Page 8 of Bite
“Chin down. Eyes up. Loosen your hands.”
I follow the instructions, but I still feel like an imposter.
Because I am.
Bex probably slayed this photoshoot, and here I am, fumbling through it like an amateur. Thankfully, Daniel doesn’t push too hard. He clicks a few more times, then lowers the camera with a nod.
“We’ve got what we need.”
I let out a breath, the knot in my chest unraveling.
He escorts me back to the wardrobe suite, where I peel off the lingerie and robe, folding them neatly before slipping back into my own clothes. Except they feel different now. The fabric is coarse, the seams itchy. Everything seems two sizes too small. It’s not just the texture, it’s the weight of it. The way it tugs me back to who I was just an hour ago.
When I step into the hallway again, Francesca is already waiting, tablet in hand, suit still pristine. She doesn’t smile this time. Shebeams.
“Miss Holt,” she greets. “Your blood panel just came back. Excellent results. High hemoglobin, strong platelet count. Very desirable for our clientele.” She swipes across the tablet, then pulls something from her pocket that appears to be a slim, metallic bracelet. “May I?”
I extend my wrist and she clips it on with a quiet click.
“This contains your microchip, which allows clients access to your profile,” she explains. “No personal data, only your demographics, blood type, and engagement preferences. It also allows us to track your location for pick-up and while on an engagement to ensure your safety, so please wear it at all times. We strongly encourage the use of an alias for confidentiality, so all that’s left is for you to choose a name.”
“Okay,” I murmur, rubbing a thumb across the smooth band on my wrist. “Can I think about it?”
She gives a small shake of her head. “We encourage you to select one before your donor profile goes live so we can ensure confidentiality from the start. I’d be happy to suggest one with the auto-complete function, if you’d like?”
“Sure.”
She taps a few times on the tablet. “Claudia?”
I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head. I knew a Claudia once in grade school– she was a royal bitch that got the whole class to start calling me “Faylor” after I bombed a pop quiz.
A flicker of amusement crosses Francesca’s face. “How about…” she murmurs, tapping again. “Marilyn?”
I hesitate. It sounds… pretty. Almost glamorous.
“Yeah,” I agree. “That’s fine.”
“Very good,” she replies, locking it in. “You’ll begin receiving encrypted messages through the app if a client requests you for an engagement. You’ll see their profile and the details of the proposed engagement, including location, time, and type. Most clients request engagements at their private residences. You’ll have the option to accept or decline, and if you accept, a driver will be dispatched to your location to escort you to and from the engagement.”
“And if I decline?” I challenge, arching a brow.
“Nothing happens,” she says simply. “There’s no obligation. But once you accept, you’re expected to follow through. Our agency has a reputation to uphold.”
“Right,” I breathe.
She gives me a final, assessing look, then gestures down the hallway. “That concludes your onboarding, Miss Holt. Welcome to Bite. We’re so pleased to have you in our ranks.”
I nod numbly before walking away on auto-pilot, passing through the gleaming halls, the silent elevator, and the polished lobby. The black car is waiting for me at the curb with the same driver, who gives me the same silent nod when I approach.
“Miss Holt!” a chipper voice calls, and I turn back to see the perky receptionist from upstairs trotting in my direction, stilettos clipping the pavement and a matte black shopping bag dangling from her hands. “You left this,” she says breathlessly as she approaches, holding the bag out to me.
I take it from her warily, peering inside and finding black lace and plum silk– the lingerie and robe from my photoshoot.
“Miss Fox said to consider it a welcome gift,” she adds, flashing me a bright smile.
“Um, okay,” I stammer, my fingers curling around the satin handles of the bag. “Thanks.”
She tips her head and spins around, strutting back toward the building. I turn back to the car and slide in, the driver closing my door before taking his place behind the wheel.
