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One

SIMON

“Simon! Simon, wake up! We need to get downstairs!”

I groaned and considered ignoring her, but Chanel wouldn’t be coming around so early without good reason. She and everyone else knew how much I hated to wake up. And she knew what would happen if she woke me without good reason. Hell hath no fury like a tired Simon. I would make all their lives miserable for the insult alone.

Forcing my eyes open, I looked around my room. The sky was pink outside my window, the sun only just coming over the horizon.

“Someone better be dead. Or they will be,” I growled, forcing myself upright and out of bed. And because I was feeling pissy, I didn’t rush. I took a second to wet my hair with the basin of water on my dresser, so I could tame it into playfully tousled instead of an exhausted bedhead. I pulled on a silky robe and added some tint to my lips to draw the attention away from my dark circles. When I finally headed downstairs, I felt a little morealert, but no less petulant. So it took me a while to figure out what was going on.

“So, at least one is prepared to greet us properly,” a voice with a thick accent commented. Casting around for the voice, I found a small company of handsome men standing in our doorway. All eyes were on me, which I appreciated. I liked the attention.

My boss, Quincy, cleared his throat and nodded quickly. “Yes, Simon is our most popular worker. He takes great pride in caring for his customers.”

Why the hell did he look so nervous? I looked over the men again. From their clothes, I assumed they came from the south. Al Nuzem, maybe? They looked fancy enough to come from the affluent country. But that wasn’t a first here. We saw all types in our brothel. After years in the profession, I doubted there was any group I was unfamiliar with. So why was Quincy acting like he had to grovel for the honor of their presence?

“We have many others for you to choose from. Chanel is also popular,” Quincy added, gesturing to my friend. She preened and gave the group a flirty smile, wiggling her fingers at them.

“No. No women,” the man said, giving Chanel a once-over before dismissing her completely. Her disappointment was… surprising. They were good-looking, but Chanel cared more about the size of their wallets than their looks. Maybe taking my time was a mistake. I felt like I was missing something.

“Then, perhaps Tomas? He is very accommodating.”

My brows snapped together. Tomas was a jealous shit and a size queen. He would complain outright about a man’s equipment if it wasn’t up to his standard. He’d lost many customers over the past two years that he’d worked here because he was rude to them—more than half of those I had to lure back by servicing them myself. People didn’t tip well if they were insulted, so I didn’t appreciate his behavior in the slightest. Andwhy was Quincy skipping past me? He barely acknowledged my presence. He just admitted I was the best, so why would he skip me?

“Is there something wrong with Simon? Do we not deserve the best?” the man demanded.

He was speaking for the group, which was interesting. And he seemed to take offense that Quincy was skipping me. So did I.

I didn’t really care why Quincy was acting like an ass. If these customers paid as well as their outfits said they could, I would start work early just to keep them happy.

“You absolutely deserve the best,” I purred, giving the man a sultry look. “If I please you, I would happily give you whatever you want.”

That got me a few leers, which was encouraging. I emphasized myself a little by letting my robe slip off one shoulder. My skin care routine was one of the reasons men loved me. After living a day in our rough city, they liked something soft to touch.

“Come here,” the man in the middle spoke in the language of Al Nuzem, his voice smooth and low. It was a sexy voice, one I’d be happy to listen to as I pleasured him. I sauntered forward, ignoring Quincy’s and Tomas’s glares, and stopped in front of the man. Dark features, caramel skin, and silky black hair I wanted to get my hands into. This would be fun.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was amused by me. I wasn’t sure why, but whatever worked for him. He reached out, running his knuckles down my cheek, before plucking the robe and smoothing it back into place. “Do you know who I am, little one?”

I answered in his language, a skill not many of my fellow brothel workers had. I wanted to be able to speak to my clients, to better service them. It’s why I got the best tips. “No. Do you want me to?”

His smile grew into a smirk. He didn’t respond to me, instead turning to his friend who’d spoken for the group before. He nodded once, and the man bowed his head in response. There was obviously a power dynamic here, and this guy was in charge. The details didn’t matter, but now I knew whom to focus my attention on.

“My prince has chosen. Go ready your finest room.”

I was still looking at the man (prince?), so I didn’t see Quincy’s response, but I heard him grunt before he started arguing. “I—Ah, perhaps you’d like them both? You could see who serves you better. Tomas is younger and?—”

Outraged, I spun around to glare at him, but before I could light into him, the man who chose me wrapped his hand around my elbow, gently pulling me against his side.

“Age is of no issue,” he said blandly, and his friend translated for Quincy.

I scowled at him. “I’m not old. I’m only twenty-six.”

He smiled patiently at me. “No, little one. You are not old. And even if you were, you are very beautiful. Your age would not matter to me.”

Damn right, it wouldn’t. I’d still be doing this job well into my fifties as long as I was getting paid well. I loved sex, and I was good at it, so age would not hinder me.

Quincy still argued despite the man’s assurance that he was happy with me. “No, no, I wasn’t saying age was—I just meant—” He cast a glance at Tomas for help, which was… strange.