I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
He leans back in his chair. “Like I said before, there will be no more walks unless Theo asks you to accompany him. There will be no hanging out with Vicki. And most importantly, there will be no accidental meetings with Isaiah Martin.” He pops his knuckles. “Understood?” “Completely, Sir,” I say, not really surprised that Mike knows everything.
“For the next week, you belong to Theo and you are to do any and all things he requires. If he tells you to do something, you are to act as though I’m telling you myself.”
This isn’t anything unheard of. Mike has all his clients sign a contract stating they understand what is and is not allowed. Still, even after all these years, hearing him say it aloud makes me shudder.
“Yes, Sir,” I say again, but even I can tell my voice is lower.
“Good girl,” he says, and I swear if I ever leave Vegas no one will ever say ‘good girl’ to me again.
“Now.” He’s either completely unaware of my dislike of him or choosing to ignore it. “You look a bit rough. I need you to go rest and pack so you can show Theo a good time.” He nods to the passkey in my hand. “Be in his room by seven. Not seven fifteen or even five after. Seven exactly.”
When he turns back to his laptop and doesn’t say anything further, I stand and walk to the door.
“Athena?” he calls in the second before I leave his office. “Isaiah Martin doesn’t exist for you anymore.”
I nod.
“I need a verbal response so I can be sure you understand. Say it.”
I clench my teeth before replying, “Yes, Sir. I understand. Isaiah Martin doesn’t exist for me anymore.”
I am certain he hears the hatred in my voice.
Chapter Seven
I trudge back to my apartment, feeling four times my age. In my mind, I’m thinking about what I have to pack for the week ahead, and I grit my teeth. I won’t have any down time at all; at no time can Theo see me as anything less than the most desirable woman he’s ever laid eyes on.
“There you are. Where have you been?”
My head shoots up at the desperation in Vicki’s voice. Her eyes are bloodshot and her cheeks wet.
“Vicki? You okay?” I fumble with my key and let us both inside.
She doesn’t answer until I close the door behind us. “Something’s going on.”
“What?” I ask, but her eyes dart around the apartment. “Vicki?”
“Do you think our places are bugged?”
“What? No,” I say, but my mind can’t rule out the possibility.
She bites her lip and turns on my kitchen faucet. “Come talk over here, they won’t be able to hear us over the water.”
“Are you insane?” But I walk over to stand by her anyway. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Where were you?”
"I went out this morning and when I came back, I was summoned to Mike's office."
She drops her head low toward the water running into the sink. "Again?"
“I wasn't called the first time. I went of my own accord." I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with Vicki, but I don’t have a clue as to what her deal is. The last time I saw her, she wasn’t like this. It scares me.
But even more so, I’m scared about what will happen if I’m late tonight. I need to get my suitcase, pack, pull my shoes together, probably do my nails. And I really needed a nap. I glance back to Vicki, still standing with her head in my sink.
"I really need to get busy,” I tell her.
She doesn't move her head. "This early in the day?"
"I have to be at hotel at seven. Exactly.”
"How long?"
"A week. Now would you get your head out of my sink?"
She stands up and water drips from the ends of her hair. "You need to come over here.”
I’m not sure why I keep discounting her warnings. I blame it on the emotions of the day catching up. And the fact that Mike somehow knows everything. I decide some of the blame is Theo’s as well, because why not?
"Vicki, seriously, stop."
She leans further into the sink. "I'm telling you, something's going on."
I walk to my tiny closet and jerk out a suitcase. "You've been one of Mike's girls for eight, maybe nine years, and now all of a sudden, you're worried about someone bugging your apartment?"
"Honestly, I think — "
“Can we talk later? I’m exhausted and have too much to do to sit around with my head in a sink.”
She slams the one-handed lever on my faucet so hard, I’m surprised it doesn't fall off. “Fine. Later."
I sigh. Great. Now, I've pissed her off. Strike two hundred three for me today.
"Look." I reach out a hand, but she bats it away. "I'm sure I'll have some down time at some point this week. I'll talk to you then. I bet the Player's Suite isn't bugged."
Her lips tighten into a thin line. "I bet it is."
"Then maybe we'll have a chance to talk outside.” I walk to the door and open it.
She wipes an eye. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I'm tired. I'm sore. I have to pack. Dealing with one more thing will send me so far over the edge, I may not find my way back."
"Of course," she says. "It's all about you anyway."
She leaves without looking at me again.
Chapter Eight
My time with Theo isn't that bad. Granted, it isn't all that good, but comparatively speaking, he’s not the worst I’ve been with. Not by a long shot. During the day, he works from the tiny office in the suite, and in the evening we go out.
Whenever we’re out in public, if he’s able, he keeps his hand on my thigh, as if I’m going to bolt if given the opportunity. Nights are nights. At times, he is rough and demanding. More often than not, I wake up tired and sore.
Halfway into our week, Theo opens the door to the bathroom and finds me soaking in the tub. I've just taken some ibuprofen and am trying to soak the soreness out of my muscles.
“We’re doing dinner downstairs tonight," he says, eyes skimming over my body. I don't even bother trying to cover up. "We leave in two hours."
Play your part.
I bring the washcloth up to my upper chest and squeeze, letting the water run over my body. "What would you like me to wear?"
His eyes are fixed on my chest. "I'd like for you to wear nothing, but that would probably get us kicked out of the restaurant. Do you have anything suitable for an upscale bistro?"
I come to my knees, choking back the ever-growing resentment and hatred. "Sugar, I've got anything you want."
He undoes his pants. "Come here and prove it.”
***
I feel out-of-sorts and uncomfortable in my own skin at dinner with Theo. I look well enough in my classically simple black dress and spiked heels, but on the inside, I feel itchy.
I have to play my part, though, and I make myself focus on dinner and the man across the table from me. We’re sitting at a table near the center of the restaurant’s dinning area. A prime location to see and be seen. No doubt part of Theo’s intent.
The waiter, a young man I recognize from previous dinners, waits on our table, and after he takes our entrée orders, I realize I’ve said less than ten words to Theo. Not a wise move considering my recent run-in with Mike. I clear my throat, and Theo looks up from swirling his wine glass.
“So, Sugar,” I say. “Tell me again what it is you do.”
He immediately launches into a near monolog about his business, allowing me the opportunity to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the appropriate times. Simple as that. He gets to talk about himself, and I pretend to listen and pay attention. I mean, really, what harm does it do? It’s not like there’s going to be a quiz at the end of the night.
While Theo drones on and on about all the great and wonderful things he’s done for his company, I tune into the nearby conversations of the diners around us. It never hurts to be in the know about what’s happening around you, after all.
A deep laugh catches my attention. I smile at Theo, run one finger around the rim of my water glass, and delicately look to my right.