Chapter Eighteen
Mindy
I'm lying on the bed my head spinning.
This morning, I sealed my fate. The contract Maron Korolev gave me lies in the glove compartment of my car; signed.
It wasn't an impulsive decision. I had been mulling it over for the last few days and always came to the same conclusion: it’s the only way. The only way to save my family. Even if it means sacrificing myself and my dignity.
So, I took a deep breath and put my name on the dotted line.
Then, I hid the blue folder in my car's glove compartment till I can give it to Maron. I should feel happy, right? Like I just secured my future. But instead, I can't shake off this feeling of unease. Have I just sold my soul to the devil? Is this really my only chance to fix things and escape the guilt I’ve been carrying for years? And did I just willingly make myself Maron Korolev's sugar baby?
I shut my eyes, attempting to slow my breathing. It's pointless. My thoughts continue to spin, leaving me torn between two potential outcomes: either I blindly stumbled into an opportunity of a lifetime with the man of my dreams, or I just made the stupidest, and biggest mistake of my entire life.
I mentally weigh the odds.
Positive: The financial benefits are incredible. I can finally pay for Mom's treatment without constant anxiety.Perhaps I can even bail out Alexis and send her to rehab. If she lets me.
Negative: I just turned myself into Maron Korolev’s personal whore. A whore with skills - an accounting degree and the ability to sing.
Positive: Being a personal whore to the sexiest man I ever encountered with a libido to match mine is not all bad. I can have sex with him every night without having to think about taking desperate and awkward nudes to spice up my sex life. Based on my night with Maron, our encounters will be spicy enough to keep my libido in check. I have a feeling we’re just getting started.
Negative: I'll have to move to Maron's house and I won’t get to see Betty every day. We won’t get to spend casual evenings together, lounging on the living room couch, alternating between sweet and savory snacks, binge-watching series, and laughing ourselves into tears.
Positive: I won't have to pay rent and live in a shared apartment that's barely bigger than a shoebox. Maybe Betty could also use a bit more personal space.
Negative: But then again, maybe I’m letting Betty down. If she decides to stay in our old apartment, her rent will double.
A notification buzzes on my phone, jolting me out of my circular thoughts. I reach for it, my curiosity piqued by the unexpected interruption. As I read the message, my eyes widen in disbelief.
“Parcel for you at reception of New York High. MK.”
MK? As in Maron Korolev?
I read the text again, trying to make sense of it. Why would he be sending me a parcel? And why to New York High of all places?
Before I know it, I'm heading towards my car, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. But as I approach my vehicle, I notice something strange - the door is left unlocked. I pause, frowning in confusion. Did I forget to lock it in my haste? Maybe I've been too distracted by the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
I take a deep breath, taking a mental note to be more responsible next time. All this stress lately - the contract, Maron, my family issues – it is clearly taking its toll.
I slip into the driver's seat, my hands trembling slightly as I grip the steering wheel. I'm grateful nothing was stolen, but this lapse in judgment is a stark reminder of how scattered I've become. I need to get it together, and fast.
Hold on a second, Mindy.
The blue folder.
With Maron's contract in it.
I immediately reach for the glove compartment and open it to check its contents. To my relief, the folder is there, exactly where I put it. I let out a sigh, feeling a small wave of nausea wash over me. I was just being paranoid.
As I navigate the familiar streets, my mind races with possibilities. What could Maron possibly want? Why would he send a parcel to New York High instead of contacting me directly?
It doesn’t take long to find out. Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the reception desk of New York High, signing for the box. Before opening it, I notice a small card hidden under the bow. I take it out, feeling my heart rate pick up as I read the familiar handwriting inside. It's the same handwriting I saw many times when I was still working for Global Media.
"Something to brighten your day. Enjoy. MK"
I can practically hear Maron's deep, infuriatingly smooth voice murmuring the words into my ears. It’s all it takes to get me ridiculously wet.
Seriously, Mindy?
You really have to do something about this libido of yours.
Tucking the card into my pocket, I gather up the mystery box and march out of the building.
Back at my apartment, I stare at the sleek black box sitting on my bed like it's a ticking time bomb. Part of me wants to just shove it in the back of my closet and pretend it never existed, but let's be real - curiosity's always been my Achilles' heel. That, and my libido.
I'm just about to check out Maron's presents when my phone starts buzzing. It's Alexis. I instantly get a knot in my stomach – calls from her don't usually bring good news.
"Lex," I answer, trying not to sound too wary.
"Hey, Mindy." She sounds different than last time. More clear-headed. "I need a quick favor. My car's in the shop and I want to go see Mom at the hospital. Any chance I could borrow yours? Won’t be more than a few hours."
I pause. I’m suddenly torn between hope and skepticism. The last time Alexis borrowed my car, it came back with a mysterious scratch. At the same time, I can’t get myself to refuse. I don’t have the energy to listen to her tearing old scars open, blaming me for things I already feel guilty about. After so many tumultuous days, my peace feels more important.
"Alright. You still have the spare key from last time, right?" I hear myself say before I could think better of it.
"I do. You're a lifesaver, sis. Thanks."
As soon as I hang up, a feeling of unease takes hold. Maybe I should have said no. Then again, I’m sure she got her dose of painkillers because she sounded like her normal self. That’s the thing about my sister’s addiction. Whenever she gets her fix, she can function like a normal human being. But when she doesn’t, she turns into an absolute bitch.
I decide to push away thoughts of my sister and refocus on Maron's gift box.
“Alright Miss Williams, time to find out what’s inside this mystery kit,” I murmur to myself.
I pick up the box, untie the silver ribbon, and lift the lid bracing myself for whatever game Maron's cooked up. It’s when I catch a glimpse of what's inside; I can't help but let out a shriek.
A pair of sky-high heels.
A sexy, delicate lace lingerie set.
Two tiny bottles of high-end perfume, that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
Three designer dresses, one red, one black and one green. Silky material, straps to keep my breasts in position, and a design that’s nothing short of breathtaking.
Holy shit!
I gingerly lift the slinky red dress from the tissue paper, marveling at the buttery soft fabric and intricate beadwork. Then, I go over the rest. Every single piece, from the curve-hugging cocktail dresses to the shoes, is exactly my size. The colors, the styles, even the brands - it's all uncannily tailored to my personal taste.
How?
How could Maron possibly know my measurements, my fashion sense, down to the last detail? I remember the way his eyes used to linger on me at the office like he was mentally cataloging every inch of my body.
"Holy Gucci, Batman!" Betty walks in as I'm sitting on the couch, surrounded by a sea of designer labels and luxury perfumes. She takes one look at the opulent spread and her jaw nearly hits the floor. She makes a beeline for the coffee table. "Did you rob a fashion show or something?"
I can't help but chuckle at her excitement. "It's...” I stop and hesitate if I should tell her. But when did I ever withhold information from my bestie? The only thing I can’t mention to her, is the contract, of course. “It’s from Maron," I tell her before I could think better of it.
Betty freezes mid-reach for a glittering bottle of perfume and her eyes go wide. "Maron? Like Korolev Maron? CEO of Global Media Maron? Maron who fired you like five minutes ago?"
"Thanks for the reminder, Bets. Who needs enemies when I can have friends like you?"
She stares at me. "Let me get this straight. You sent your boss your naked photos by mistake. After enjoying them, he fired you. Then, he looted a fashion show and had everything shipped to you in that cardboard box over there. Am I in the ballpark?"
I nod, pulling my mouth to a grin. "That's pretty much the gist of it."
Betty lets out a low whistle as she takes in the small fortune's worth of designer goods. "Damn girl, he's got it bad for you. Like, 'Pretty Woman' bad. This is venturing into serious sugar daddy territory."
I groan, burying my face in my hands. She’s not wrong. I must never ever mention the contract to Betty. Or anyone.
"Don't even joke about that, Bets. Can you imagine me as some billionaire's arm candy? I'd probably spill caviar on my shoes and use a Birkin bag for takeaway food."
Betty snorts out a laugh, but there's a hint of concern in her eyes as she plops down next to me on the couch. "Seriously though, Min… I know Maron's hot and all, but he's got 'danger' written all over him. I mean, do we really know who the guy is apart from being an asshole?"
I sigh, leaning back against the cushions trying to sort through my tangled thoughts. "Not much, honestly. He's always been a mysterious figure."
"Exactly," Betty presses, her tone turning serious. "And now he's sending you thousands of dollars' worth of clothes, just like that? I don't know, Min. It just feels... sketchy."
I chew on my lip, torn between my gut instinct and the magnetic pull I feel towards Maron. "I know, I know. Trust me, every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to return this stuff and block his number."
"But...?" Betty prompts, sensing my hesitation.
But I signed a contract I can’t tell you about.
A contract that technically makes him my sugar daddy. Which also makes me his sugar baby. Or trophy wife. Scratch that: glorified slut. Let’s just call it what it is.
Cut it out, Mindy!
"But... I guess there's something magnetic about him," I admit. I look at the clothes spread out on the bed. "Honestly, Bets, would you send these beauties back?"
Betty lets out a long, slow breath, shaking her head in amazement. "No, I probably wouldn’t. But girl, you are playing with fire here. This is the kind of thing that ends with either a ring on your finger or concrete on your feet while you sink to the bottom of the Hudson River."
I can't help but bark out a laugh. "Wow, way to paint a picture, Bets."
She shrugs, looking unapologetic. "Hey, someone's gotta be the voice of reason here. And right now, that voice is saying 'tread carefully, babe.' Maron's not the kind of guy you can just dip your toe in with."
I know Betty's got a point. But what other option do I have? Get consumed by guilt while I watch my Mom die from cancer and my sister from addiction? Not to mention that my body behaves like a goddamn porn star, just thinking of Maron and the sex we had. His scent. His ripping muscles. His voice. His neatly groomed pubic hair. His libido. The intensity of our encounter.
Betty spritzes the fragrance into the air and takes an appreciative sniff. "Damn, Mindy, this smells like sex and money had a baby. Maybe I should start seducing billionaires too."
"Or launch your matchmaking business as soon as you can," I reply. "Then you'll have the luxury of choosing from the stinking rich guys who sign up."
"Oh, I will," Betty laughs. "But before that happens, you need to tell me what it feels like to date a mysterious billionaire like Maron Korolev. I imagine that’s what’s happening here."
I groan, burying my face in my hands. "It's not so much the billionaire thing or the mystery man vibes, Bets. It’s… the chemistry we have. It’s insane. Like, ‘never-felt-anything-like-it’ insane."
Betty takes a seat next to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. "Well Min, you can't help who you're drawn to. And from where I'm sitting, it looks like there's some serious attraction between you and Mr. Tall, Dark, Broody, and Dangerous. You look like a whole new person."
I peek out from behind my fingers, my heart doing a little flip at the thought of Maron's intense gaze and wicked smirk. "I do?"
"Babe, I sense electricity even when I don't see it," Betty says with a sage nod. "And I don’t know what you two have going on, but judging by your looks, it’s the kind of thing that could power a small city."
I can't help but laugh. "You make it sound like a cheesy romance novel." I stand up. "I need to get dressed, Bets. I have another gig at New York High tonight. Some more sketchy assholes to entertain, I suppose."
Betty grins, giving me a quick hug before standing up and surveying the designer bounty laid out before us.
"Alright, then. How about we find you a dress that'll make those assholes forget their own names?" She lifts the slinky, emerald green number that looks like it was made to hug every one of my curves. "Wear this," Betty urges. She smirks knowingly as I step into the gown, letting the cool silk slide over my skin. When I turn to face the mirror, I can't help but gasp.
It fits like a dream. It clings to my curves in all the right places, making me look like I just stepped off a runway. The rich, jewel-toned color makes my skin glow, and the plunging neckline shows off just enough cleavage to be sexy without veering into tacky territory.
"Damn, girl," Betty breathes, coming up behind me to adjust the delicate straps. "If looks could kill, you'd be leaving a trail of bodies in your wake."
"Thanks, babe," I smile at my friend, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders. "Time to go break some hearts and earn some tips."
Betty laughs, giving me a playful swat on the rear as I grab my purse and head for the door. "That's my girl. Go show them who's boss!"She stops for a moment. "Wait, Min. Is Maron going to be at the bar tonight?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "I doubt it. I didn’t tell him about my next show." I check my watch. "My Uber will be here in ten minutes. I might be out till late tonight, so don't wait up for me."
Betty gives me a surprised look. "Uber? Where's your car?"
"Alexis borrowed it."
Betty's expression turns into a frown. "Alexis? Do you trust your sister to take your car?"
I grab my bag and head towards the door. "Well, her own car is in the shop, and she wanted to visit Mom in the hospital. I figured I'd give her a chance this time."
"I see." There is a hint of suspicion in Betty's voice that makes me feel uncomfortable, but I don't have time to address it. She dismisses me with a wave. "Go, give those drunkards a good show with your sultry, sexy voice, Mindy."
A few minutes after saying goodbye to my bestie, I’m in the Uber, navigating through the chaotic evening traffic on the way to New York High. While I take a few minutes to remind myself of my set and mentally prepare for the show, a strange thought keeps nagging at me: I could really use a whiff of sandalwood and cedar, with a hint of something seductive and scandalous, right now.
Yes, it's a strange and secret desire.
Because deep down, I’m hoping that Maron Korolev will be sitting in the front row of the audience.