~ Paige ~
I swear, I thought Eli was going to kill me while Colin rowed, rowed, rowed his ridiculous immovable boat. Not even a quarter of a mile on the treadmill and I was ready to call it quits. I have to admit, Colin looked downright mouthwatering while he was doing it, brute force exerting over the menacing machine, active sweat running down his damp temples. He’s in amazing shape, lean and toned with the cut sinews tightening with each calculated motion. Eli caught me drooling over Colin a few times, but he was discreet enough not to say anything. The yummy view of Colin working out almost made the hour of torture worth it. Almost.
The intensity with which Colin was looking at me after… God, just the thought has me shuddering deliciously all over again.
Flipping off the shower, I snag a toasty towel. After Eli left, Colin cleaned up and grudgingly conceded he had to go to the office. As he had suggested to me yesterday, I brought a change of clothes for my post workout. Climbing out of the grotto, I don on jeans and another one of Rome’s old sweatshirts that no longer fits him. If I thought it was going to be weird taking off all my clothes in someone else’s bathroom and dunking under the heavenly spray, that was dispelled the second I was shown into the dazzling guest bath. Natural sunlight streams in to highlight the sleek lines and clean décor, my bare feet pleasantly warmed by the heated floor beneath. I can stay in here for hours. Only the thought of Marie watching the clock and impatiently tapping her foot had me reluctantly switching off the water.
Eli seemed nice. Harmlessly playful. Definitely hot. Too bad he’s gay, or I’d be considering him for Cara. An overachiever, if the massive muscular bulges are any indication. With each rep Eli bellowed at me, my muscles got weaker and weaker until I thought they were going to disintegrate beneath my skin. I could have explained to him my body wasn’t like others, that it was frail and tender, but I was afraid if Colin knew of my condition, he’d replace me before the protein shake stopped whirling.
There’s nothing perfect about me, but I refuse to let this get in the way. This arrangement with Colin is a gift, my one chance to leave life better for Rome. He deserves the opportunities this provides him. Besides, it’s not like hanging out in this luxurious penthouse and being fed crab salad is a hardship.
“Ms. Paige,” Marie begins as soon as I step out of the marvelous bath. Formal and detached, she bestows a bland face. There’s no warmth, no animosity, only plain mildness. “The personal stylists are waiting for you in the wellness room.”
“Personal stylists?”
The head housekeeper’s expression doesn’t change. “Mr. Colin told me to expect them. This way, miss.”
How thoughtful of Mr. Colin. If only the man shared that detail with me.
My clean socks mute each step on the gleaming marble. I keep pace with the stiff Marie through the wide, hushed house. Possibly in her late thirties, Marie’s strides are sure, purposeful. Shoulders back, spine straight, chin high, she commands her movements, owning her space without doubt or hesitation. She’s a household staff, yet she carries herself as if she’s the landlady.
Dimly, I wonder if Marie was one of Colin’s projects, an ordinary housekeeper exuding an unexpected sureness. Here’s ten grand for the bravado and pride injected directly into your bloodstream.
She doesn’t like me, fighting from looking down her stuck-up nose at me. There’s a good chance she suspects why I’m here, that Colin is paying me, and concludes I’m some gold digger. Little does she know that Colin all but handed me a diamond-encrusted shovel. It doesn’t make a difference. I’m not here to win over cynical hearts, but it’d be nice if she spared a smile once in a while. A fake one would do just fine.
With a grandiose gesture, Marie flings open a set of ornate double doors to a room I haven’t visited. “Miss Serena and Mrs. Betsy.”
Two women in their twenties rise from the scattering of plush loungers.
Another jaw-dropping room. Or suite, to be precise, from the endless walls and windows that seem to keep going and going. Miraculously, bright sunlight is dimmed to an invigorating yet soothing level, with modern décor of the distressed beige and bold navy variety.
And a garden wall with small plants growing out of it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Abby Betsy.” The shorter of the two women with a mane of startling red hair throws out a hand, drawing my impressed study of the indoor vegetation. “You can just call me Abb.” She laughs nervously. “Everyone does.”
Her skin is baby-soft, yet the four rings on her fingers bite into my palm. “Hi. I’m Paige.”
“Serena Hsu,” offers the much taller woman. She’s slender, model gorgeous, with long, glossy black hair and deep, assessing eyes. “We’re going to be spending several hours together today.”
They’re dressed to kill. Abb is flaunting a short, form-fitting dress in deep green, gray ankle boots elevating her to new heights. Surprisingly, it doesn’t clash with the red hair. Artery-choking pants are painted on Serena. One slender shoulder is exposed with the loose sweater. She doesn’t need extra inches, but that outfit isn’t complete without the femme-fatale stilettos.
My well-loved sweatshirt and relaxed denim suddenly don’t feel so comfortable anymore. I choose not to voice my confusion. “Oh?”
A small smile flits over Serena. “You seem surprised.”
“Colin hadn’t mentioned it to me.” I wonder if they know why I’m here, wonder if Colin told everyone about his new pet that needs a collar with all the glam. The thought has my emotions bubbling. It shouldn’t. I agreed to this, agreed to allow a stranger to do as he pleases with me to make me perfect. “And what are we doing in those few hours?”
“The works,” Serena says with so much fervor it’s all but bouncing off the tranquil walls. Leisurely, her measuring gaze travels from my limp, wet hair to my old, threadbare socks before glinting with purpose. “By the time we’re done, you will not recognize yourself.”
By midday, a team of five professionals has descended, and I’m scrubbed, buffed, polished, waxed, snipped, highlighted, and even rubbed for good measure. After the crazy workout with Eli, it feels wonderful to have my throbbing, sore body tenderized and marinated, so I can’t complain. Much.
Once mid-back length hair is artfully sheared to just below my shoulders and slathered with a tint two shades lighter. I would laugh at the image of foil swath around tufts of creamed hair, except Serena’s glare is sharper than the clippers and twice as scary whenever I so much as attempt to twitch. Glimmering light pink covers my diligently manicured nails, going well with the red wine in my hand. Every inch of me is meticulously pampered, no part of my skin left untouched, tingling from all the rare attention.
So this is how the other half lives.
The guy going to town on the bottom of my foot is quietly muttering and shaking his stunned head in exasperation, putting his entire upper body strength into sawing off the calloused skin with some sort of stone. Hey, I’m on my feet all day. And my shoes suck.
Abb wheels in a rack bursting with designer clothes. “This is just to start. We’ll have the rest of your wardrobe ready later this week. Serena?”
Her partner joins in. “We’ll be connecting with Mr. Kutter in a little bit.”
“Connecting?” I ask as the pedicurist hefts up my foot to his eye level, diligently squinting at his handiwork. “You mean he’s calling in?”
“He’s a busy man and cannot be here, but he will be inspecting each ensemble virtually.” Serena’s quick hands shift through the rack. “We’ll start with this,” she declares and pulls out a slinky black and white dress.
A half an hour later, I’m quietly studying myself in the full-length mirror, swiveling from side to side to better appreciate the gentle swirl of the silky fabric against my extra smooth thighs.
Fingers clasped against her chest, Abb is practically gushing from behind me in the reflection. “That color is fabulous on you. Not everyone can pull off that subtle fire, but you’re a natural.”
Serena nods in approval. “It accentuates your curves without overstating. Natural yet vibrant. Don’t you agree, Mr. Kutter?”
“Yes,” comes the male voice from the tablet Serena is aiming at me. “That one.”
I was never big on shopping, mostly because I couldn’t afford much. So far, I’ve modeled seven outfits. Colin has approved five from afar, occasionally instructing Serena to step back or zoom in.
From the looks of him, barely checking himself from nodding off, this wasn’t what he expected either. Not five minutes into it, he looked like he wanted to smack his own eyeballs to keep them from glazing over.
Until I walked out in this teeny red dress.
The design is flattering, but the vivid color is explosive, and someone shrank the unfortunate hem. I never realized I had that much legs. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” Or not nearly enough.
Neither woman makes a sound.
“You’re right,” Colin agrees. “Abb, make sure the bottom is taken in another inch and a half.
Both women bob their heads in vigorous concurrence.
I roll my eyes.
So it goes. Tight pants, stylish tops, shoes that defy gravity and logic, one after the other Colin either nays or yays them.
He warned me. He would dictate what I wear, but I’m not sure who was more impatient with the process, me or Colin.
By the time the women leave, I have an impressive and diverse wardrobe the envy of any socialite, one hundred percent prepared for any occasion and weather imaginable, including a vampire apocalypse during a meteor-exploding dust storm, outfitted with a stake and designer helmet, just in case.
Slay those monsters, perfect woman, and put some bling on it.
I’m not sure where Colin thinks I’m going to wear half of those dresses. My inbox is hardly brimming with invitations to the ball. It’s not my money, but I hate seeing it wasted, even if Colin’s bank accounts have their own bank accounts.
Back in my hand-me-down fab, I wearily grab my tote and heft it on my droopy shoulder. Fatigue is starting to set in despite having spent most of the day being pampered. With a quick wave at Marie as I pass, I weave my way through the opulent penthouse.
Shuffling footsteps approach me fast from behind. “Ms. Paige, are you leaving?”
“Yup. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Mr. Colin isn’t home yet,” she contends as though that means something.
I don’t turn around, but I’m aware she’s right behind me. “I know.”
“He’s expecting to dine with you for the evening meal.”
“I don’t think so,” I respond in the front foyer. “He didn’t say anything to me about it, so you must be mistaken.” If he did, I would have declined anyway.
“Ms. Paige.” There’s a stiff bite to her tone. “Mr. Colin left explicit instructions.”
I face her then, the taut lines of her expression and disapproving gaze. “My evenings are my own, with or without instructions. If Mr. Colin wanted a dinner companion, he would’ve said something to me. He didn’t, so he must not.”
“Ms. Paige, that is not—”
“It’s Paige. Not Ms. Paige or Miss Zine or any other misses.” I don’t mean to be nasty, but there’s something about her that grates on me. “And unless you’re planning to hold me hostage, I’m leaving.”
Her mouth tightens into a thin line. “Very well. I shall inform Mr. Colin of your decision.”
I roll my eyes and return to my escape. “Inform away.”
Lethargy is an iron blanket weighing me down. Grabbing a seat on the subway during rush hour is equivalent to finding gold nuggets on the Hudson, but there’s no way I’d be able to walk home, and I can’t see spending money on a cab when the train costs so much less.
No sooner than am I on 53rd Street than my new phone rings. Colin’s name flashes bright and demanding under a streetlight. I guess Marie didn’t waste any time whining to her boss.
“Hey, Colin.”
“You left.”
“You’re right.”
He doesn’t get my quip. “Why?”
“Um… to go home?”
He doesn’t get my sarcasm either. “Turn around and go back.”
The laughter huffs out of me. “Why would I do that? I’m almost to the station.”
A beat of silence. Then, “I thought I made it clear your life would not be your own. This means you don’t get to make decisions on who, what, when, or where. You stay where I put you. You show when I want you.”
I trail to a stop. “You never said anything about nights.”
“It was a given.”
“Not to me.”
“Then consider it a given.”
Bemused, I stare stupid at the foot traffic, at the busy men, women, and children going about their business on the dusky street, schooled to ignore others in this city. Framed by staggered cars and directly across is Central Park dotted with tall, shadowy trees. Colin’s penthouse is down the way, one of few grandiose buildings in the area owning the hot, precious space.
People like me don’t get to stay here, scarcely allowed to share the affluent air unless it’s to serve people like him.
That’s what Colin is demanding. He’s paying me to serve him.
“I have responsibilities, Colin,” I attempt to reason. “I need to be home.”
“Your responsibility is seventeen years old. I’m not asking you to abandon him to his own devices. You will end your day at home each night at a sensible time.”
“Are you asking?”
“No.” Concrete. Indisputable. “I’m not.”
“Give me tonight then.” I hate having to ask, but I don’t have much choice if I’m to work for the payout. “Have dinner with my brother, talk to him, then I’m yours starting tomorrow.”