Page 4 of His Pretty Little Thief

“People will pay a crazy amount of money for the sperm of super attractive, and insanely rich So, you dress up, you go out with these guys, and then… you know, later…”

I frown. “Should I know what you’re talking about?”

Bianca groans. “Okay, later, aaaafter…” she wags her brows at my knowingly. “You collect it.”

My face goes blank. “Wait, what?”

“The Agency give us these really high-tech little vials. So, you just need to keep it relatively warm and get back to The Agency within an hour or so. But it’s really not that—”

“Bianca!” I hiss, my eyes wide and my face red. “That is so fucking gross on so many levels!”

“No, Simone, it’s not…” her lips twist. “It’s not what you think.”

“It kind of sounds a lot like I think.”

“Look, first of all, it’s my choice. And secondly, the guys are all insanely good looking, Simone. Gorgeous, really.” She makes a face. “I mean, no one wants ugly-guy DNA, right? And like I said, they give you these really high-tech containers for you to sneak out some of the guys’… you know.”

I make a face. “Jizz?”

Bianca snorts. “Yeah.”

I slowly shake my head. “This is what you’ve been doing? You said it was ‘half legal’. There is no freaking way any of that is legal, Bianca. I can’t believe that this is what—”

“Hey, knock off with the judgement bullshit, okay?” she mutters testily. “Like I said, this is my choice. And you know I like to go out and like to have fun with guys anyways. Unlike some people,” she mutters under her breath, looking right at me.

“I like to have fun!”

“Says the virgin.”

I scowl at her.

“So how many times have you done this?”

Bianca blushes and looks away.

“Bianca…”

“Three,” she says quietly.

I blink, trying to take this all in as we just stare at each other across the tiny, crappy living room-slash-kitchen.

“Simone—”

“Look, I’m not judging—”

“You kind of are.”

My mouth twists. “Sorry,” I say quietly. “Maybe I am a little.”

“Look, it’s not the job I was looking for, but they approached me, and it pays insanely well. Like, ridiculously well.”

“How ridiculous?”

“One-hundred-thousand a job.”

This time, my jaw pretty much does hit the floor.

“What?!”

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