Series: Lee Savino
Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I lean my shoulder against a wall, half obscured by a marble plinth holding a rearing bull statue.
It’s definitely Thom, speaking in his reedy voice. “Drink?” There’s the clink of glass.
Then someone else says, “We could avoid all this business. Just make the deal now.”
“Who would she be marrying?” Thom asks. “You?” He scoffs. “I want to avoid suspicion, not stoke it.”
“Not me–my son. Chad will play the part of a suitable fiance. You get your money, I’ll get access to her for three years–”
Access? What kind of sick transaction are they discussing?
“One. The deal is one. It’s more than enough time for her to increase your holdings.”
Oh. Not sex, then. Something else.
Let me out! My chest rumbles as my bear thrashes to get free, responding to this disgusting conversation. They’re talking about selling Paloma off into a brief marriage so she can…what? Increase their wealth somehow?
“Very well. One year, and then Chad will call the engagement off. You’ll be free to sell her again.” Thom murmurs something I don’t catch because someone brushes against the other side of the wall.
I wait.
“No,” Thom barks. “I promised I wouldn’t accept any preemptive bids. You and Chad can join the auction tonight. Midnight.”
The other man protests, but Thom talks over him. “I’m being more than generous.” Footsteps approach the door. “Now, let’s be off. I’m late for my tee time.”
The door handle scrapes, and I saunter off, turning casually into a small hallway before Thom and his conspirator exit the office. I catch the cigar fumes and scent of rare whiskey.
I listen, hoping Thom heads the opposite way. Instead, the footsteps get closer. The hall behind me leads to a small flight of stairs, and I trot down them to hide. Thom and his friend pass the door, still chatting about golf. They head off without noticing me.
I hover on the stairs, listening to their receding footfalls, when I get a whiff of something floral. Paloma’s gardenia scent wafts up the stairs, and I can’t help following it to the subterranean floor where it leads. The scent is thick and sweet but with that same bitter tang that alarmed me this morning and last night. The further I descend, the more the bitterness overtakes the sweetness until a metallic flavor coats my tongue.
The stairs lead to another hallway. There’s a hum behind the walls and the air is cooler. I’m probably near a server room or something.
Paloma’s scent leads me to an open door. The room beyond is filled with massive screens. There’s a small desk and chair where her scent is concentrated.
Paloma spends a lot of time here, and I think I know what she’s doing. I bet if I flip the wall switch, the screens will light up with familiar numbers from the stock exchanges around the world. Thom said she works for his investment firm. I bet she uses this room to do her trading.
That’s how she increases Thom’s wealth. Thom and whoever he auctions her off to.
But why? He must have hundreds of traders available. What need would he have to use or sell his foster daughter? What’s so special about what she does? Something illegal, perhaps?
Whatever it is, I feel sick.
I’m certain Paloma is a captive, held against her will by the billionaire who made himself her parent.
That explains why the door locks from the outside. I can smell the places her guards stand.
Has she tried to escape? Fought back? That could be how she got the bruises.
My bear is ready to rampage and rip this entire room apart. It’s all I can do not to shift right there.
Instead, I make myself exit and shut the door. I have nothing to gain by losing control. I need to learn more, so I can decide if and how I can help Paloma.
Paloma
Ellie finishes curling my hair and stands back to survey her work. “Beautiful, as always.”
Ellie is my–what do I call her? If we are staying with the fairytale nomenclature, she’d be my chambermaid or servant. I guess she’s a combination jailer/personal assistant. She brings me food on a tray when Thom or his henchman Chip lock me in my chambers. She orders my clothing, trims my hair, and makes sure I have a fresh toothbrush. Last night she did my make up and hair, and she’s going all out for tonight’s masquerade ball. Thom invited seventy-five additional guests in for tonight’s fête–another chance to show off, I guess.
I’m wearing a white strapless chiffon and silk jumper. I suspect it’s supposed to evoke both “sweet innocence” and “bad-ass trader” at the same time.
The corset-like bustier top is heart-shaped to frame my breasts, and it connects in front to the matching wide-legged pants. A sheer fabric covers the shell and gives it an ethereal quality. A filmy wrap hangs over my arms to cover the bruises. Ellie smears a ginger-scented lotion over all of my exposed skin that leaves a shimmer.