Page 27 of Bite
I still don’t have a clue what this meeting could be about. I haven’t requested a profile update, haven’t failed to appear for any engagements. I’ve followed every one of Bite’s rules to the letter– mostly because I’ve been terrified not to– and all the feedback I’ve received thus far has been positive. As the city blurs by, I rack my brain for some logical explanation for being called in on such short notice, but I keep coming up blank.
By the time the car pulls up in front of the shiny office building, my anxiety is at an all-time high. My palms are sweaty, my pulse is racing, and on the elevator ride up, I struggle to fight the wave of nausea that rolls through me.
When the elevator doors slide open into the gleaming lobby of Bite, the receptionist greets me by name, her smile polite and her expression impassive. She leads me straight back to Francesca’s office, the woman herself waiting patiently behind her immaculate glass desk.
“Miss Holt,” she greets brightly, looking as pressed and professional as ever in a tailored gray suit. She doesn’t rise when I enter, just gestures smoothly to the chair across from her as the receptionist closes the door to seal us inside. “Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.”
I lower myself into the seat nervously, crossing one denim-clad leg over the other. “Is… something wrong?” I ask, voice wavering.
“Not at all,” Fran reassures, folding her hands atop a thick manilla folder on her desk. “It seems you’ve made quite the impression on our clientele.”
I blink, heart stuttering a beat. “I have?”
She dips her chin in a nod, lips spreading into a warm smile. “Yes. On one client in particular.” Flipping the folder open, she slides it across the desk toward me.
I glance down at the neat stack of paper inside,Proposed Contractprinted in elegant serif font on the top page of Bite letterhead.
“What’s this?” I ask warily.
“Mr. Devereaux has submitted a request for an exclusive donor arrangement,” she supplies.
My eyes ping up to meet hers, mouth running dry. “Exclusive?”
She nods again. “Yes. He’s requesting that you become his personal donor for a one-year term. If you accept, you’d be removed from our general donor pool and bound to Mr. Devereaux exclusively. You’d reside at his estate for the duration of your contract.”
I stare at her, brain short-circuiting. “He wants me tolivethere?”
“It’s quite standard for arrangements of this nature,” she replies smoothly, drumming her perfectly manicured fingernails against the glass desktop. “Our elite clients often prefer on-site accessibility for both convenience and discretion. Of course, your safety remains our top priority, and Mr. Devereaux has assured us that you’ll be well taken care of while in his custody.”
I shake my head slowly, as if moving my skull will help make the words sink in more clearly. “But… why?” I ask, blinking. “Why me?”
She smiles faintly, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. I can only speculate.”
I blow out a shaky breath as I look back down at the contract, heart beating out of rhythm while I start thumbing through it. There are pages–pages– of clauses. Feedingrequirements. Boundaries. Discretion policies. Legal indemnity. It’s overwhelming just to skim.
“Is this… normal?” I ask quietly, glancing back up at Fran.
“More common than you’d think,” she replies. “Many of our most successful donors have gone this route. Some for years. The compensation tends to be quite persuasive.” She reaches forward, flipping to the final page of the contract and tapping the line at the bottom with the tip of a fingernail. “This would be your payout at the conclusion of the contract, after our administrative fee.”
I lean forward to read the number and nearly fall out of my chair.
“Wait,” I choke, blinking hard. “That’s… that’s real?That’show much I’d make?”
Francesca nods, perfectly composed. “Yes.”
I try to speak again, but it comes out as a strangled sound of disbelief.
Half a million dollars.
That kind of money would change my life. I could buy a car, a little house, be set for life. I could finally stop clawing my way out of my survival mode and just… breathe for a change. Maybe even live a little.
Francesca watches me calmly for a beat, then flips to another section of the contract.
“However,” she says delicately, “there are elements of the arrangement that fall beyond your current contract purview.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper, gut twisting.
She nods down at the contract, my gaze dropping to the page. The title reads:Secondary Services– Physical Intimacy Addendum.
