rich guy.” She shrugs as if it’s all so simple, then glares over at her coffee pot.
“The police will come but I’ll be melting in a tub of acid by then. Okay, get your damn coffee. Get one for me too while I think this over.”
“Don’t think so much,” Stacey says, standing. “Google Bryce Morgan and see if he really is the guy on this card before we waste any more time on this. He could be some weasel who rented a nice suit; you need to know he can cover the $100,000. It’s a serious paycheck.”
“Superb idea.” I open up Stacey’s laptop, close the erotica literature site she’d been browsing before I arrived, and type Bryce Morgan in the browser.
And… there he is.
“Oh my, he’s here. Come see him, I wanna see you drool.” The picture of him, where he’s wearing a suit and shades and talking to someone on his phone, made me sigh. The headline reads, “Bryce Morgan: Youngest Independently Wealthy Executive to Make Over One Billion Dollars.”
Stacey runs to my side, sugar bowl in hand, and leers over my shoulder.
“Wow woman! What are you waiting for? He’s offering you a lottery win and super abs, and you’re wondering if it makes you rich or a whore, or maybe a rich whore? Who the hell cares? Call him already.”
She points at Bryce’s card, which she’d left next to me on the couch when she left to make coffee.
My insides move around so fast, they leave skid marks. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?”
“Damn right you are, lady. But we’re doing this right.”
Chapter 3
It is another hour before Stacey punches Bryce’s number into my phone and shoves it into my nervous hands.
“Do it.”
“Hello?” I wince when someone picks up, but say nothing. “Um, Bryce? Is that you?”
“Ah, Amelia. It’s you. Yes, I’m here.” His soulful voice sets my legs to jelly. “I’m so glad you called.”
“You are?” Stacey listens on speakerphone and holds up a script we prepared for me to follow. But now I’m speaking to him, it seems too phony to use.
“Of course. I take it you’re calling to accept my offer?”
“I, uh...” Oh shit, I am.
Am I? Is that what I’m doing?
“Do you want me to send my driver to pick you up?” he asks in a matter-of-fact tone, like he always expected me to call anyway. “He’s ready to go.”
“What, you want me there tonight?”
Stacey mouths ‘No!’ and points to the script.
“Yes,” Bryce says, as if he has to restate the obvious. “I want things to happen between us as soon as possible, Amelia. And I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I bet you don’t.” My stomach flips.
Why his almost abrasive attitude turns me on so much I don’t understand; he makes me want to salute and masturbate, in unison.
The list of things Stacey and I prepared for me to say waves in front of me and Stacey pokes my ribs.
“Well, first thing’s first: I’m afraid. Can we meet to talk over that contract you mentioned? You know, to protect me and my...investment?” I hate discussing the money side of things, but it is a pretty big deal.
“Ah.”
“Problem?” I ask.
Please don’t let there be a problem.
“Course not. But when I meet you next, I want you to be mine, not to discuss business. I do that to death already. I’ll send you an email. What’s your address?”
“Oh. Okay…um… it’s [email protected]. Send the contract and I’ll sign on the dots if everything’s in order.”
Stacey sniggers and whispers, “On the dotted line, you nitwit. Not on the line.”
I’m an idiot.
He’ll think I’m a bloody idiot.
“Good,” Bryce says, “then I’ll sign...on the dots, and send you a copy for your records. But you’ll be mine in two hours, otherwise the deal’s off. Yes?”
“If everything’s in order.” Stacey nudges me, reminding me of one final request. “Oh, um. Do I get a deposit at all?”
“No, I’m sure you
“The police will come but I’ll be melting in a tub of acid by then. Okay, get your damn coffee. Get one for me too while I think this over.”
“Don’t think so much,” Stacey says, standing. “Google Bryce Morgan and see if he really is the guy on this card before we waste any more time on this. He could be some weasel who rented a nice suit; you need to know he can cover the $100,000. It’s a serious paycheck.”
“Superb idea.” I open up Stacey’s laptop, close the erotica literature site she’d been browsing before I arrived, and type Bryce Morgan in the browser.
And… there he is.
“Oh my, he’s here. Come see him, I wanna see you drool.” The picture of him, where he’s wearing a suit and shades and talking to someone on his phone, made me sigh. The headline reads, “Bryce Morgan: Youngest Independently Wealthy Executive to Make Over One Billion Dollars.”
Stacey runs to my side, sugar bowl in hand, and leers over my shoulder.
“Wow woman! What are you waiting for? He’s offering you a lottery win and super abs, and you’re wondering if it makes you rich or a whore, or maybe a rich whore? Who the hell cares? Call him already.”
She points at Bryce’s card, which she’d left next to me on the couch when she left to make coffee.
My insides move around so fast, they leave skid marks. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?”
“Damn right you are, lady. But we’re doing this right.”
Chapter 3
It is another hour before Stacey punches Bryce’s number into my phone and shoves it into my nervous hands.
“Do it.”
“Hello?” I wince when someone picks up, but say nothing. “Um, Bryce? Is that you?”
“Ah, Amelia. It’s you. Yes, I’m here.” His soulful voice sets my legs to jelly. “I’m so glad you called.”
“You are?” Stacey listens on speakerphone and holds up a script we prepared for me to follow. But now I’m speaking to him, it seems too phony to use.
“Of course. I take it you’re calling to accept my offer?”
“I, uh...” Oh shit, I am.
Am I? Is that what I’m doing?
“Do you want me to send my driver to pick you up?” he asks in a matter-of-fact tone, like he always expected me to call anyway. “He’s ready to go.”
“What, you want me there tonight?”
Stacey mouths ‘No!’ and points to the script.
“Yes,” Bryce says, as if he has to restate the obvious. “I want things to happen between us as soon as possible, Amelia. And I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I bet you don’t.” My stomach flips.
Why his almost abrasive attitude turns me on so much I don’t understand; he makes me want to salute and masturbate, in unison.
The list of things Stacey and I prepared for me to say waves in front of me and Stacey pokes my ribs.
“Well, first thing’s first: I’m afraid. Can we meet to talk over that contract you mentioned? You know, to protect me and my...investment?” I hate discussing the money side of things, but it is a pretty big deal.
“Ah.”
“Problem?” I ask.
Please don’t let there be a problem.
“Course not. But when I meet you next, I want you to be mine, not to discuss business. I do that to death already. I’ll send you an email. What’s your address?”
“Oh. Okay…um… it’s [email protected]. Send the contract and I’ll sign on the dots if everything’s in order.”
Stacey sniggers and whispers, “On the dotted line, you nitwit. Not on the line.”
I’m an idiot.
He’ll think I’m a bloody idiot.
“Good,” Bryce says, “then I’ll sign...on the dots, and send you a copy for your records. But you’ll be mine in two hours, otherwise the deal’s off. Yes?”
“If everything’s in order.” Stacey nudges me, reminding me of one final request. “Oh, um. Do I get a deposit at all?”
“No, I’m sure you
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