Page 48 of Vicious

“Yeah. So what’s the point of trying harder? It’s not like they’re going to get a raise.” Her voice has turned heated, fierce, and she has to take a moment to calm herself down. “You don’t understand anything of how the world works, Chase Vicious. How much would you pay me to be your live-in fucktoy, anyway?”

I look at her steadily. “You’d do this work voluntarily if I paid you?”

Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red as she snaps, “No! But the point is, you don’t know how to value someone.”

I almost tell her how much I paid for her. How Giulio Pavone had called me, deeply amused, with the information about May. How he’d dangled her in front of me and quoted a rate higher than I’m sure he usually sold women for, and how he’d increased the price to ensure that darling May wouldn’t get sent to spread her legs for other men while she was there.

But I don’t think she needs that information. “I know how much I value you, Ah-May.” I sigh and sit up properly. “What do you want to hear? Of course other people get paid less. That’s how my corporate clients can afford to pay me six hundred an hour so that their next acquisition can go through and they can sack half the staff they just acquired.”

Her lip curls in disgust. “Your complete and utter lack of morality is like… beyond belief, you know.” She gets up. “I’m going to bed.”

I should call her back and force her onto her knees, make her actually work for all the money I spent on her.

But I’m exhausted, and I don’t actually want to pay her for sex.

“I’ll give Kevin the intern a nice gift tomorrow,” I call after her. “But I hope you’re going to be on your best behavior for the costume party!”

“Fuck off, Chase.” She slams the bedroom door in my face.

“That’s quitter talk!” I shout back. “You’ll have to earn your six-hundred-dollar billables!”

She doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. She’s right that I should take more time to myself. I pull out my phone to text Hunter and Drake the details.

If May wants to prove she’s worth more than fifteen dollars an hour, well, she can put in the work.

CHAPTER 13

May

“I did not agree to… to this,” I say, holding up the costume Chase had gotten me. “The fabric is not placed strategically enough for me to see anyone looking like this!”

At least he’s not making me have dinner with him and his fucked-up friends with just a pair of cat ears and a scowl, but for fuck’s sake, this isn’t much better.

The picture on the package shows a sexy—smiling—woman wearing a whole lot of nothing. It has an almost see-through black bra with straps running down the front down to the pair of black panties, with more straps leading to a garter belt and stockings. There’s a strap that goes from a collar down to the bra, because of course it would have to draw attention to the fact that it’s 99% nothing and about a splash of black straps and fabric.

I’d be arrested for wearing this thing in public.

And in private?

No.

Not just no, but hell no.

“Well, I did ask you to make a kitty cat costume, and you refused,” Chase points out. “So much for your six-hundred-dollar billables.”

“Because I didn’t realize this was the alternative!” I throw the pathetic excuse for a costume across the room, glaring at him. “I’ll just stay down here while you do your dinner party.”

Chase crosses his arms and gives me one of his feigned disappointed looks. “Ah-May, that won’t do. They’re coming here to see you. And you’ve been complaining about how lonely you are with only me for company.”

“Yeah, because you’re shitty company!” I retort.

He walks over to the costume and picks it up, holding it out to me once more. “Put it on, or all those privileges you’ve been enjoying are going to disappear, and I’ll take away the sewing machine.”

I stare at him, not quite in disbelief because it isn’t a surprise that he’s going to weaponize my privileges this way, but because I’m genuinely annoyed. “There are no take-backs,” I inform him. “I earned those privileges fair and square. There was no fine print about taking anything away after I’d gotten them!”

“That means you don’t have anything in writing,” Chase says with amusement. “Ah-May, verbal contracts are worth the paper they’re written on.”

“Yeah? Then all my promises of behaving are only worth the paper they’re printed on!” I say hotly. “I am not wearing that thing. Maybe in private for your fucked-up fantasies, but in public? No. Absolutely not.”

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