Page 58 of A Debt So Ruthless

“You opened an eighteen-thousand-dollar bottle of wine and now you’re not even going to drink it from the proper glass?”

“Eighteen… thousand…” I breathe. I stare down at the drink accusatorily, as if the wine should have somehow warned me about how expensive it was before I took it off the shelf. “Let me guess. It’s added onto the sum I owe you.”

He gives a shrug of his good shoulder. “That’s less than a pair of panties. I could always use a new pocket square.”

Is he making another joke? This man is absolutely insane. But he just keeps on going.

“You’re wearing a nice shade of blue. Would go well with at least three of my suits.” His voice deepens slightly. “Reminds me of your eyes.”

I am wearing blue silk underwear, damn him. I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but a girl has to work with what she’s got. And no matter what, I swear I will survive this and get out of here. If Elio’s willing to open his wallet and dump it all out for my used panties like some kind of pervert then so be it.

“Fine. But I want fifty thousand for them,” I say, lifting my chin with a defiance I don’t quite feel but I’m pretty sure I fake adequately enough. Elio doesn’t balk at the thirty-thousand-dollar mark-up. He raises his right hand and draws it along his jaw slowly, fingers rubbing at scar tissue. He narrows his gaze thoughtfully, like he’s considering a lucrative business offer. A deal with contracts and figures and complex negotiations. Something glints, then hardens in his gaze. He drops his hand.

“No.”

I’m the one balking now, my confidence rattled.

“You’re the one who said I should have asked for more last time!” I sputter, feeling like an idiot.

“But you didn’t,” Elio counters maddeningly. “And now the price has been established. Twenty grand for a pocket square doused in parfum de Songbird. I might consider going up to twenty-five because they’re the colour of your eyes, but doubling it? They’d have to be extra special. Maybe if…”

He stops, and I’m sure the silence is bait, but I take it anyway.

“Maybe if what?” I snap.

“Maybe if you get them extra wet for me first.”

My jaw drops.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t kid when it comes to what I want,” he says simply, starkly, and they’re possibly the truest words he’s ever spoken. “Come all over those panties, soak them for me, and you’ll get your fifty grand for them.”

His gaze dips sardonically to my glass.

“Have a drink if you need to steel yourself first.”

I grip the stem of the wineglass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at all. Because I am fucking weak. So weak I take a swig and actually consider doing this.

Fifty grand for an orgasm. Yesterday, getting aroused actually lost me money, but this time it will be the opposite.

It’s a good deal.

And then I want to laugh, because apparently I have standards around deals like these now. I have notions of what’s a good price and what’s a bad one. Fifty thousand dollars for my dignity. Fifty thousand to turn me into the whore he said he didn’t even want.

Or maybe I already turned into that last night. First at the gala, then in his room.

But it’s something. One step closer to getting me out of here. Playing violin for him hasn’t turned out to be as straightforward as I was hoping. Maybe this will be easier.

“Fine,” I bite out. “I’ll be back.”

Elio chuckles, and it freezes me.

“Oh, no. You won’t be doing it alone. How will I know what I’m buying is the genuine article if I’m not actually there during the process?”

Of course he wants to be involved. I wonder if it will be like last night, with his tongue playing over my clit, but this time through the silk, and my blood simmers, sending a slow, brutal throb of heat into my groin. I take another huge sip of wine and set down the glass.

“Deal,” I whisper.

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