The Game: the Billionaire and the Spiked Heel (Body Count)

Chapter 1

Bonnie

With her back to the sparkling party, my housemate adjusted her boobs in her metallic gold bra and swept her gaze over the assembled waitresses.

“On the gong, the nearest man will tug on the ties of your bikini top so it falls away. More than one could fight for the right, so be sure to keep a smile on your face even if they elbow you, then collect the garment, swirl it over your head, and toss it out of sight.”

Next to me, a pretty brunette stuck up her hand to get Genie’s attention. “What if they pull the wrong string by accident and take down my bikini bottoms? Do I let them?”

I shoved a tray under my arm, my snark unable to remain in control. “You mis-said entirely on purpose.”

Genie cut me a look. “Great question. Remember we’re selling a performance. Make a show of being shocked, cover yourself, and tie the bottoms back on. Feel free to give them a show as you do it.”

Strippy McStripperson giggled. “Touch my toes, flash a little lip, boost my tips. Got it.”

Ugh. Kill me now.

I’d signed up for the private party for the fat fee, certain I could contain my temper for the sake of the cash. Hands down, it beat any other gig I had going on, and the income would make a huge difference to my plans.

If only I could keep my cool.

A challenge, considering the clientele.

No. I could handle them. It was just one night. A few fake laughs, a few grand tucked into my knickers, then back to my real life—my sketches, my designs. The future I could build off of sweat and tears.

Wasn’t that how all businesses started out?

Outside the glass doors, the patio was filled with the braying of rich businessman, one of whom had bought Genie’s topless waitress service for his event. She had no problem with being felt up by grey-haired men who did whatever they liked because of their stuffed wallets.

Even walking in at the start of my shift had me feeling stabby.

With a flap of her hands, Genie hustled us out, champagne and canapes on our polished trays. I circulated, one eye on the clock and a tight grip kept on my emotions.

Snippets of conversation reached me.

Despite my role, wandering the crowd in a bikini and with heels so high I had to totter, the business talk actually interested me. I lingered near a trio of old boys yapping about business startups and how they’d watched people fail for avoidable reasons. It quickened my pulse.

I had a goal to open my own company. A deeply held, cherished aim that had little basis in my background. No one in my family had ever owned anything more valuable than a fourth-hand car, and only ever worked for men like these. They never aspired to be among their ranks.

One day, I wanted to be in the position they were.

Just without groping the opposite sex in order to big myself up.

Across the room, Genie’s younger sister, Jessie, swished away from the reaching hands of one such lowlife, only just avoiding him grabbing her ass. His grey moustache tweaked over his smug grin, and he said something to her I couldn’t hear over the music and chatter.

But I couldn’t miss her reaction.

The nineteen-year-old flushed red and skittered away to the bar where a scantily clad bartender waited to refill our trays.

I pressed my lips together and stared down the man who’d offended her.

My brain ticked through the guest register, given to us by Genie before the event. The host had a shortlist of favourites he wanted to impress, so we’d been shown photos to make sure we kept their glasses full and our bodies in their eyeline.

Douglas Tucker was our man of the moment, and the owner of an investment firm, from what I’d read. I’d meant to attempt conversation. Now, I only wanted to whip my tray at him.

I took a step.

Genie appeared at my shoulder. She was in her element with a classic red lip, tight ponytail, and her enviable boss energy at full tilt. “Holding in there?”

I worked my jaw. “Another hour and I’ll be cured of men entirely.”

She laughed, but her gaze darted behind me, continuously checking all was in hand. “No, Bonnie. Not tonight. Not around these types.”

I breathed through my nose. “Jessie’s upset. One of them said something.”

Genie sighed and located her sister, still at the bar, her head down so her hair hid her face. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her come. She said she could handle it, but she’s as meek as a little lamb.”

“She shouldn’t have to take shit from people like this.”

“Uh, yes, she should if she wants their money. That applies to all of us. Want to make a tenner an hour at Starstruck in town? Go for it. Or, accept the very nice, very tall stack of notes you’ll get here for exactly the same work.

Plus a side of the kind of chat you’d get in any club in town on an average evening. ”

We’d already had this fight. She called it easy money. I had other opinions.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s distressed.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Genie went to move on but paused. Her gaze flicked up and down me. “Please don’t be yourself. Not tonight. You could do well in this job, at least for a few more years. Remember, I need smiles and ass, not bitching and sass.”

She clipped away. Her attempt at a pep talk contained a dig at the fact I’d recently turned thirty. In her view, I had to shake it while I still could.

Smiles and ass. Fine. I could do this.

An hour on, and the energy in the room shifted, the alcohol flowing and the men a whole lot drunker.

Night had fallen on the mansion, a modern architectural behemoth bolted onto the hills at the pinnacle of Deadwater’s wealthiest district.

Out of the glass doors, Genie wheeled a shimmering gong down the central corridor of the patio, making a show of her excitement for the approaching moment. Men pinched or groped as she passed, and she fluttered her eyelashes, playing her role like a pro.

Next to the table with the host and his buddies, she stopped.

“Sir, would you please do the honours? Us poor girls are just so,” she paused for dramatic effect and fanned her chest, “hot.”

The men guffawed. The nearest took the mallet.

My cue to present myself to a table. On the edge of my nerves, I fixed my face and did what the contract demanded, backing up to a group I didn’t care to look too closely at.

The gong resounded.

Fingers fumbled at my spine, multiple men reaching for me. Strings loosened. Bikini tops slipped off. Giggles bounced around the patio mixed with whoops of admiration.

Tits out, I fought the urge to cringe.

Around the garden, gilded trays flashed and boobs wobbled where the women collected their bras then twirled them in the air.

Ignoring mine on the ground, I sought out Jessie, as I had done a hundred times.

Further down the lawn, she was topless like the rest of us and not exactly smiling but not crying either.

A different kind of tension gripped my stomach.

Her sister was right, Jessie didn’t belong here.

She was too trusting and sweet. But at least no one was trying to maul her right now.

Closer by, a man waved me over. I delivered a drink, dodged a pinch aimed at my nipple, and moved on.

Midnight passed. The temperature cooled, but the men got louder and more confident, lewd comments mixing in the air with cigar smoke. I’d lost count of how many times I’d batted away an offer or a wandering hand with a dead-eyed smile.

Ice queen was my aim. The polar opposite to my usual fiery and outspoken self, but I had to get a better grip on my emotions if ever I was going to succeed as a boss.

But boy, did they test me.

One guest, with slicked-back hair and whisky breath, attempted to slip a note down the front of my bottoms. He made a joke about earning it the hard way. Another made a comment about my mouth and how he’d like it better full. Of his cock.

I swallowed every smart retort and reminded myself again what that deposit would mean. A real chance. A future stitched in silk. Something that belonged to me.

Just two hours to go.

Then I heard it.

From the cluster of men near the firepit, Douglas Tucker’s voice rose as clear as a slap.

“I’m going for a piss. Then I’m tracking down the baby sister. I’ll let you know if the collars match the cuffs.”

Amid laughter from the group, one of his colleagues, in his forties and with his shirt open to reveal a blotchy chest with untrimmed hair, wrinkled his forehead.

“Her collars? What are you talking about? She’s practically fuckin’ naked.”

Another rolled his eyes. “It means he’s taking a trip downtown, you idiot. Checking if the hair down there matches her dye job.”

Tucker chuckled affably then tapped his nose. “Natural blondes are dumb as fuck and easy to lay. Bottle blondes are high-maintenance gold diggers. Learn from your elders.”

The younger colleague nodded eagerly, taking in the information. “We like the dumb ones, right?”

“Exactly. Come watch, if you like. I’ll show you how to make them do what you want, even if the bitch is skittish. Then you can show me what you learned and have the second go.”

Every muscle in my body tightened. Time slowed.

How dare they? How could they talk about another person like that? If Jessie had heard…

A few feet away but hidden from their sight line by another group, Jessie stood rigid, her tray gripped in both hands. Her mouth opened then shut again.

My heart sank. She was a teenager. Old grey-moustache Douglas Tucker had to be sixty if he was a day. And he’d just threatened to assault her while his buddy watched.

The group standing between her and Tucker parted, leaving Jessie in the spotlight.

Tucker turned, spotting her. His disgusting gaze slid down her body, and the old goat licked his lips.

I didn’t think. My feet moved of their own volition. It was the hurt in Jessie’s eyes that spurred me on. Her learning moment that men judged women on how fuckable they were before any other thought crossed their asshole brains.

An ice bucket chilled champagne on the outside bar. Gold, beaded with condensation, and more importantly, full.

I picked it up, stowing the bottle on the bar top.

Stalling on his way to Jessie, Tucker grinned at my approach. “Ah, now there’s a nice pair of tits. You’re a little old for my tastes, but—”

I launched the bucket.

Ice and icy water crashed into his chest and face in a glorious, glacial cascade. He gasped and staggered backwards, his friends scrambling from the table. Then Tucker slipped clean off the decking and hit the grass.

Silence followed, the music ceasing with a record scratch by the half-naked DJ. A single glass shattered somewhere in the garden. Genie stood stock-still, eyes wide, her red-lipped mouth dropped open.

But it was Jessie I watched. More importantly, her quiet flight across the garden, my actions releasing her from her shock.

Tucker sputtered, soaked from collar to crotch. “What the hell? You crazy bitch!”

My heart beat so hard, but I held his gaze. “Big talk, shrimp dick.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Unfortunately, yes. If you’ve forgotten in your senility, we have name tags.”

Gasps chased a few shocked laughs. One of the girls covered her face with her tray to hide a smile. Tucker spluttered outrage.

I couldn’t stop. “You’re a little old for a lesson, but someone needed to teach you to respect women. Even if we’re the entertainment, we deserve to be treated as humans.”

Tucker climbed to his feet and stepped up to me, fists bunched at his sides. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’ll never work another party in this city.”

I raised a shoulder, my temper shredded. “With men like you around? Fine by me. I operate a no-pricks policy anyway.”

Turning on my heel, and dripping from where the ice had splashed me, I stalked away.

Genie stormed after me and called my name, but I didn’t stop.

“Check Jessie gets home safely,” was all I managed. But I couldn’t apologise.

Because I wasn’t wrong.

No amount of money was worth letting a man like that abuse a woman. Not on my watch.

Pausing only long enough to grab my bag, I fled the mansion, ignoring an expensive-looking car that cruised to a halt, its tall passenger climbing out.

His quiet fuck alerted me to something I’d forgotten.

Oh hell. I was all but naked, the clothes I’d arrived in still folded in my bag. Snatching out my dress, I shoved it over my head and covered my nudity. At least I didn’t give the whole street an eyeful.

Enough damage had been done tonight already.