Page 14 of Filthy Twisted Devil

When he placed his bid, he stole my choice from me. The choice I spent six weeks sitting with and eight hours preparing for. I walked into this hotel on my own two feet because I chose to. My decision wasn't Luke’s to stop or override. He paid $1.3 million and bought himself the right to walk into my hotel suite and tell me what to do with my own body. I don't give a fuck what his reasons were. I didn't need him to save me from myself.

Even though under that fury, there's a tiny threat of relief. The auction felt like a mistake from the second the bidding closed, but I'm not telling him that. I'm not telling anyone, ever.

“I won’t take the money,” I say. “I'm not taking $1.3 million from my best friend's brother as a favor. It's not happening. I’m desperate, but not that desperate.”

He frowns. “You must need the money, Eden. I know you wouldn’t have gone this far unless you were desperate.”

“You don’t know a single thing about me,” I snap. Even though he’s right, he doesn’t get to act like he’s doing me a favor.

“I know that you’re smart,” he retorts. “Smart enough to know how risky it is to meet a stranger like this. You must have calculated the risk and decided it was worth it, which means you need the money. Take it. I have it.”

I roll my eyes. “You just have a million bucks to give away.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost defiantly. “Yeah, I do. And I know if you don’t take it from me, you’ll go right back to CamCuties and have another auction. You’re not leaving this elevator without the money.”

“No.” I’m aware that the way I say it makes me sound like a petulant child, and I hate it.

“Then we’ll stay here for as long as it takes.” He leans back against his elevator wall casually, like he’s waiting for a bus. Or rather, like he’s a model pretending to be a guy waiting for a bus.

“I don’t want it, Luke. I won’t take it.”

“Then how do I guarantee you won’t pull the same stunt again in a week?”

“I guess you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I don’t. I know you’re trustworthy,” he adds before I can argue. “I’d trust you to take care of Brinley if she was sick, or watch my dog, if I had one. You’re a reliable person. But you need the money, and right now, you have no other plans to get it.”

“I could get a job.”

“You’ve been job-hunting for months, Eden. If you don’t have a job, it’s because there isn’t one available.”

“Or maybe my resume just sucks.”

He laughs. “Don’t lie. I’ve known you for fifteen years, Eden. Your resume is perfect. Seriously, Eden. Would it be so bad to borrow some money from me?”

I frown. I would rather pull out every one of my teeth. My pride hurts enough from him finding out about my camgirl gig. Owing him money on top of that would destroy me.

Luke’s eyes narrow, like he’s reading something in my expression. Then he nods.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says.

“What kind of deal?” I ask cautiously.

“I’ll give you two weeks to find a job, or some other explanation of where you’re getting the money. If you find it, great. If you don’t, then trust me, I’ll find a way to make your bank account $1.3 million higher.”

“What happened to not trusting me?”

“I still don’t. But right now, I’m not sharp enough to argue with you. I think we’d both like to walk out of this elevator and forget tonight ever happened.”

I scrutinize his face for a long moment. The version of Luke Windsor in this elevator isn’t the version I’ve spent the last fifteen years watching. He’s not charming, smooth, and enthusiastic. He just looks tired, like he’s been on his feet since the auction ended and hasn’t decided yet who he's going to be when this is over.

“Fine,” I sigh. “Officially, nothing happens tonight. We're just two people who happen to take the same elevator.”

Luke exhales. “Sounds good. It’s just…look, I don't know about you, but I could really use a drink right about now. Have a drink with me at the bar. Then we'll forget this ever happened.”

I hesitate. I could abso-fucking-lutely use a drink right now. Besides, it would probably be good for Luke and I to reestablish normalcy around each other, so we don’t end up acting suspiciously awkward the next time we’re in a room together.

“Fine,” I say, nodding. “One drink.”