His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel
Chapter 1
Ashe
I can’t believe I signed the contract.
I keep telling myself I’m not a whore. Not really.
I’m a good girl. I’m a good girl. I’m a good girl.
It’s for a good cause. A worthy cause.
I can—and will—do this.
Despite my mantras, fear and doubt creep around me like icy tendrils. My stomach feels cold and heavy, and a ball of ice is forming in the center of my being.
What will he be like?
More important, what will he do to me?
For an astronomical sum, I’ve been promised to Trent Lavigne. A thirty-year-old billionaire Chicago businessman who’s willing to pay whatever it takes to have one date with me. His, for an entire evening, to do with as he pleases. In exchange for selling my soul, I’ll be rewarded with money that I need.
Desperately.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Overwhelmed by the task at hand, I focus on the dollar signs that will soon be flooding my bank account.
I hand the massive pack of paperwork over to Gretchen, a woman in her mid-forties with a sleek blonde bob and a killer sense of fashion. Her silver earrings brush her shoulders as she reaches out to takes the papers.
She looks down, scanning the pages to be sure I’ve signed in all the right places. Satisfied with my work, she stands from her chair, smoothing her black Chanel suit as she does, even though there’s not a wrinkle on her body.
She holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “Ashe Barnes. Welcome to the family.”
I don’t know about that…
I smile what I hope is a warm smile and shake her hand. “Thank you.” Her skin feels cold against mine.
“Let’s go over a few logistics, shall we?”
“S-sure.” I try to keep the trembling from my voice but it’s no use.
“Here. We’ll go to the parlor where we’ll be more comfortable.” She holds out a hand to direct me from the small front office of the massive estate. There’s no one around but she calls out, “Barker. Tea and coffee in the parlor, please.”
When I pulled up to the open iron gates in my little red hatchback, engine clanking all the way, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the place. Trent’s sprawling country estate is more like a little village than a home with its winding paths and buildings dotting its acreage. The mile-long pebbled drive is lined with massive oaks, their thick trunks standing guard over the property.
I crawled down the drive, craning my neck and taking in all I could see of this mysterious estate. The outlying acres host gardens, barns, meadows filled with wildflowers, their messy beauty a stark contrast to the manicured grounds surrounding the main building, a stone mansion with not a fleck of loose paint tarnishing its perfect face.
Now, as I walk through the home, I lose my breath. It’s gothic and dark but beautiful and welcoming at the same time. The marble staircase curves up from the left and the right, their smooth wood handrails joining one another at the top, like open arms, meeting under a large stained-glass window, sunlight bursting through its colorful panes and dappling over the stairs.
I’d love to walk up those stairs, run my hand over that shiny handrail, and to tour this incredible place, but I’m not invited and so I follow Gretchen into the parlor.
The room is huge—almost too big, its size foreboding—with massive arched windows framed in dark wood. They overlook the orchard, rows of trees bearing fruit, butterflies and bees flitting about their day under the warm sun. A stark contrast to the icy tension I feel as I take a seat in a regal-looking chair upholstered in blood-red velvet.
Gretchen sits across from me, a low glass table between us. There’s not one fingerprint on its surface.
When my shift ended last night and I was walking back to my apartment, a sleek black SUV pulled up to me when I was about a block away from the shop. I was handed a note, instructing me to be at this location, at this time. Despite my reservations, I came. I wait for her to reveal more about her boss and how I came to be here this morning, but she doesn’t.
“So. Tell me a little bit about yourself. Trent didn’t say much. Only that he was taken with you. And, to see if you were… available.” Her brows raise and she leans forward when she says the word available, like she wants to put air quotes around it.
I get it. Available. Code for willing to prostitute myself.
Which, she quickly learned, I was.
“Um… let’s see.” There’s really not much to tell, but Gretchen seems like an important player in Trent’s world and I don’t want her changing his mind. I try not to lie, and besides, I’m a terrible liar, so I choose to embellish.
Her eyes lay heavy on me, expectant. “Yes?”
“I’m enrolled in classes at the School of the Art Institute.” Was. Doesn’t it count as being enrolled when you had to drop out and then couldn’t afford to come back? “I work at the coffee shop on Fifth—the one where your boss saw me, I guess?”
She gives one curt nod. All business, not even wasting time on a longer nod. “Yes. That’s right.”
I continue. “Ah… I like to draw?”
Her mask of professionalism wavers for a moment, a flash of interest in her gaze. “That’s nice. Do you have anything you can show me?”
I pull my drawing pad from my bag. “Sure.” It feels weird to share this with a stranger, but what choice do I have? I need her to like me.
I turn to a page somewhere in the middle, my more recent work. It’s a pencil drawing of a battle between angels and demons. Gothic and terrifying and yet hauntingly beautiful. Like this place. I lay it the pad on the table before us.
She examines the page with wide eyes. Her gaze flits from the paper to me, then back again. “You drew this?”
It’s taken her by surprise. The little whore has talent.Who’d have thought?
I smile and nod. “Yes. I did.”
“It’s… incredible.” She traces the outline of a feathery wing with the pad of her finger, her red nails sparkling under the lights. “Are there more?”
I can only whore myself out so much. Everyone has a limit. I’ll not show her my other drawings, the ones I’ve sketched of people I love.
“There are.” I take the pad, slipping it back in my bag. “Another day?”
A pinch of respect forms in her features. She gives another tight nod. “Absolutely.”
Feeling like I have the upper hand, I ask my own question. “So, what’s he like? The boss?”
“First of all,” she peers at me like I’m a child, making me squirm in my seat, “Trent does not like to be called the boss.”I can tell she’s just itching to do the air quotes again.
“Noted.” I give a nod.
She continues, her tone brimming with authority. “He’s a successful businessman, making a living running trade overseas from his hub in the city. He comes from a long line of entrepreneurs. He took over this quaint country property when his parents moved to Venezuela when he was twenty and he has lived here ever since.”
“He sounds… important.” I don’t say what’s on my mind. To have this much money and not be able to get a date the old-fashioned way? He must be gruesome to look at. I stare at her, raising a brow, hoping she’ll sense my question, maybe give me an idea what he looks like.
She doesn’t.
A short man wearing a suit moves quickly, entering the room with a silver tray in his hands. This must be Barker. He sets the tray down, offering Gretchen a deep bow. His eyes flit to my face, then away.
“Thank you, Barker.” Gretchen dismisses him with a wave of her hand.
He leaves as quickly as he came in.
“Tea?” she asks, holding up a pale blue china teapot.
The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room. My eyes go the steaming French press. “Actually, I’m more of a coffee girl.”
She sets the teapot down, pouring us both a cup of coffee. I add cream and sugar to mine, stirring the mug with the spoon that’s offered to me. Gretchen drinks hers black. “You passed the first test.”
I look up from my mug. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t respect a woman who chooses tea over coffee.” She gives a laugh, but it comes out more like the sound of a challenge.
I take a sip of the drink. “This is delicious. The best I’ve had. And I work at one of the busiest coffee shops in the city.”
She smiles. “It is the best, isn’t it? It’s from Trent’s family’s roasters in Paris.” She’s warming to me.
Damn—a man who loves coffee as much as me. One point for mystery psycho stalker billionaire. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Trent has… tastes.” She sets her mug down, locking gazes with me. “Ones you will need to accommodate. It’s all in the contract, but you didn’t bother to read it, did you?”
That icy, creeping feeling comes back, dancing along my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “No. I didn’t.”
“Just be ready.” She smiles a slow smile, like that of the Cheshire cat. “For anything.”
I never had a bit of the upper hand, did I? I’m his property, this total stranger. I have no power. And the man has… tastes… whatever that means.
I’m due to meet him in exactly thirty-six hours.
