Bait Me (Forbidden Fruits #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

BONNIE

I’ve been zoned out for the last half an hour, totally bored by my family talking about shit as we eat the ‘required’ Sunday lunch together. Please. Me and my sister aren’t close, and our mum and dad can barely stand to be in the same room together, so this whole charade is ridiculous. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember, but if you try to duck out of Sunday lunch, damn, they’ll all be on you like maggots on rotting flesh. Seriously, they’re all deluded, thinking this is necessary to ‘check-in’ with each other.

All my dad does is sit there quietly, his only version of speaking is to grunt in acknowledgment every now and again. My mum acts like a fucking patriarch who holds the family together, when really, she’s as self-centred as, you guessed it, my sister. Kelly has always been all about herself, and she wonders why no man sticks around for too long. And that’s how we’re onto the topic of her latest ex, Darius Cole. I mean, he stuck around longer than most, lasting three months, so you’ve got to give him props for that alone. He even endured these fucking dinners, so kudos to him for going the distance. But just like all the others before, he clearly got fed up of her shit, and now she’s whinging about him, claiming he was ‘the one’. I scoff and roll my eyes, preferring to just eat my food and keep my mouth shut, but my guffawing draws Kelly’s attention, as well as my mum’s, and I know I’m about to be the target of their acidic tongues.

“What are you scoffing at?” Kelly demands, drumming her fake-ass fingernails on the table as she waits for my answer. Kelly and I are like chalk and cheese, we’ve never gotten along, her always bitching at me about something or other. She’s three years older than me, so the age gap isn’t exactly large, but the bridge between us is huge.

“Nothing,” I say with a shrug, not willing to get into another argument because she’s too much of a diva to listen to any kind of reasoning.

“No, go on, Miss Know-it-all, tell me,” she pushes, just as I knew she would. I can’t wait until I move out of here, far away, because you can bet once I’ve fled the nest, I’ll be skipping these fake-as-fuck Sunday dinners.

“I thought he was okay, seemed nice, down to earth, and he was always polite,” I say, immediately seeing horror on her and my mum’s faces. Oh boy, should have just kept my mouth shut.

“How dare you stick up for him,” Kelly screeches, throwing her napkin on the table in a huff. “Mother, tell her she’s being a bitch.” Kelly is like the spitting image of my mother, with her short, cropped, red hair, vicious green eyes like a snake, pouty lips that have had a little help from filler, and eyebrows that tend to stay in the same place, to keep the aspect of being young, of course. Kelly doesn’t need any of that shit, but she’s been going with my mum since she turned twenty-one to get God knows what pumped into her face and body, and that was five years ago, so I guess there’s no stopping her now.

“Bonnie, apologise to your sister,” my mum demands.

“For what exactly?” I retort, because I am sick to death of this charade. Kelly has always been the golden child, something I’ve accepted over the years because that’s just how it is—it’s not right, and for a long time, it hurt, but eventually, you let that shit go because you realise that nothing will ever change.

“For being rude,” Mum affirms, as if that spells the end of it.

“I wasn’t being rude, I was just saying that I thought he seemed okay,” I reply, unwilling to back down.

“Mother, what is wrong with her?” Kelly screeches, clearly pissed that I’m not already on my hands and knees, licking her goddamn boots.

“Yes, Bonnie, what is going on here?” Mum asks, both of them waiting impatiently, whilst my dad continues to act as if there is no one else in the room.

“Nothing is going on,” I reply calmly, even as my blood boils. “I was simply stating that he seemed nice.”

“Fancy him, did you?” Kelly fires back. Oh for the love of God.

“No, Kelly,” I reply, but it falls on deaf ears.

“That’s what your problem is, you’ve always wanted what was mine,” she spits back, venom lacing her tone and her eyes narrowed.

“If you say so,” I reply, ready to get the hell out of here.

“Did you hear that, Mother? She just admitted that she’s jealous of me,” Kelly wails, and I can’t help the laugh that breaks free. Jealous of her? Really? Fucking hell, delusional is mild when it comes to her, more like bat-shit crazy.

“Really, Bonnie, I don’t know why you act this way towards your sister,” Mum chides, and that is where I reach my limit.

“Dinner was lovely, Mum ,” I say sarcastically, calling her ‘mum’ as I always do because it pisses her off that I call her that instead of ‘mother’, as I place my knife and fork down and stand.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Mum asks.

“Out.”

“But we’re not finished?—”

“Oh let her go, Mother. She’ll only be going to Sadie’s to sulk,” Kelly says as I turn and leave the room, every part of me wanting to turn back and fucking duke it out with her but preferring to take the high road and not reduce myself to their level.

I can hear the two of them tittering away, discussing my issues as I head up the stairs to grab my phone, car keys, and purse. I quickly fire off a text to Sadie to tell her I’m on my way, and then I grab my jacket on the way out, making sure to slam the door a little louder than normal in a small act of defiance. Petty, yes, but fucking hell, show me anyone who would keep their cool around them and I’ll give them a medal.

I sweep my long, fire-engine red hair up into a ponytail and flop down on the sofa at Sadie’s place. I’ve just changed into the pyjamas that I keep here, because more often than not, this is where you’ll find me, preferring to stay with my best friend than be stuck at home with people who seem to fucking hate me.

“Why don’t you just move in here permanently, Bon?” Sadie says, asking me a question she’s asked a million time before.

And with a sigh, I tell her what I always do, “Because I can’t afford it, Sade.” And I can’t, not with the crappy minimum wage job I’m stuck in whilst I try and finish the book I’ve been writing for the last year. I keep saying it’s writer’s block, but really, I’m starting to question if I have any creativity in me at all. I mean, I dropped out of college because I just couldn’t focus, went through a few jobs before settling where I am now, waitressing, because I have fuck all qualifications for much else. To say I’m stuck in a rut would be an understatement, and between paying off a loan I took out to buy my car and the two credit cards I thought were a good idea at the time, I have barely enough left to pay my parents the rent money they demand on the first of every month. I guess I stuck with the waitressing because, honestly, I’m so fucking tired of trying and failing at every turn—my writing included.

“I don’t need you to pay me a shit ton of money, Bon, I’ve told you this,” Sadie insists, but I refuse to become a burden to the one person who has always had my back.

“And I told you that I’m not even considering it until I can pay my way properly.”

“Stubborn arse,” Sadie mutters, and I throw a sofa pillow at her, which she bats away as her frustration with me turns into laughter. We’ve been friends since secondary school, hitting it off on the first day, our bond stronger than most marriages. Sadie’s family also welcomed me into their home like I was their daughter, showing me more love than my own. I can see what a loving family should be like, and mine is far from it—more like dysfunctional and just going through the motions because they think that’s what is required. One day, I’ll be free of them, and I’ll be happier for it, but until then, I have to keep riding the storm. You would think that the urge to get out of there would kick my arse into gear, but sadly, being mentally exhausted by life at the age of twenty-three leaves you with no desire to try and make things better. I know I need to, for myself, but fuck, trying to drag myself out of the pit of despair I find myself in is easier said than done.

“What if I told you that you could earn more money than you ever dreamed of,” Sadie says, piquing my interest instantly.

“Go on,” I urge as she chews her bottom lip and looks a little cautious about what she’s going to say next, only making me more intrigued.

“Well… don’t judge me before you’ve heard me out,” she continues, and those words have me sitting up straight and forgetting about my shitty family life for the moment.

“Sadie Pierce, have you been holding out on me about something?” I question, my eyes narrowing on her slightly.

“Maybe.”

“You better spill the tea right now,” I tell her, because as far as I was aware, we have never kept anything from the other one… except for now, clearly.

“Before you get all pissy-pants about me keeping this to myself, I want to start by saying that I had to keep quiet because it’s in my contract.”

Contract?

Fucking hell, I have never been more desperate to hear her next words in my life.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you, far from it, but the contract is so fucking water-tight and the repercussions so severe that it’s kept me from opening my mouth.”

“Until now.”

“Yes, until now,” she says, repeating my words. She clears her throat before asking, “Do you ever wonder how I earn so much money?”

My brows pull together. “Uh, you work in a high-end boutique where you’re tipped ridiculous amounts of money and kiss the arses of the rich and, sometimes, famous.” She’s worked there for the last year and has been able to pay for her own apartment, car, and lives quite comfortably—something I am so fucking proud of her for doing. I should be doing the same, but I’ve not found my calling card… yet.

“Yes, but it doesn’t exactly pay as much as I make out…” Her voice fades off as she starts to look a little sheepish.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, sitting forward a little more in my seat.

“Well, I, uh… I have this client at the boutique who comes to me every week and has done for the last six months. I’m not going to go into details, but he’s a guy with connections to various types of businesses that pay well… really well.”

“O-kay,” I say, wondering where she’s going with this.

“He, um, took me to one of his other businesses when he ran a proposition by me…”

“For fuck’s sake, Sadie, will you stop all this cloak and dagger shit and just tell me already?” I say, my patience on a knife’s edge, eager to be clued the fuck in.

“I’m a paid escort, Bon,” she blurts out, and my eyes go wide with surprise.

“You’re a what?”

“An escort. I go on dates with guys for money.”

“Oh… that’s, um…” She’s managed to do the one thing no one else has ever managed to do and rendered me speechless, so I simply stare at her as she continues to tell me more.

“I mean, nothing like this had ever crossed my mind before, but when he took me to one of the clubs where his clients frequent, he came back to the boutique the next day and told me he’d had multiple offers for me, and I, uh, took the bait, shall we say.”

“And?” I’m fucking rapt, needing to know more.

“Well, he presented me with a file of the men who had requested to ‘date’ me, and I got to look through and pick. Long story short, I went on the date, was treated to a nice meal, was treated like a lady all evening, until he dropped me back home and asked if I would escort him to a work function the following week. I agreed and he’s currently my number one client.”

“Jesus, Sadie,” I say as I flop back on the sofa, staring at her in shock and awe. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I had no idea it was going to be something that stuck, and like I said, water-tight contract and all, but I can see how you’re lost, desperately trying to find your footing, so why not make a little money whilst you figure it out? Or should I say, a lot of money. And I mean a lot .”

“How much are we talking?” I ask.

“Depending on the client, the needs, whether it’s an event or simply for companionship, the lowest rate for the night is five-hundred pounds.”

“Five-hundred?”

“Yup.”

“And does that include sex?” I ask her, because I don’t know if that is something I can do.

“Nope. That’s the going rate for dinner only, and he foots the bill, too.”

“Shit.” I’m astounded. Totally fucking astounded by what she’s said. “And, uh, the guys, are they, um…”

“All different types. Old, young, too much money to know what to do with, some are lonely, and some just need a date for an event. Of course there is the option for more, but I’m quite happy with what I’m doing right now. I have no plans to take it further.”

“Right.”

“And none of the men are married, because the boss doesn’t want the hassle of a wife getting wind of their husband paying for something they’re not getting at home, or words to that effect, anyway.”

“The boss does his homework, huh?”

“It’s a very exclusive club to be a part of,” she informs me, and I have no doubt she trusts this boss guy.

“I have to ask, if you’re making so much money dating these guys, why the hell are you still working at the boutique?” I question.

“I simply like to keep busy,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. “You know me, always on the go.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Well start to, and whilst I go and grab us some wine, have a think about meeting with the boss man, because the clients would go nuts over your red hair and curves.” With that, she flounces from the room to go get us wine, leaving me with a lot to think about and multiple questions to ask her when she returns.