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“It’s beautiful,” Camille says reassuringly. “You’ll love it.”
“As I was saying,” Cesar tells us, cutting her off with a look, “if you have any needs, we will see to them. Food, water, new clothes, all you have to do is pick up the phone and someone will answer. No need to dial a number. The phone works as an intercom more than a phone—if you dialed out, it would not work.”
“I see.” But I didn’t. “Why not let people dial out?”
“All we need is one person to dial up their friend and tell them about what they’re doing for all of this to blow up in everyone’s face.” He shakes his head. “No sense in risking such a thing.”
“Ah.”
“You will enter the room first. You will have ten minutes to follow the instructions in the folder. Then, East will join you.”
I gulp and let that thought pass through me. Can’t focus on him. One thing at a time.
“After the evening has been completed, your money will be delivered to your bank account.”
Callie asks, “And how is this handled by the IRS?”
“How she decides to tell them she earned the money is between her, her accountants, and her lawyers. It is not our concern.”
“I got a guy,” Camille says. “I’ll hook you up with him. He can take care of anything.”
Numbly, I nod. “Um, okay.” Now there’s money laundering? Better than the alternative, I guess. Hell, I practically do that on a regular basis at work, but in a legal capacity with appropriate tax shelters.
Cesar passes me one more flute of champagne, and I chug it. “Stay hydrated. Some of our bidders enjoy using enhancement drugs to get their money’s worth out of the auction.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess.” Nothing like worrying about my stamina at a time like this. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind.
“I will escort you to the presidential suite now.”
Nodding, I hug Callie first, and she mumbles into my hair, “Be careful and have a wonderful time.”
“I will.” I hope.
Camille hugs me next, and her bones dig once more, but I hardly feel them. Another wave of numbness has hit me. She says, “I’ll give Callie my info so I can hook you up with my guy for your taxes.”
“Thanks again. For all of this.”
“I haven’t done anything. This is all on you now.”
It really, really is, isn’t it? I smile stiffly and follow Cesar out to the next bizarre part of my night. Part of me wants to dissociate from all of this and pretend it’s not happening, but the bigger part of me wants to be absolutely present for the entire experience. I’m turned on, confused, still kind of numb, and definitely on the verge of something, but I can’t tell what.
“Where are we in the mansion? This whole place is disorienting.”
“The south wing. Don’t worry—when you’re in the halls, you’re not going to be alone. No one expects you to know where you’re going.”
I nod and we go down a long hall. It’s elegant and ornate, but mostly what I notice are the guards. Two posted at each door. We stop in front of a gilded door.
“Enjoy the presidential suite, Six. This is where I leave you. Remember, you have ten minutes before your bidder arrives. Enjoy.” He presses his finger to a lock mechanism, and the door clicks open. I take a deep breath and walk in.
-
Chapter 9
JUNE
The first thing I notice is the smell, probably because I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. The air smells like cinnamon, and it triggers the memory of a sex tips article I’d read once that talked about cinnamon enhancing the blood flow for male genitalia, so it encouraged women to bake something with cinnamon in it when a guy comes to visit.
My memory is clicking along weirdly tonight, but given the circumstances, it gets a pass.
