“Plenty.” His jaw clenches, his expression icier than ever. “You earned this, I suppose,” he says, flicking something at me too quickly to catch. Thin, rectangular, and silver, it lands at my feet—some type of business card. “When you make a reservation, use my name,” he states. “Otherwise, you won’t be allowed entry.”
I eye the card again, recognizing it for what it is. The price of my humiliation, it seems—entrance to some exclusive sex club.
“You know what? Screw you!” I flip him the finger and start down the driveway, staggering in my heels. “Do you know how you made me feel?”
“Inconvenienced?” he guesses in that cutting tone. “The feeling was mutual, I can assure you—”
“Sabotaged,” I snap, whirling to face him. “Insulted. Humiliated. Hurt. I told myself a long time ago that I would never let anyone ever make me feel that way again.”
Go figure. I’ve failed in that respect.
“Consider it practice for when you bare yourself before strangers who only want to fuck you,” he suggests. “I do hope you enjoy the amenities. I hear they’re quite debauched.”
My cheeks flame and something inside me snaps. “Practice? Oh, trust me, I don’t need any practice. After that night with you, I’m desperate to be ogled by someone who doesn’t think he’s too good to have his cock sucked.”
His eyes widen and narrow in quick succession. Did I hit a sore spot? Gosh, I hope so.
“Does this get you off rather than fucking?” I wonder, gesturing around us with a harsh, cackling laugh. “Bringing me all the way across the country to what? Get under your brother’s skin? Hurt some sleazy slut who had the nerve to approach you? Well, sorry to break it to you, but I’m fine, Vadim. I am more than fine!” I stroll past him and stoop for the business card, brandishing it like a hard-fought trophy. “You know what, I will go get ogled by strangers, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute of it! I’m going to fuck as many men as I can, too. Suck every last cock that will have me, and then…” My chest heaves, my body radiating anger, and I have to gulp down enough air just to keep going. “I’m going to compare every last one of them to yours. How they feel. How they taste. From now on, I’m going to keep a running tally of all the bastards who fuck better than Vadim Gorgoshev could ever dream. Choke on that while you’re on your private plane.”
Card in tow, I keep marching down the driveway, blinking rapidly. Almost there, Tiffy, I plead with my inner waterworks. Just a little more. You can make it.
“Oh, and don’t think you’ve stranded me or that I’ll be crying out on the street tonight,” I shout back to Vadim. “Call and have the hotel switch the room over to me. I can pay for it. Have a good fucking night, Vadim. I hope you run into a beautiful escort, one-hundred percent your type who fleeces you for all you’re worth.”
“You really think you can walk back to the city?” he wonders in a voice like steel.
I flick my hair over my shoulder and walk faster. “Watch me.”
He makes a sound between a grunt and scoff. Not even a full minute later, his sports car is racing past me, leaving me in the dust.
I wave at him with none of the decorum befitting a well-bred lady.
Then I suck in air, wobble on my heels, and the tears start coming down hard. I must get lost—enough for someone from the house to take pity on me. It isn’t long before another car pulls up alongside me. The driver is the same kind-eyed figure who let me borrow his jacket.
“Can I give you a ride, Miss?” he says, his tone polite.
I sniffle and nod, climbing into the backseat.
Then I endure the ride into the city, plotting the next phase of my adventure—shameless, sexual revenge.
Chapter Seven
I can’t actually afford the hotel room by myself. Realistically, anyway. I can last about three days tops, and that’s if I completely decimate what little savings I have. I could always call my parents, but I’ve suffered enough of their pity to last a lifetime. Besides, I’d rather not deal with Daddy bribing me to come back home or hear my mother cry about “the state of my only little girl’s life” one more time.
So I approach the front desk, ready and willing to swallow the cost no matter the pain.
“I’m sorry,” the hostess informs me, frowning at her computer screen. “It looks like the room has already been paid in full for the week, complete with an open tab for room service.”
I frown. Could Vadim be planning to claim the suite for himself? What a dick. He might already be there right now, screwing some blond escort submissive enough to fit his preferences.
“You are listed as the room’s primary occupant,” the hostess adds, scouring her records. “Ms. Connors, correct? It looks like the change was just freshly made. About an hour ago. I could always refund the card on record—”
“No.” I turn on my heel and head for the elevator, squashing all doubt. “Thanks for your help.”
I reenter the suite to find my bags where I left them and everything else in place, though neatly arranged, the bed turned down by some over-eager housekeeper.
So this must be Vadim’s idea of the ultimate kiss-off. Leave me in an unfamiliar city. Pay off the incredibly expensive room he stuck me in. Leave without a trace.
And I thought Jim could be an asshole.
Dejected, I sink onto the bed and sob in earnest. I let out every ugly, choking, nasty cry and allow the tears to stream down my cheeks in earnest. Then I find the remote to a flat-screen TV hidden behind a pair of black curtains hanging across from the bed, turn to the music channels, and find the most upbeat pop imaginable. I play it as loud as I dare, shed my dress, and then hop into the bathroom and face myself in the mirror.
Years wasted in a loveless marriage can teach a girl a lot of things. Like that, no one—no gosh darn one—is worth losing your self-respect for. No one can make you feel any lower than you allow them to, and no one should ever rob you of your smile.
I smile now, displaying my teeth at the exhausted woman before me.
“You are confident,” I tell her. “You are bold, and vivacious, and sexy. And—” A new addition to my mantra, but ad-libbing is all part of the exploration of freedom. “You are going to march into that sex club and own the darn place! Vadim, who?”
I manage to work the shower properly and then crawl into bed, feeling fresh and renewed. This might be a setback, sure.
Or it could be the real start to my adventures in sexual freedom.
I wake up and order from room service, half-convinced that the card on file will be declined, and Vadim Gorgoshev will have the last fucking laugh. But not even ten minutes later, my meal arrives steaming hot and I feel bold enough to write a generous tip on the napkin afterward with a message to charge to the account.
After changing into the blue dress from my shopping spree, I head down to the concierge and request assistance in finding a flight straight back to California, ASAP. Sure, I told Vadim I’d go to his little sex club and orgy myself silly. But that was just a boast made in the heat of the moment, right?
“I’ve found two flights, Miss,” the concierge says, drawing my attention. “Both don’t leave until tomorrow morning. Should I book one for you?”