Page 35 of The Wicked Virgin

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tammy

I rolled out of bed, my head pounding, my body aching like I’d been buried alive under two tons of dirt instead of sleeping in a comfy feather bed. Heaving myself up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was dull, my curls oddly limp, a lifeless expression in my eyes.

Because sure, I’d spent eight hours lying in bed but hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. Instead, I’d tossed and turned, my skin alternately flaming and then going coldly clammy, the shock hitting me again and again. How was it possible that Nick didn’t love me? That I was nothing more than a fuck toy to him, one of a few women in rotation?

But that’s the thing. Even I’d repeatedly referred to myself as a fuck toy, his sex doll, his slave willing to do anything, get on my knees and worship at the altar of the billionaire. So I’d brought it on myself. I’d asked for it, treated myself like nothing more than a fuck toy, was it so odd that he treated me that way as well?

I shook my head, miserable. There were no answers, I had no answers. Instead, I put on a drab shirt and skirt, not caring that the clothes were slightly wrinkled and stepped into a pair of shabby flats. Since moving to headquarters I’d tried to do better with myself, wearing heels, doing my make-up carefully each morning, styling my hair so it was a gleaming mass on my shoulders.

But it didn’t matter anymore. I was nothing, a piece of garbage only, and so I grabbed my hair and pulled it into a low ponytail, snapping the rubber band harshly around the curls. My face looked wan and ghastly, dark circles under my eyes, the lids puffy and swollen but I didn’t care. I hurt and couldn’t be bothered anymore.

Slipping a pair of sunglasses on, I stumbled downstairs through the lobby and onto the sidewalk. As usual, Max the chauffeur waited.

“Miss,” he said, gesturing to the car behind him with a white-gloved hand. “At your service.”

And I shook my head slowly.

“No, not today Max,” I said. I would be damned before I took another thing from the billionaire, I was getting to work and logging onto Craigslist immediately to find a new apartment, a new roommate, a new job. I wasn’t getting in Nick’s car, no way no how. So I turned resolutely and started walking. It wasn’t bad, the apartment complex was just on the other side of Midtown, the walk would be thirty minutes max.

But a horn tooted behind me and Max leaned out of the window, his jaunty cap askew.

“Miss Jones, please get in,” he pleaded in his vague Eastern European accent. “Please.”

I kept walking, ignoring him. I wasn’t taking another thing from Nick Martin under any circumstance.

But Max was insistent.

“Miss Jones, I’m going to be in big trouble if you don’t get in,” he pleaded, still trailing me in the black car. “Please, Miss.”

And at that, I stopped. I didn’t want someone like Max to suffer because I’d been a dunce. It wasn’t his fault he worked for Nick, he was just trying to do his job, make a living and support his family. And so I sighed, slowly backtracking.

“Thank you Miss Jones,” said the chauffeur once the door slammed shut behind me. “Thank you for understanding. Why didn’t you want to drive today?” he asked. “The weather’s not so nice.”

That was true, it was an overcast day with quite a few clouds in the sky and I didn’t have an umbrella just in case.

“It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “Just thought I’d get some exercise.”

Max’s eyebrows flew off his forehead. A thirty minute walk through Midtown wasn’t exactly the nicest walk, I’d be dodging piles of garbage on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up, dog poo left by lazy owners, not to mention the ominous weather. But the old man didn’t say anything, merely went back to driving, navigating the crowded streets.

Suddenly, I had an idea.

“Max,” I said. “How many people do you drive?” I asked, sitting up on the seat. Surely he was escorting several of Nick’s women around, chauffeuring them to various events.

But Max was puzzled.

“Just yourself and Mr. Martin,” he said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “But I don’t see much of Mr. Martin, he takes the SUV with Walter sometimes, or even his helicopter.”

And I sat back, perplexed. That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, I thought he’d say “Oh, I drive you and Amanda, Tiffany, Brandy, and Renee,” if not more. But maybe I wasn’t being crafty enough.

“Max,” I tried again. “Have you driven women for Mr. Martin in the past?”

And the old chauffeur just smiled at me, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, smiling kindly.

“Ms. Jones, I know what you’re getting at. You’re trying to find out if Mr. Martin is seeing other women and the answer is that I can’t tell you. It’s not my business, it’s not your business, it’s not anyone’s business but the boss’s. I’m so sorry I can’t help,” he added, slightly reproving.

And I sat back, ashamed of myself. I’d tried to trick Max into telling me information that he shouldn’t, the elderly man could lose his job if he blabbed. And so I colored, apologizing.

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