they're meant to prolong life and stave off death, or because they're being created from an unknown number of factors or at least unproven.
But the men and women I work with are not friends. My circle of friends is fairly small. My brother, who also works for the company. My best friend, who lives in London. We got together about once a month, but he's busy and so am I. My parents, living the good life in Florida and traveling because their son built a billion dollar business.
And the women. It's harder to meet someone when you're a billionaire than one would think.
Bailey joined the conversation so normally, it didn't feel any longer like a contest. Maybe she didn't realize that it was. When we ran down on the current terrible administration – it's always terrible to somebody, after all, but where we were now was far, far worse – I turned to Bailey and asked her what she thought the chances were of humans ever colonizing Mars.
It was out of the blue, that was certain. She blinked at the question, then considered for a moment, taking a long quaff of her cocktail before she answered.
"Unfortunately possible," she said, making Angelia laugh and me smile. "Mankind should stay here, stop reproducing, stop fucking up the planet – excuse me, I shouldn't swear at the dinner table."
"No, you certainly fucking should not," I said, and they both giggled, a little drunk or at least buzzed.
Good. That would help out later.
"But I think as for colonizing Mars, if mankind can change from users and destroyers and start looking at building things up and at letting them alone when they don't need to be fu – messed with. The possibilities are endless!"
They weren't, because she did end, and only about three minutes later when she saw me becoming restless. Angela had asked her questions along the way, a little aggressively, maybe, as if she'd figured out this was a contest, but the questions sparked interesting answers that all of us focused on and contributed too, so I allowed it.
Two beautiful women, two intelligent responses to random questions. I couldn't choose. I wanted them both.
I wanted them both and when Josh and Curt came back into the room I gave them instructions and they led the women away, strong masculine hands wrapped maybe too hard around slim biceps.
They'd be taken to separate rooms. They'd be tied up and gagged. They'd be left to wait for my pleasure.
I'd have the pleasure of making them wait.
And then I'd just have my pleasure.
7
Annie
San Francisco rises up to meet a plane at a dizzying angle. One minute the jet is flying along like normal and the next it's nose-diving like we're all in a World War II movie. I freely admit I don't like flying and still flying into San Francisco is like diving. Takeoff is pretty extreme, too.
My internet search hadn't proved anything. Cole could be in SF. He could be anywhere. It was a place to start and only because once I got into some really nasty searches that made me wish my laptop had all the bells and whistles PD's had, I found some proof that maybe, just maybe, someone matching the description of Cole St. Martin had been spotted at some of the clubs in the San Francisco area.
Never in Las Vegas. Which was what I expected.
I had been held in Las Vegas. Probably. That second move had thrown me like he meant it to. Blindfolded and taken with no sense of time or place to start with, I could have been driven pretty much any distance. It was just a guess that it was still Vegas.
There were clubs in Seattle. Probably far more in New York and Los Angeles. I was starting in SF.
"You Lily? Hop in! That all the luggage you got? Short trip? Business? Or pleasure? If you need a guide or a ride… sorry, I tend to talk too much. New to the whole Uber thing and they tell you to be friendly."
Friendly. Probably not psycho. Jeez. "I'm Lily," I said, and slid into the car beside her.
She was kind of gangly, the way girls are when they haven't quite finished growing yet. I wasn't sure she was even supposed to be driving, let alone for Uber. Not my problem. Probably she wasn't going to OD from fet any time soon and she wasn't going to accompany me to any of the clubs. My responsibility ended there.
I had to stop thinking like a cop. Time enough to get back to that after this trip.
If there was an after. If there was something to go back to.
I had the loosest of all possible plans. Go to the clubs. Ask around as casually as possible Have you seen this man? About one of the world's richest men without sounding like a cop.
If I found him? God, I didn't know. While my Uber driver—Call me Kat! – burbled on about god only knows what, I thought about what I wouldn't do if Cole demanded it.
I wouldn't kill anybody.
I wouldn't procure for him.
Not true. I'd go get him a hooker if he wanted it. I'd get him a host of hookers, a raft of them. Though for the love of fuck the man lived in Las Vegas and prostitution was legal on the road leading right to the city's front door.
No. He'd want me. Clean, I was sweating and craving like crazy. My arms itched, the back of my neck, my head ached and my stomach was a writhing mass of horror. I felt like everything good had been sucked out of the world.
Then again, that might be my default mindset.
I needed to kick this and it wasn't going on its own and it wasn't going easy. Before the flight I'd found one more baggie in a pair of jeans that had escaped the laundry. I stood over the toilet with the baggie open and poised for probably five minutes before I gave up and gave in and shot up. Just prolonging the inevitable and I knew it. At the time I didn't care. I had hours and hours before Mark came home and an equally long time before my flight. It might even make the flight less horrible.