Chapter 2
Bonnie
The early morning bus trundled through Deadwater’s city centre, heavy traffic slowing our progress. After last night’s disaster of a gig, the cold light of day had given me an unhappy realisation.
Pissing off a man like Douglas Tucker had bigger ramifications than I’d considered.
In bed, unable to sleep, I’d searched on his name to remind myself just what a mistake I’d made.
He sat on a panel for investors and small businesses in Deadwater.
Not only that, he headed it up. A gatekeeper to investments for people like me.
He’d been exactly the sort of person who could’ve helped my business, and I’d blown it.
No. He had.
My breath of disappointment disturbed a lock of brunette hair that had fallen in my eyes.
Why did men have to be like that?
I’d wallowed for an hour then pulled up my big-girl underwear.
Literally. The sexiest pair I’d created, matched with a tight pencil skirt and a shocking-pink blouse with a plunging neckline.
All the lingerie I’d created was hot as hell, designed to be comfortable yet make its wearer feel sexy whether she was going to the office or a club.
My samples had come out perfect, but without backers, it would take years for me to earn enough money to launch a lingerie collection. I needed a different approach.
Hence the trip I was taking to the biggest and most exclusive department store for miles around. I’d been there on scouting missions multiple times but never to make a proposal. My heart thumped at the thought.
The bus stopped at traffic lights, and my phone vibrated with an incoming call.
I checked the screen then popped in an earbud, answering Jessie.
Her sister undoubtedly wasn’t talking to me.
Genie’s door had been resolutely closed this morning.
But I’d needed to know the youngster was okay so had dropped her a line while waiting for the bus.
Jessie babbled her thanks, her words fast. “You did that for me, didn’t you? After what that awful man said, I thought I was going to vomit. But my feet were glued to the ground. I don’t know what would’ve been worse, hearing him proposition me or throwing up on myself.”
My shoulders sagged. “He was a pig. Rich men always are. I only wanted you to get away.”
She sighed. “I cried in my car then drove home. I don’t know why I signed up for it. I’m not like my sister.”
The bus started moving again, and I watched the world go by, first-shift commuters with bleary eyes heading to coffee shops and offices. “That isn’t a bad thing.”
“Isn’t it? Genie’s making bank off her no-fear attitude.
I wish I was braver like her. Last week, I overheard her telling a friend about this underground game, run by the gang that owns that Divide club by the river.
It’s meant to be an extreme dating experience where every couple stays together at the end, like, a hundred percent of the time.
I want a boyfriend so badly so I listened in. ”
My heart panged unexpectedly. It had been three, no, four years since I was last in a relationship.
Even that one had been short-lived. My boyfriend hadn’t liked my temper.
Whenever I spoke up against some injustice I saw, or called someone out, he’d wince and tell me to pipe down. He’d said my personality was too much.
It had been an easy decision to tell him that if he wanted less, go ahead and find it.
I didn’t miss him, but I missed sex. Casual hookups weren’t my style, and a rechargeable rubber boyfriend only scratched the itch. It never fully satisfied.
Curiosity got the better of me. “What else did Genie say about this dating experience?”
Jessie sniffled. “Enough to scare the life out of me. She called it predator-prey. They cage men then release them to hunt women and beat each other up to claim the one they want.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“They have sex in front of everyone. Some of the men are knocked out, some bleeding. Only when every woman has been claimed, as they call it, can the game end.”
I blinked. “Girl, what?”
“Right? That was my reaction. My point is, I’m so different to my sister, and that plus last night’s disaster made me realise I need to stop following her footsteps. Thanks again for helping me see it before something terrible happened.”
I mumbled a response, and Jessie hung up. On autopilot, I got off the bus at my stop, my mind whirling over the startling game.
It sounded violent. Firey. The people who entered it would have big opinions and tempers, no doubt.
People like me.
But I was at my destination, and I needed to put all thoughts of hard-won sex out of my head. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into Crowley’s Department Store and donned my sunniest smile.
The lift took me to the fourth floor.
It opened to a brilliant white space. Racks of pretty bras met my critical gaze, priced at a level I could never afford, and I could just see it. A space where mine would shine amongst the others. My designer label, my colour schemes with the satin and silk I’d sourced.
Coming here had waves of imposter syndrome rising in me, but not when I saw their products.
Not when I suspected how a pretty underwire bra they had on prime display would cut into a buyer’s skin after an hour of wear.
I knew how to avoid that. I knew great design.
It was just the sales part I wobbled over.
There was no one at the customer service desk, so I wandered the aisles for a while until a voice commanded my attention.
“Can I help you?” A staff member looked me up and down, lingering on the samples bag in my hand.
I gripped the handle, readying the words I’d rehearsed. “I come bearing bras. I’d like to—”
She cut over me. “Returns are only possible with a receipt.”
I kept my smile locked in place. “I understand, but that’s not why I’m here. Is it possible to speak to a manager? Or someone with purchasing power?”
An eyebrow rose. The staff member was probably my age but glossy in a way I could only dream of. Perfect lip filler. Her dye-job immaculate. Probably a requirement of working here.
“We have no vacancies currently,” she clipped.
“I don’t want a job either. Just ten minutes of your manager’s time. Please.”
She twisted those perfect lips but lifted the phone I hadn’t noticed in her hand. “Take a seat, Miss…?”
“Bonnie Braveheart.”
She stared.
“That really is my name.” Even if it sounded like an exotic dancer’s stage name, I was proud of it.
“Okay, Miss Braveheart. I’ll fetch my manager. Don’t go anywhere.” She pointed a nicely manicured finger at a padded bench behind me.
I settled with my bag in my lap and twisted my fingers in the handles. There was no space for nerves. I had one shot at making a good impression, and I’d do it if it killed me.