Page 16 of Hard Limits

“Sometimes they do.” Oh my goodness. I’d ended up working for a pimp. “Their job is to keep the clientele happy, whether that’s facilitating interaction between members, serving drinks, or participating in the activities. Everything is consensual.” Teresa studied me. “It makes you uncomfortable.”

“Of course it makes me uncomfortable!” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I thought this was an investment company with a restaurant on the side, not…not…a whorehouse.”

Too late, I realised somebody else had entered the room behind me. The newcomer was blonde and slender with legs a mile long, and she walked with a confidence I could only dream of. Even without make-up, she was stunningly beautiful, and I had an awful feeling she might be one of the hostesses.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest… I mean, if you’re…”

She just grinned. “Call me whatever you want, hun. I’m laughing all the way to the bank. Teresa, I need a schoolgirl outfit and a lollipop.”

“White cotton panties or lingerie?”

“White cotton and white socks too, the knee-high kind.” The blonde turned to me. “You must be new, huh? Let me guess—assistant number twenty-six.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Hmm. Guess twenty-six didn’t last long. Who won the pool?”

“Tawny,” Teresa told her.

“That’s twice in a row.”

“She always goes for the low numbers.”

“Twenty-seven, if you can last five weeks and three days, I’ll forgive you for the whorehouse comment. How’s about that?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Aw, you’re trying to decide whether to suck it up and be polite, cry, or burn rubber on your way out of here, am I right?”

There was no point in lying, not this time.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Written all over your face, hun. Plus I’m a psychology major at UCLA. Jayme.” She held out a hand, and I shook it automatically, admiring her manicure—bubblegum pink with tiny yellow flowers. “What’s your name, twenty-seven?”

“Meera.”

“Well, Meera, I bet Brax invests in stuff too, so forget about what goes on downstairs, do your job, and I’ll do mine.” Jayme found a giant jar of lollipops and began rummaging through it. “Teresa, do we have any of the cola ones left?”

“Only whatever’s in there,” Teresa called from behind a rail of clothing.

“Well, that sucks.” Jayme giggled, her laughter musical. “And so do I, if that’s what the client wants.”

“You don’t mind?” I blurted.

“Hell no. Letting old guys spank me with a ruler means I’ll graduate debt free, and how else would I get my kicks? Fuck a frat boy?”

Teresa reappeared with a clear garment bag over one arm, plus the requested underwear.

“These should be your size.”

“Thanks.” Jayme unwrapped one lollipop and stuck it in her mouth, then pocketed two more and took the garments. “See ya tomorrow. And maybe I’ll see you next week, twenty-seven. Depends whether you’re a quitter or not.”

She pulled the door open and strode into the hallway, humming “Baby One More Time” to herself, and even if I’d wanted to run out of there, I couldn’t have. Jayme thought I was a quitter—I’d heard it in her voice—and perhaps she was right. My legs turned into overcooked noodles as the plan I’d made for myself fell apart. I’d assumed Braxton Vale was a secretive—yet respected—businessman, but he hired out women for money. I didn’t want to work in the sex industry. What if somebody found out? What if my family found out? They’d shame me forever.

“Were you sent here to collect something, or are you lost?” Teresa asked.

I was lost, all right. What was I meant to do? Good-paying jobs were hard to come by in this city, especially when you had to stay under the radar, and if I left, I’d struggle to pay the rent this month, let alone get my car fixed. And despite Mr. Vale’s den of sin, he’d remained fully clothed at all times, which was more than could be said for Lance Clifton.

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