Page 46 of Damaged

I was going on a couple dates with a cute guy named David last fall, but it fell apart before we got intimate. After that, I just stopped caring.

Then Hailee moved, so the three of us girls weren’t going to the bars on the weekend. It all made for the perfect storm. Or drought, I should say.

I haven’t even been that in-tune to it until now. Sex isn’t always on my mind. I’ve never even had what I would callgreatsex. Jake and I rotated three positions. It was getting a little stale towards the end. But that’s probably because he was having sex with someone else. Mediocre sex. Now that we’re not dating, I’ll admit he was selfish in bed, a little unimaginative.

I figure if there’s a man who knows what he’s doing with a woman, it’s James. I mean hell, I’ve gotten several five-star reviews from women through my ceiling.

Either they’re phenomenal actresses or the man can fuck. I think it’s the latter. And that’s what I need—to get fucked.

Used.

I want to be sore in the morning but not have it be my damn hand.

I’m not usually this horny while getting ready for work in the morning. Touching myself didn’t douse the fire. Masturbating just stoked the flames.

I go down to the lobby, and the same white Rolls Royce is already waiting. James is wearing a dark suit with a sky-bluedress shirt. It’s unbuttoned at the top so I can see the tan skin of his broad chest.

I have to look away. I greet both him and Brock business-like, trying to forget about James’s hand on my butt last night.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” James says. “Ready?”

I pat my olive satchel bag with my laptop in it. “All set.”

We get in the Rolls Royce and drive along the Nile heading south. I can catch a couple glimpses of the Pyramid of Giza to the east. I’m going to have to visit them up close, because from this distance and to my New York City brain, they look like mere Legos.

Nobody talks during the drive. I notice that Brock is too busy keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror and nothing else.

Is it that big of a risk that we’re being followed?

After about forty-five minutes, we reach a gate made from one single mass of solid steel. It’s painted rusty brown and is the size of an elephant. The white stone walls on either side tower another five feet above it.

This place is a fortress.

The gate swings open slowly. Its labored movement alone suggests the sheer weight of all the metal.

On the other side is about what I was expecting. There’s a circular drive with a white stone mansion on the far side of it. It shines, blinding in the sun, reflecting the heat. There are military trucks parked off to the side.

Two men in camouflage, with tall black boots and long rifles, stand smoking. The car comes to a stop, and a bald old man in a white suit opens the doors for us.

James and I both regroup on the path leading to the front door.

“Mr. Callaway. Welcome. Mr. Karim is waiting for you in the library. If you would follow me, please.”

He opens the main wooden door, which is about as tall as a basketball hoop. The foyer that’s revealed has a chandelier that rivals the gate in sheer size. A dual staircase descends from the second story on both sides of the wall.

We go upstairs, and the halls are all very wide and sparsely furnished. What furniture there is, hall tables and random leather sofas, looks miniature under the high ceilings.

The butler opens the door to the library and stands back to let us enter.

Inside, it’s like I’m in the hold of a cargo ship. In the middle is a table about twenty feet long, and on either side of it are lines of tall bookshelves. Each is filled with hundreds of leatherbound books.

Green bankers’ lamps, open books, and piles of others sit out on the table.

I smirk. This place is literally just like I had imagined.

We approach the table, where a young man stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He turns, revealing himself to be extremely young.

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