Page 2 of Willing Prey

Sometimes I wonder if the paralegal likes it too, or if Keith’s so head over heels that he’s willing to go without.

I always decide it’s better not to know.

Whether it happens in a bed or a bush, I don’t want to picture my ex-husband with someone younger and prettier than me.

Doesn’t do great things for my self-confidence.

Though fucking his boss might.

Margot analyzes me. Finally, she shrugs, pouty lips quirked to the side. “If you genuinely enjoy it, maybe you’ll make it through.”

“What do you mean, ‘make it through’?” My stomach tightens.

I hate uncertainty, and Shane made it sound straightforward.

Well, as straightforward as a sex contract can be when discussed at the Green Bean.

Finding out Shane and I frequent the same coffee shop was a surprise, but not that odd, considering it’s in downtown Newbound, near the firm.

But him approaching me one afternoon with a business proposal that involved being hunted ?

Shocking. Now I’m wondering if I should have asked more questions before jumping in with my whole pussy.

She blanches. “He didn’t tell you? About the other two women?”

“He told me that I’m not the first woman he’s hired to hunt.” It’s my turn to analyze her. “But it was in an I’ve done this before, and we’d have established protocols for your safety sort of context.”

Busying herself with the papers in the folder, Margot won’t look at me.

“Come on, spill.” I nudge her knee with mine. “Whatever it is, I won’t tell him.”

Her eyes dart to me. They’re big and brown, so big they look like they belong on a horse. Or a deer. She’s gorgeous. There’s no way he doesn’t sleep with her.

“He got rid of them. The first after a week, the second after one hunt.” She misreads the horror on my face. “He fired them, Claire. He didn’t hurt them.”

Her reassurance doesn’t do much for me, but only because that wasn’t my worry.

Maybe my first thought should have been fear that he’d killed them, and would therefore kill me too, but it wasn’t.

It was that I might not make the money. I noticed the clause in the contract for early termination: I receive a thousand dollars for every day I’m here.

It didn’t bother me because I thought it was my escape route. Not his.

“Why did he get rid of them?” Swallowing hard, I add, “Please, I need to know. I have to make it the full thirty days. You have no idea how much I need that money.”

Margot worries her bottom lip with her teeth. For a second, I think she won’t tell me. Leaving with only a few thousand dollars is a sobering thought.

Please.

“You need to be hard to catch. He wants an actual hunt. If he catches you too easily, he’ll get bored.

He didn’t say it explicitly, but I think that was the problem with the others.

They were professionals, but they’d never done anything like this before.

I don’t think they realized he was serious about wanting a true hunt.

” Apprehension hangs from Margot’s chuckle, a loose thread I’m sure she’d snip if she were aware of it.

“Shane isn’t a bored businessman looking for a walk in the woods followed by sex.

He wants to hunt , and he needs a challenge. ”

Great.

A challenge.

First off, he’s huge. A beast of a man who has to outweigh me by at least sixty pounds.

And I’m a sturdy six feet, so that’s saying something.

The first time I met him was at the Christmas party where Keith blew his verbal load, and upon introduction I’d thought, So that’s how Khal Drogo would look shaved and in a suit .

Then, Holy shit, he is bad at small talk .

He’d been intense to the point of awkwardness, focused on my sweater, complimenting the Meowy Christmas pun with a seriousness that made me wonder if he thought I’d come up with it myself.

The cerebral, earnest way he’d spoken had been at odds with his rugged, imposing presence, leaving me curious what he was like in the courtroom.

After he approached me at the Green Bean, I started wondering what he was like in the bedroom. Not that it matters; per page seven of the contract, all sexual activities will take place outside the house. Margot keeps talking. I try to focus.

“You know those nature documentaries where there’s a pack of wolves hunting an elk, and the elk won’t go down?

” The corner of her mouth twitches like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t.

“Even though you know how it’s going to end, you still wonder if the elk might make it. It never stops fighting.”

I nod again, biting the inside of my cheek.

There’s a look in Margot’s eyes like maybe we’re not talking about wolves and elk.

Fear makes my chest tight. I don’t know what I’m scared of more: that he’ll be a monster, and the next thirty days are going to be the most miserable of my life, or that I’ll disappoint him.

Realistically, I should only be weighing the odds of ending up a story on a true crime podcast. But, because I’m me, I’m worrying I might be boring to hunt, or worse, when he catches me, boring to fuck.

Whatever money’s left after paying off the loans should probably go toward therapy.

Assuming I get to stay long enough to earn it.

Unaware of the mental spiral she just started, Margot offers, “Treat the hunt like life or death, and I bet he’ll keep you the full thirty.

” She rises from the bed and sets the folder on the dresser.

Smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt, she gives me a smile that indicates she’s back in 100 percent customer service mode.

“Shane told me to be sure you make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and there’s a bar in the library. Feel free to use the gym. Wi-Fi and streaming service passwords are in the folder, along with a copy of his STI panel and your safe word.”

“What about his safe word?” I wonder. “Shouldn’t he have one too? Just in case?”

She arches a well-groomed eyebrow at me, and I wonder if I should have already known the answer to that question. “It’s the same as yours, but don’t expect him to use it. Oh, and your whistle is on the dresser too.”

Following the tilt of her head, I see a silver cylindrical whistle.

I have a similar one at home. Well, at the apartment I share with my best friend, Sydney.

When I first confided in her about Shane’s offer, she tried to dissuade me.

Sydney is certain that moving in with a man who hunts women for sexual sport is a fast track to having true crime podcasters talking about how my smile lit up the room.

Even so, she agreed to be my emergency contact—provided I call her periodically to prove I’m alive.

“For emergencies?” I guess, my eyes locked on the whistle.

“Yes, if you need the hunt to end before he’s found you, blow the whistle. He’ll have one too. If you win the hunt, he’ll use it to let you know he’s calling it.”

Win?

“What do you mean, ‘if I win’?” The idea of this hunt as something I can win is an appealing mental reframe. I love winning.

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she corrects herself. “ Win probably isn’t the right word. If he can’t find you and decides to give up, he’ll blow the whistle. Then you’ll know you can stop running.”

Win is the perfect word. The chance at victory is motivating, giving me a concrete goal.

I’m already plotting my strategy. Coming out of the gate too hot will only work against me.

I’ll get through a hunt or two and figure out his tactics before developing mine.

Shane may not expect me to be focused on making him blow the I can’t find Claire whistle, but thanks to Margot, I am.

“I assume he told you that he doesn’t do aftercare?” Margot pulls my attention back to her.

I nod. The fact that he highlighted that line in the contract— along with a few others reiterating that I should not expect any emotional support—seemed unnecessarily dick-ish.

That said, Shane’s zero-compassion policy isn’t a deal-breaker.

The last year of my marriage was an emotional wasteland.

If a lack of kindness could kill, I’d be dead already.

“Good.” She looks like she might say more about aftercare, but doesn’t.

Pushing my luck, I ask, “Does he hunt you?”

“Once. I wanted to see what it was like.” She holds my gaze. “And I will never do it again.”

“Why?”

Quiet hangs between us so long I think she won’t answer. When she speaks, her voice is low, the cadence clipped like each word is fighting its way past her teeth.

“It scared me. He scared me.” Shaking her head, she adds, “I used the safe word as soon as he caught me.” Her laugh is forced, brittle. “Didn’t even make it to first base.”

I’m not sure how to respond to this information. Despite her blushing, Margot seems like she has a spine of steel.

Should I be scared?

As if reading my mind, she adds, “ Don’t misunderstand.

I’m not saying anything against him. He’s an excellent employer, very professional and fair.

I’ve been his personal assistant since I moved here.

My little sister will be staying here next month while her apartment gets painted, and I’d never let her do that if he was a pervert.

Day-to-day, he’s a good guy, safe.” Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “But he’s different in the woods. ”

I should take her words as a caution, but an unexpected flicker of excitement stirs. “Did you know he’d be different? Did he warn you?”

A grim chuckle slips out as she shakes her head. “He didn’t proposition me. Truthfully, I had a little crush on him, so I offered. I thought it would be hot sex in the woods with my gorgeous boss. It wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t it make things uncomfortable?” I’m being nosy, but this dynamic is too interesting not to explore. “Still working for him after trying it?”

“First week or two we tiptoed around each other.” She shrugs. “But that was last summer. We’re fine now, strictly professional. I’m actually engaged.” Wiggling her bare left hand, she adds, “My ring is getting resized.”

“Congratulations on the engagement” is all I manage to say.

I don’t know how to respond to what she’s told me.

Boundaries , a tiny voice in my head screams. What about healthy working boundaries?

Whatever she has with Shane sounds like an absurd employee-employer relationship, but I’m not about to judge.

Technically, I’m his employee now, or maybe an independent contractor.

How do I claim this on my taxes?

With a tight smile, Margot heads to the door. “Last word of advice?” Her gaze is a warning as she looks back. “Don’t cry. He hates that.”

Before I can respond, she’s gone.