Page 10

Bree

"But as I think about it," Ken says, voice calm but cutting, "you're not really promoting me. You're reversing roles. I'm not the whore anymore. Now it’s you."

The words slice through the morning light like a scalpel.

For a second, I can't breathe. "Why would I be a whore?"

He looks at me like I’m the stupidest smart person alive. "Because whores get paid to fuck someone. That’s what you think I did, right? Slept with you hoping for a payday? Well now you’ll be fucking a man—me—so you can collect juicy paychecks from your dad."

I clutch the envelope like it might defend me, like it can explain the stupid, desperate thing I just did. But all I can do is stare at him—shirtless, furious, beautiful—and watch everything fall apart.

"I didn't mean it like that."

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh. "No? Then how did you mean it, Princess? A loyalty bonus? Or just pre-paying for the next time I make you come? "

"Ken—"

"You're offering to pay me. Tell me, how is that different from what you believed I used to do?"

"Because I—" I stop, horrified at what I almost said.

"Because you what? Appreciate me?" He steps closer, heat rolling off him. "Or because you think throwing money at something makes it real?"

"That's not fair."

"And you’re just learning that now, Princess? At least when I danced, I knew what I was selling. My body, my time, my pride sometimes. But never my self-respect."

"And this affects your self-respect how?"

"Because I actually started to care." The words explode out of him. "Because last night meant something. Because I thought maybe you were seeing me as more than just some stripper you could throw money at."

My heart cracks. "Ken—"

"But I was wrong. Once a whore, always a whore, right? And everyone is a whore—just with a different price tag. That's how you rich people think."

"That's not—"

"True? Then why offer me money the morning after we sleep together? Again?"

The parallel hits me like a chemical burn. Three years ago, I left cash on his nightstand because I thought that's what he wanted. Now I'm doing it again, just with more zeros.

“So tell me, Ms. Righteous—just because I was a pole dancer and you were whatever it is you were at the time—I’m a whore and you’re not? Because if I remember right, we both were in that bed. And you kissed me first. And I paid for your drink. Oh, I remember everything, not just your moans.”

"Stop! "

"You know what's funny? Last night, when you were under me, crying out my name, begging me to make you come... I actually thought we were more than our past. Than stripper and client. Than rich and not rich."

Each word cuts deeper than the last.

"We are," I whisper.

"Are we? Because from where I'm standing, nothing's changed. You still think you can buy whatever you want. And I'm still just a sack of flesh to be purchased."

"Ken, please—"

"The only difference between then and now is that back then I knew what it was. Last night? I let myself believe..."

He stops, running a hand through his hair.

"Believe what?"

"Doesn't matter." He starts gathering his clothes. "What matters is I was wrong."

"Where are you going?"

"To find another room. I'll keep playing my part this weekend—for Ashton, not you. But after that? I never—ever—want to see you again."

He pulls on his shirt, and I watch helplessly as he moves toward the door.

"Ken, wait—"

"You know what's ironic?" He pauses, hand on the doorknob. "I spent years doing whatever it took to survive. Cleaning sewers. Working security at a morgue. Taking my clothes off for strangers. And not once—not once—did I feel as cheap as I do right now."

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

I sink onto the bed, still clutching the envelope.

The bed where last night he held me like I was precious. Where he whispered my name like a prayer. Where he made me believe—for one stupid night—that love wasn’t just another transaction..

My phone buzzes.

Clara : Sailing starts in 30. Where are you?

I stare at the message through blurring eyes. Right. The show must go on.

I head to the bathroom to fix my makeup, to hide the evidence of what just happened. In the mirror, I see what Ken saw—a woman so afraid of being used for her money that she tried to buy the one man who might actually care about her.

Another buzz.

Ashton : Ken just asked to stay with me tonight. What did you do? Did he try to touch you?

I don’t answer.

What would I even say?

That I handed his best friend his worst fear on company letterhead?

The envelope with the check sits on the bed like evidence of my crime. I pick it up, ready to tear it to pieces, but stop.

Because destroying it won't undo what I did.

Won't erase the look in his eyes.

Won't change the fact that I just ruined everything .

My phone has been buzzing nonstop, but I haven't moved from the bed. Eventually, I force myself to answer the only person who won’t judge me.

Me : Not feeling well. Skip sailing for me.

Clara : Girl, your dad will flip.

Me : Don't care. Need sleep.

Clara : Ken didn’t let you sleep last night, huh? ??????

Me : We had a fight. He left.

Clara : That's it. So we’re not going sailing. Coming over. Have tissues and mini bar ready.

Ten minutes later, Clara bursts in, arms full of contraband. "I raided the kitchen. Ice cream, chocolate, and those weird European cookies you stress-eat. "

"I don't stress-eat European cookies."

"Sure. That's why there were crumbs all over your lab coat after Matthews killed your sustainable agriculture program." She drops everything on the bed. "Spill."

I tell her everything. The perfect night. The morning after. The check. His face when he realized what I was offering.

"Holy explosion, Batman." Clara whistles. "You really offered him money to keep dating you?"

"It seemed logical at the time."

"Logical? Sister, you tried to put your boyfriend on payroll."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"No? Then why are you curled up in bed looking like someone cancelled Christmas?"

I throw a pillow at her. "I'm not—"

"Save it. I've known you since freshman year. This isn't your 'Trevor was a gold-digger' face. This is your 'I actually care and I screwed up' face."

"I don't have faces."

"You have an entire periodic table of faces. And right now? You're showing all the reactive elements at once." Clara opens the cookies. "So let's break this down like a lab report. What's really eating you?"

"Besides the fact that I just lost the best man I've ever—"

"Nope. Deeper. Why did you offer him money?"

"Because..." I grab a cookie. "Because it made sense. He's good at this. The board respects him, Dad loves him—"

"And?"

"And what?"

"And you're falling for him."

I nearly choke. "I'm not—"

"Please. I saw you two at the beach party. The way you looked at him when he defended your water treatment project? Pure chemistry."

"That was acting."

"Was it? Becaus e I've seen you act interested in men before. This was different." She steals my cookie. "You know what I think?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"I think you offered him money because you're terrified he might actually care about you."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Think about it. Trevor wanted your money. Every guy before him wanted your money. Even your dad—"

"Leave my dad out of this."

"Why? He's the one who taught you that love and money are the same thing."

I sit up. "He did not—"

"Melissa."

One word. But it hits like a bomb.

"That's different," I whisper.

"Is it? He bought himself a trophy wife after your mom died. And now he's trying to buy you a traditional future with his company presidency as bait."

"Clara—"

"And you know what's really messed up? You hate Melissa because she's a gold digger. But this morning, you tried to turn Ken into one."

The truth of it stings. "I didn't mean to."

"No? Then what did you mean to do?"

"I don't know! Keep him? Make sure he stayed? Prove that for once I was in control of—" I stop, horrified.

"Of what?"

"Of when the other shoe drops." The words come out small. "Of when he realizes I'm not worth staying for."

Clara's face softens. "Oh, honey."

"Don't. Just... don't."

"You know what the difference is between Ken and Trevor?"

“Muscles?”

“That too. Th ink harder. And do not give me private measurements.”

“Eww.”

“I knew it!”

"You shut up! Okay—that maybe Ken actually has principles?"

"Ken didn't want your money in the first place. Ashton picked him—not because he'd impress your dad with his bank account, but because he knew Ken would treat you right."

I remember Ken's face when he talked about the kids at the hospital. The way he defended my project without being asked. How he made me laugh even when I was trying to hate him.

"And now I've ruined it."

"No, what you did was try to ruin it before he could. Classic Bree move." Clara opens the ice cream. "You know what's really ironic?"

"What?"

"Ken didn't break your heart. He just showed you it was still there."

I stare at her. "When did you get so wise?"

"Please. I've been watching you sabotage potential happiness since college. I'm practically a PhD in Bree-ology." She hands me a spoon. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. He made it clear he's done with me."

"No, he made it clear he won't be bought. Different thing entirely."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is one door is closed forever. The other?" She grins. "Just needs a different key."