Chapter 3
Haley
“Ican’t believe this is happening,” I mutter to myself. “Oh my god.”
The spa attendant smiles and reaches forward to fix a lock of my hair.
“It’s happening,” she chirps. “And you look beautiful, Miss Monroe. You’re one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever worked with, and I’ve been at the Citadel for a while now.”
I smile wanly at Katie because the young woman is nice. She’s plump and cherubic and obviously excited for me to go on stage, although if she knew the details of the auction, I’m sure she’d be horrified.
After all, I didn’t know what to do after my conversation with my mom.
It’s clear I needed to get my hands on some cash asap, but the question is how?
I don’t make nearly enough as a barista at a café, and there aren’t exactly a lot of highly paid positions out there for girls with a degree in child psychology.
But as I flipped randomly through the Evergreen Alumni Magazine, my eye fell on an ad in the back.
It was for egg donation! A couple was looking for a blonde-haired, blue-eyed female donor with a college degree, preferably under the age of twenty-five.
The ad didn’t say much more, but I called immediately because I’ve heard that egg donation fees can be in the five figures.
But the woman who took my name was oddly indirect.
“This isn’t exactly egg donation,” she said while hemming and hawing. “Or rather it is, but not in the way you think.”
“Oh, I get it,” I said a bit too eagerly. “There are so many new technologies these days that they’ve revamped the protocol, right? Instead of taking tons of drugs and then having a doctor retrieve a woman’s eggs, there’s a new way of doing it that’s super-fast and painless, right?”
After all, I’ve heard that egg donation can be a long, drawn-out, and arduous process, but the problem is that I don’t have that kind of time.
If my mom is researching plasma donation, then we need cash now, and not in six months’ time.
Hopefully, at the very least the potential parents will pay a hefty deposit.
But instead of confirming my suspicions, the woman on the phone dodged my question.
“Not exactly,” she hummed. “Why don’t you come in, and we can talk more? I’d love to meet you in person, and I think it’s always good to meet face to face with matters so personal. My name’s Marielle, by the way. I can any questions you have once we’re in the privacy of my office.”
That’s how I found myself here, at the Citadel.
I met Marielle expecting to be ushered to a doctor’s office, or at least a lab or a clinic.
But instead, the Uber pulled up to a nondescript building on the edge of town, and I was ushered upstairs and into a private office.
Marielle is a middle-aged woman who looks totally normal, actually.
Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her make-up was immaculate with tastefully rouged cheeks, a touch of mascara, and a nude lip.
There was no reason to worry that anything was abnormal or strange.
“Welcome, Haley,” Marielle smiled. “Can I call you that? I always like to be on a first name basis with my girls.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding while taking a seat in the chair before her desk. “It’s nice to meet you. This is a nice office too.”
“Thank you,” she said, sitting forward in her chair before sizing me up. Literally, Marielle’s eyes went down over my figure and then back up, as if taking my measurements. “Yes, you’ll do.”
I blinked a bit because it’s weird to be so obviously scrutinized as if I were being fitted for a wedding gown.
But maybe that’s normal in these situations because physical health is paramount for egg donors.
Prospective parents want a woman who takes care of herself, and I knew I was the picture of health with my long, glossy hair and clear skin.
“So do you see a lot of potential donors each day?” I ask with a smile. “You probably got a lot of responses to your ad, right?”
Marielle pursed her lips for a moment and then nodded.
“We do get a lot of responses,” she acknowledged, “but it’s important to meet all of our girls in person because you know how AI is these days. A lot of women use filters to smooth out wrinkles and to make themselves appear younger than they are.”
“Oh, I use filters too, sometimes,” I say. “You know, to put on cat ears, or to pretend that I’m a fairy.”
“That’s fine,” Marielle says in a smooth tone. “But a photo wouldn’t do you justice because you’re the picture of health and beauty, Haley. How old are you again?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Perfect,” Marielle practically purred. “And you’re not on birth control, right? That’s important for the process.”
“No, I’m not,” I confirmed. “I don’t have a boyfriend or husband, so there’s no need. My system works great on its own, so I’m good to go!”
Again, Marielle smiled like a cat who’d gotten into the cream.
“Perfect,” she reiterated. “But let me be upfront with you, Haley. This isn’t egg donation with a lot of drugs or machines. Instead, we’re looking for girls to donate their eggs in a more traditional manner.”
I scrunch my brow.
“What do you mean?” I ask in a slow tone. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done this before so I’m not super-familiar with the process.”
The middle-aged woman leaned back, steepling her hands before going in for the kill.
“Basically, we’re looking for girls to be auctioned,” she clarified.
“You will be primped and prepped until you’re a vision, and then powerful billionaires will bid on your assets.
You will share your curves with them for a special night and be paid handsomely as a result.
Many of our girls adore the experience and come back to be sold again and again. ”
“Sold?” I gasp, the blood rushing to my cheeks. “As in for money? Like an escort?”
“We don’t like to use the word ‘escort,’” Marielle said in a measured tone, as if we were discussing a completely normal business transaction.
“But yes, you’d be expected to fulfill a handsome billionaire’s needs for one night.
That’s not so bad, is it? Quite a few of our girls are very wealthy women now, solely from this job.
It beats working at Starbucks, that’s for sure. ”
I gaped at her, unable to believe my ears. But then my mouth emitted words before I could control the impulse.
“How much are we talking for one night?”
Marielle smiled wickedly, one corner of her lips turning up.
“Well, let’s see. You’re twenty-one and very beautiful, with an air of innocence that many of our customers value. But let me ask you a very personal question: are you also untouched?”
I stared at the middle-aged woman.
“Do you mean if I’m a virgin?” I managed to squeak.
“Yes, exactly.”
Oh my god, where was this line of questioning going? But I swallowed hard and nodded.
“I’ve played around with boys a bit, but yes, I’m a virgin,” I managed in a choked voice. “I’ve never gotten to home base with anyone.”
“Perfect,” Marielle said. “It raises your going rate by quite a lot, you know. Men will pay good money to be a young woman’s first. It’s the teaching experience they enjoy. I’d say you’d go for ... well, let’s see,” she mentally calculated. “Minimum a hundred thousand, if not quite a bit more.”
My jaw dropped to the floor as my eyes grew as round as saucers.
“One hundred thousand dollars for one night?” I whispered, my heart beating erratically.
“Oh yes, minimum,” Marielle said in a breezy voice. “We set floors for our girls, and the minimum bids generally start at a hundred thousand for a virgin. But you’re very pretty, so I’d expect you to go for much more.”
My mind whirred as my palms grasped the arms of the chair. A sweat broke out on my brow as my pulse raced, but I already knew what I had to do.
“I’ll take it,” I managed in a reedy tone. “Just let me know when and where.”
“Perfect,” Marielle said with a smug smile, not at all surprised at my acquiescence.
“Of course, you will be examined by a doctor first, and we’re going to run a background check as well.
But girls your age generally have clean records, so I’m not worried.
Here’s my card,” she said, handing me a clean ivory rectangle with a number printed on it. “I’ll be in touch.”
I nodded while getting to my feet, my knees weak. Oh my god, was this really happening? Was I agreeing to sell my body to an anonymous man in exchange for a night of sex? But just as I turned to go, one last question crossed my mind.
“So why did you phrase this as egg donation?” I asked in a slow tone. “I understand you didn’t want to speak exactly to what’s going on, but why egg donation specifically? And what about all that stuff about making sure I wasn’t on birth control? Wouldn’t it be better if I was on the pill?”
“Oh that,” Marielle said with a wave of her hand like it was no big deal.
“Yes, we use euphemisms around here for obvious reasons. But egg donation is an accurate descriptor because quite a few of our billionaires like to enjoy their women bare and unprotected. No condoms, no IUD, no nothing. They like their women fertile and ripe, especially when she’s a virgin. ”
I gasp, my eyes wide.
“But what if I get pregnant?”
Marielle shrugs.
“If you choose to keep the baby, rest assured that your client will make sure that you’re financially taken care of. Again, we look for women of the finest pedigree, which is why we attract the wealthiest, most eligible bachelors in the world. They know what they want.”
“But a baby?” I gasp. “With a woman they just met?”
Marielle shrugs.
“Stranger things have happened. Boris Becker infamously conceived his daughter during a backroom tryst with a waitress one evening. But that’s neither here nor there because many of our clients are ready to be fathers.
You’ll see. They’re handsome, filthy rich, and depraved in bed, but you’ll like it. It’s all in good fun.”
Then, with a wink, I was escorted out of Marielle’s office to stand on the curb outside the Citadel. The sun glinted down on the sidewalk as a car zoomed past. On the outside, it was a perfectly normal afternoon, except that I’d been offered an unspeakable deal ... that I was going to take.