Chapter 8 #2
I’d gone for simpler makeup for that very reason. The sharp cat eye and lipstick I painted on daily worked to make my face harsher, more severe, less pleasing to men.
I took Jasper’s hands as my red, strappy heels set on the concrete of the parking lot, the hem of my dress almost exposing my lace-covered privates. It was that short.
I didn’t bother to pull it down as we walked. No way was I displaying an ounce of self-consciousness.
Jasper led me to an elevator that didn’t have buttons and only moved when Jasper inserted a thick, black keycard into a slot.
I didn’t fidget, didn’t betray that I was nervous in any way. Although I had no idea what awaited me, I wasn’t nervous. I knew this favor might take a little piece of me, but I’d already made my peace with that. I wasn’t afraid of whatever Jasper had in store for me.
“We’ll be playing poker,” Jasper said as the elevator ascended.
I was surprised he was telling me anything instead of reveling in watching the cogs turn in my mind.
I didn’t look at him. Instead, I watched the numbers of the floors rise. “We?”
I doubted he’d requested me to dress in this manner if he wanted me to be an active member in any of his plans. He wanted me to look like an accessory, but to what end, I didn’t know.
“I will be playing poker,” he adjusted his tie. “You’ll be watching.”
I smiled with venom. “I’ll be arm candy.”
“Among other things.” Nausea swam through me at the way Jasper’s eyes ran up and down me.
“What are the stakes of this game?” I glanced down at my French nails back to the floors ascending.
Jasper suddenly grasped my chin, turning it to face him. Mentally biting my tongue, I didn’t react as he pulled my face roughly toward his.
“Everything,” he murmured as the doors opened. “The stakes are always everything with you involved, Calliope.”
Mouth desert dry, I struggled to swallow at his response. But again, I didn’t let it show. I stepped out of the elevator smoothly, without any signs of fear or trepidation, like I owned the room. Jasper walked close behind me, his hand on my lower back.
My skin stung at his touch, his nearness, the intimate game we played. Before, it had been exciting, foreplay to whatever sordid sex we’d eventually engage in. It felt wrong now.
My gaze flitted around the room. The penthouse suite.
Windows boasted an unobstructed view of the glittering lights of the city, opulent sofas covered in plush pillows, a table full of sushi, artfully arranged charcuterie, thousands of dollars’ worth of food that likely wouldn’t be eaten.
The poker table was in the middle of the room, a large bar off to the left, complete with a bartender in a sleek black suit a lot of tiers up from the ill-fitting uniforms of the other casino employees.
Wealth. Everything in the room denoted understated wealth. Not riches. Not the new money from those who didn’t know how to spend it. No, that was reserved for the flashy VIP areas.
Every bottle at the bar was the finest, thousands, tens of thousands if not more worth of just booze.
Cigars, Cuban, arrayed on another table.
All of it was complimentary, nothing but peanuts compared to the money that would pass hands tonight.
Opulence, to be sure. But the room promised something else…
Discretion. The private elevators, the workers who were likely paid handsomely to do whatever the rich assholes asked and who had not been able to walk through the door without signing an NDA. I knew the drill.
Though I felt wrong being with Jasper, a part of me, the same part of me that wasn’t entirely disgusted by his touch, came alive in this environment. I’d been out of it for a long time by then, yet it felt like slipping into a bespoke suit. It was what I was made for.
Or it had been. At that moment, it itched a little against my newly acquired morals.
The table was full. All of the men sat in the chairs, women milling around behind them.
As much as things had changed on the outside world—some ways a lot and some ways not a fucking bit—things stayed much the same in the shadows where sinister decisions and billions were made.
Men sat at the table, masquerading as masters of the universe, while smart women whispered in their ears, letting those men think they were nothing but concubines.
Heads turned as we walked into the room, acknowledging Jasper leering at me.
I looked right back, not lowering my head.
Once I’d made eye contact with every man sitting at the table, I went to the bar, leaning over more than was necessary so the hem of my skirt crept up to where I knew my stockings met my garters.
Jasper’s body pressed into my side as his fingers went to the hem of my skirt, pulling it down.
A gesture that was uncharacteristic of him. Maybe part of the game.
“Martini, dirty. Please.” I gave the bartender a smile before directing an arched brow at Jasper.
I knew the handful of seconds of waiting for my attention irritated him, even if he didn’t show it beyond a small twitch in his left finger, which was resting on the bar.
“I thought I was meant to be arm candy,” I murmured to him.
His fingers drummed on the surface of the bar as the bartender shook my drink. “Arm candy does not mean flashing your cunt.”
No one else would’ve heard it, but I caught the thread of irritation woven into his tone. It intrigued me. Jasper wasn’t exactly possessive. He enjoyed me toying with people. Showing people what they couldn’t have.
We stared at each other until the bartender wordlessly slid my drink along the bar.
“Thank you.” I clasped the stem, still holding eye contact with Jasper while lifting it to my lips to take a sip.
The vodka singed my throat as it went down. But I felt no warmth. “It is not up to you who I do or don’t show my cunt to,” I told him once I swallowed.
“At the least, tonight it is.” He pulled harder so my back arched, and I straightened off the bar.
“Tonight,” I agreed.
His eyes brimmed at the challenge. “For now.” He grabbed the martini glass, lifting it to his own mouth and taking a long sip.
There was a promise, warning, in his tone.
It sickened me.
Once Jasper completed the buy-in—$250K—he was put in a high-backed, cozy chair, and I was situated behind him, not that afforded any comfort despite the fact my shoes were a lot more painful than his.
Part of the game, though. I knew that, yet it infuriated me.
I knew a lot of the men at the table. Billionaires and criminals, though those were mostly one in the same. You didn’t make the kind of money they did without breaking laws. Some of those laws were regulatory, no real blood spilled, yet others hurt a lot of people.
I didn’t know exactly what Jasper was doing here, so I watched and listened carefully.
Men spoke about deals, about fucking taxes, about politicians they had in their pockets.
Run of the mill topics with men like this, but I catalogued every piece of information, knowing it could be a weapon or an asset for me at some unknown point in the future.
“You hear about Rhodes?”
My spine straightened at the familiar name.
Kane Rhodes was married to my friend, Avery. Motocross star—former, since he’d retired upon becoming a dad. A good man, through and through. His name should not have been in the mouths of men like these. Unless he had secrets.
The man next to me nodded. “Parted ways with his employer to become an … independent contractor.”
My mind whirled. It couldn’t have been Kane they were talking about, since I could read between the lines that this Rhodes was some kind of hitman. Had I heard Kane say he had a brother?
I always listened more intently when people offered personal details. Though I’d never run into an occasion where they’d serve me—until then.
“Very picky about his contracts, though,” a man across from me scoffed, wearing a $100K Rolex. “Wouldn’t even take my call.”
There was spite in his tone. A man used to getting what he wanted. I knew this kind of man. Knew he had buried a handful of sexual harassment cases. With the swath of men brought down by the MeToo movement, at least triple had managed to escape by buying or threatening their way out.
In other words, this man was scum.
I mulled over what I’d heard. Made plans to unearth more about this elusive Rhodes brother.
I did so even when Jasper’s hand meandered to my exposed knee, traveling up my thigh until it brushed the edge of my panties.
My breath didn’t so much as hitch, and my expression did not change. Although whatever Jasper was doing here wasn’t solely about me, he was making the most of his favor. Humiliating me, tugging at the ragged thread between us.
I knew that the men at the table were watching, eyes flickering from their hands to me. Like I had when I walked in, I didn’t lower my gaze, didn’t submit to them by exposing any shame or communicating that I would be objectified.
Jasper’s finger dipped inside my panties, to my skin that was utterly bone dry.
I felt him pause. As much as I could put on a show for him, my body didn’t lie.
Jasper was quickly discovering just how much things had changed.
We’d never been in this precise situation before, but prior to this, he’d be able to assess how far he could push me and know I’d be turned-on by him.
Maybe in the past I might’ve gotten a thrill out of what he was doing. Before Jupiter. Before Elliot. Before the event . When I was operating under the illusion that Jasper viewed me as an equal, not an object.
His finger did one last brush of my pussy before he removed his hand. Slowly, without any outward sign of defeat, but I knew he felt it. He’d been able to play my body like a fucking violin. I’d learned pleasure with him. True pleasure. And now that he didn’t have that, he’d be off-kilter.