Page 24 of Tamed

I didn’t like it, not one bit, but I could hardly stop her. “I didn’t even know you were a virgin,” I muttered, trying not to scowl.

“I guess you learn something new every day.”

“Well,” I said finally, wanting her to know that while I supported her, I was also deeply skeptical of her choices. “I’m not happy about it, but okay.”

Zara took my mug out of the machine and handed it to me. “Luckily, your happiness isn’t what’s important here. Or at least, not when it comes to me and my virginity auction. But I do want you to come as moral support, so really, the most important thing is how to separate you from your security entourage.”

“True.” I sipped at my coffee. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yep.” She pushed the button for her cappuccino. “I need you to meet me at Stan’s tonight after work. It’s a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. We’ll lose your minders there.”

I’d never been to Stan’s and wasn’t sure why that particular bar had to be the one, but if Zara thought we could lose them there then I wasn’t going to question it. “Okay. How is that going to happen?”

“It’ll involve a friend of mine, a clothing change, and a getaway car.” Zara gave me a sly look “Hope you’re up for some excitement.”

Excitement? Who was she kidding? I couldn’t wait. The idea of an evening out without my security detail following my every move seemed like heaven. There would, of course, be consequences, and I was fully aware of that. Caleb had made his expectations pretty clear, after all. Then again, if this night turned out to be as good as I’d hoped then perhaps it would be worth it.

“I am definitely up for some excitement,” I said, raising my mug for a toast. “Bring on the getaway shenanigans.”

The rest of the day passed way too slowly, and I had difficulty focusing on work. It wasn’t just the prospect of a night out that was the issue. I kept checking my phone too on the off chance I had any texts or calls from whichever Hamilton contact it was that had reached out to me, because it had to have been a Hamilton contact. And if they were going to give me another meeting time, tonight would be the most convenient.

But of course, I heard nothing. How annoying of them not to consider my timetable.

Five o’clock rolled around and Zara left. She told me to wait for ten minutes before leaving to give her some time to organize whatever she was going to organize, so I sat at my desk pretending to fiddle with an email as the seconds went by.

Then at five ten on the dot, I got my purse and my jacket, shut down my computer and headed out of the building. J, J, and M were their usual impassive selves when I told them I was going for an after-work drink at Stan’s. The traffic was a nightmare, as it always was at rush hour, but I didn’t insist on the subway. No point rocking the boat at this delicate stage of the evening.

Stan’s, when we finally got there, turned out to be a kinda sketchy looking place. Inside, it was dimly lit, a TV with some baseball on blaring above the bar, and a rundown pool table down the back. There were booths and tables, mostly full of what looked like old drunks, but there were people in nice suits scattered here and there, obviously having an after-work drink.

Zara was sitting at the bar, and I headed straight over there, J, J, and M following at my heels. They took some chairs at the bar too, not quite next to me, but not too far away, their attention on the room at large and scanning for threats like three large, ugly Terminators.

Zara pushed a Cosmo in my direction and as I sat down, leaned in to murmur, “In ten minutes pretend like you’re not feeling well, and head to the ladies. I’ll follow you.”

I picked up my Cosmo and raised it in a silent acknowledgement, then sipped, trying to give no hint of the excitement fluttering away inside me. “I didn’t bring anything to change into,” I murmured back. I hadn’t been able to bring a party dress to work since that would have looked suspicious. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“It’s handled,” Zara said. “I got you. Don’t worry.”

But I was worrying all the same, despite my excitement. Anxious that whatever plan she’d come up with wasn’t going to work and that my sheepdogs would bust me, and I’d end up being ignominiously escorted back to Caleb’s apartment to face the consequences.

I forced the anxiety down as Zara and I chatted about nothing, though I barely paid any attention to what she was saying. However, the Cosmo did wonders to take the edge off, so by the time she gave me an almost imperceptible nod that ten minutes was up, I was able to put a hand over my stomach and groan without being too over the top and dramatic about it.

“Oh, Izzy,” Zara said, just loud enough for my minders to hear. “Are you okay?”

“Cramps,” I said and then, still clutching my gut, I slid off the bar stool and glanced at J, J, and M. “Period,” I added meaningfully. “I’m going to the ladies.”

Instantly they slid off their barstools too and because they were dicks and clearly not embarrassed by period talk, they escorted me right to the door. I was desperately racking my brains to think of some way to stop them from hanging around, because how I was going to escape, I had no idea. But Zara didn’t seem worried. She took my elbow, ostensibly to help me, and smiled as she pushed open the bathroom door. “We’ll only be a moment,” she assured them, before dragging me inside.

“How are we going to get out without them seeing?” I asked as the door closed.

“Relax,” Zara said. “I’ve got it covered.”

She headed for the toilet cubicle at the end of the row and pushed it open. Which was when I realized it wasn’t a toilet cubicle at all since it didn’t have a toilet in it. There were a whole lot of shelves stacked with cleaning items instead, and miracle of miracles, a tiny, narrow door in the back wall.

Zara pulled out a bag that had been sitting on a shelf and handed it to me, grinning like a maniac. “Okay, here are your clothes. Put them on and leave what you’re wearing in the bag. We’ll collect it later. Hurry.”

I swallowed the fifty million questions I had and took the bag, ducked into the nearest cubicle, and began tearing my boring work clothes off. Then I pulled out what I’d be wearing that night, which turned out to be the flimsiest dress I’d ever seen. It was very simple, of gold satin cut on the bias with barely-there straps, and it was immediately obvious that wearing a bra with it wasn’t happening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said loudly as I held it up and stared at it, aghast. “You got me this?”

---