Chapter 4

Effie

Effie, dressed in a loose-fitting, tangerine-colored sweater-dress, shiny gold skater shoes, and light makeup which Haley had fought to put on her face, stood awkwardly in the corner of the stupid Sugar Baby dinner ballroom. Haley had brushed the shit out of her tangled locks. Now it hung in submission along Effie’s shoulders.

Her derision for wealthy people congealed in the bottom of her stomach like old, cold oatmeal, something she ate a lot of as a child. All the well-dressed people, laughing and stalking around the dumb tree hung with gold boxes, made her feel small, ugly, and inferior. The smells of glamour—pricey perfume, expensive aftershave, pregame Karelia cigarettes—combined into one nauseating olfactory cocktail.

Haley, dressed in a tight pink and silver dress, hair and makeup done to perfection, stood with her back to Effie, no doubt trying to look like they hadn’t arrived together.

A sharply dressed man, with a beer belly, or whatever kind of beverage-belly billionaires got, waddled in Effie’s direction.

She sucked in her jelly-roll belly and tried to disappear into the black and gold wallpaper.

“Hello,” the man said with a thick Spanish accent. His eyebrows looked like they needed to be trimmed with a lawnmower. “You look like you need a sugar daddy.”

“Do I?” she squeaked.

“Yes.” He placed a sweaty palm on her chin and turned her face back and forth.

She tried to pull away, but he had a tight grip for an older dude.

“Good cheekbones.” He grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around. “Nice, slender frame.” He pivoted her to face him. “I am Antonio Martinez. I am Martinez House of Fashion. You hear of me?”

“No.” She yanked away from him and shook her head, her cheeks beginning to burn.

“Pity. I could make you look fabulous. But not if you no hear of me.” He turned and waddled away, dismissing her.

Haley snickered and turned slightly, so they stood more or less side by side.

Effie chuckled. “I could make you look fabulous,” she repeated. “But not if you no hear of me.”

Haley started to laugh but cut it off when an ancient gentleman tottered toward them.

He wore a tuxedo that looked like it came from the 1930s. The jacket had a wide, silver lapel. A shiny black bow tie clung to his skeletal neck and loose skin flapped back and forth underneath his chin like a turkey waddle. A single-breasted evening waistcoat peeked out from beneath his jacket. His feet were clad in black patent leather oxfords. A red carnation boutonniere bloomed from his lapel.

Effie decided he might be a good catch for her dead great-grandma. The thought of cuddling with the old geezer, smelling his old man sweat and aftershave, made her skin crawl. And what if he insisted on more, waving his Benjamins in my face?

Haley whispered, “Whatever he asks us, the answer is no.”

“Agreed,” Effie said.

He came to a stop directly in front of them and bowed. “Ladies, I’m Sir Charles Montague, knighted by the Queen of England. Would either of you consider having me as your sugar daddy?”

Haley shook her head and lifted her mobile phone to her face.

“Apologies, Sir Montague. The answer is no,” Effie said, feeling sorry for the old man. Then, she pictured a shriveled old dick that took a bucket of Viagra to get hard. She shivered.

His eyebrows rose high. “I see. That repulsive, am I?”

“No, sir, I’m…I’m cold, is all.” She peered past him, and lifted her hand to wave, pretending to see someone she knew.

When he turned to leave, she called, “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

Haley sidled toward her. “You owe no one an explanation,” she hissed. “You’re the one on the market, here.”

“But he seemed so frail,” Effie said.

Haley grinned. “You’re right. And he might die in the next hour or so. If we were to get in good with him, maybe he would change his will.”

“Go after him, then,” Effie said.

“Ew, no. I might have to touch his wrinkly old skin in the meantime. I’d have to wash for days to get the feel of it off my fingers.” She brushed her bare shoulders which glimmered with sparkly skin cream. Then, she lifted her gaze. “Ooh. Here comes someone handsome. And, he’s heading straight for you.”

A dashing silver fox strode their way. He carried two flutes of champagne. His shoulders and chest were broad, leading to trim hips.

“He looks buff,” Haley said. “Go for it, Effie. Turn on enough charm to get him to overlook your outfit.”

“What do I do? What do I do?” Effie hissed.

“Act natural. Let him do the talking,” Haley replied.

A grin appeared on silver fox’s face, drawing dimples.

“Well, hello,” he said, as he approached.

“Hi,” Effie said.

He glanced at her, frowning. Then, he directed his attention to Haley. “Hey, there, gorgeous,” he said, pushing between Effie and Haley. “I’m Arnold Wainwright. I manage several hedge funds. And you are?” He leaned against the wall like a fortress, effectively shutting Effie out of any conversation.

Ouch. Effie glanced at a very handsome young man who strode in her direction, no doubt hoping to challenge Arnold for a date with Haley. Once Haley looked at him, it would be no contest. Dark hair, dark eyes, ripped muscles, he stalked toward them like a wolf.

Feeling like last week’s nasty trash, Effie slunk toward the bar, hoping some kind billionaire would buy her anything that might make her very drunk. After ten minutes of slouching over the sleek wood and chrome bar, having been told to, “move, bitch,” and, “the staff is supposed to be in the back,” she decided to call it a night. There goes my education. Maybe dad will get me a job at GBS. As she straightened to turn around, the same sexy predator who had been heading toward Haley sidled up next to her.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a thousand-watt smile at her. He had short-cropped dark brown hair and eyes the color of honey-flecked chocolate. Unlike most of the men here, he’d dressed in a snug, long-sleeved Henley, and straight leg jeans, both of which revealed an extremely muscular body.

She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes. “Hi. Are you ordering for Haley? She loves Mojitos.”

His eyebrows creased. “Who’s Haley?”

“What, she didn’t give you her name?” Effie’s gaze darted around the room, looking through the closely packed bodies for her best friend.

Haley still stood against the wall talking animatedly with Arnold. The two were now inches apart. Close enough to kiss.

Effie frowned.

The uber god standing before her said, “I haven’t asked for anyone’s name. Not a soul interested me. Until I saw you.”

Effie scoffed. “Nice line. ‘No one interested me until I saw the homeless-looking chick plastered against the wall like a statue,’” she said. Suspicion filled her brain. Growing up in her Yakima double-wide, her mother had instilled thoughts like, “the rich are all depraved,” and, “don’t you let a wealthy man seduce you when you move to Seattle. He’ll only use you while he’s waiting for his Number One.” Who or what a Number One was, was anyone’s guess. She supposed it was someone of similar wealth and social standing.

Mr. Brown-eyes cocked his head. “Is that what you think of yourself?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “This isn’t really my scene. I don’t know why I let my friend drag me here.”

Mr. Brown-eyes laughed. “I can relate. I was dragged here against my will, too. Matter of fact, I was about to leave until I saw you. I made a beeline in your direction, but you disappeared on me.”

Effie’s mouth fell open. She quickly snapped it shut, not wanting to appear like more of a moron than she already felt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Zander King.” He extended a cool-looking high-tech black and gold hand in her direction. A challenging sort of glare accompanied the gesture.

Effie swallowed hard, hoping she didn’t do something stupid. She studied his prosthesis and shook it, surprised to feel the rigid fingers curl around her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, forcing her heart to calm. “I’m Effie D’Archangel. And before you ask, it’s spelled with an A.R.C.H. Not ark, like Noah. Or, arc, like a curve.” She traced a half-moon shape in the air. “An immigration agent bastardized the name D’Arcangelo when my great-grandfather came from Italy to America. And that’s what we ended up with. My family, I mean. D’Archangel.”

Shame flames at her rapid-fire share licked at her neck and cheeks. She wanted to melt into the floor like candle wax.

Still gripping her, he glanced at their hands, then eyed her with a questioning stare, eyebrows lifted high.

“What? That’s a true story,” she said.

The crowd around them began to talk louder, no doubt fueled by drink and “new prospect” excitement.

His eyes seemed to ice over.

What did I do? Can he already tell I’m poor?

He released her and lifted his fake hand to run it through his hair.

Her cheeks burned. Did I do something wrong? Was it because I stared at his hand? It’s so cool. How could I not?

“It’s a lovely story,” he said.

“I wouldn’t call it lovely. More of a fact-based scenario,” Effie said.

“Sorry?” He lifted his tech-hand to cup his ear.

She nodded and leaned forward. “I know, right? It’s getting loud in here.”

Zander leaned forward, too. Close enough for his breath to warm her face.

She shivered, pulling her defenses around her like armor. Don’t forget. He’s a HMM. And HMMs are depraved.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “There’s a cafe across the street that says open late.”

“A café?” She gulped. “Away from here?”

He frowned slightly and said, “I’m not taking you down a dark alley if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d simply like to be able to hear you when we chat.”

She nodded, her belly doing flip-flops and cartwheels.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand with his real one.

The touch sent volcanic sensations through her body. But she warned herself against making more of this than an information gathering session. He’ll probably dump me once he’s had a chance to inspect me outside of the glam party room.

As they crossed the room, weaving through the crowd, he snatched one of the gold boxes from the tree. He squeezed it into his front pants pocket where it bulged, conspicuously.

Before exiting, they retrieved their coats.

His looked like it cost a fortune.

Hers came from J.C. Penney. She thought she’d scored when she found it on the discount rack for only $29.99. Regardless, he helped her into it as if it were a queen’s robe.

In the hallway, heading toward the lift, strange sounds met her ears.

Zander snickered.

“What?” she said.

“Don’t you know what that is?” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t. It sounds like someone’s in distress.”

“No,” he said, striding toward someone’s office. “It sounds like someone’s about to orgasm.” He seized the doorknob and threw the door open.

Two pairs of eyes, from two bodies locked in coitus on the desk, whipped around to stare at him.

The women’s hands were bound behind her back. Her mouth had been bound with a gag.

Effie gasped. What the fuck? Is that some guy’s idea of fun to bind and gag a woman?

Her eyes flicked toward the elevator, her only means of escape. But then, despite her shame, she kept looking.

“Fuck, man, give us some privacy,” the guy said, his pants around his ankles. His generous length poised at the derriere of the woman spread across the escritoire.

“Sorry,” Zander said, chuckling. “My bad.” He released the door, and it slowly closed, hiding the sex tableau.

“They were…He had his…And she was…” Her words lodged in her throat.

His eyebrows creased together. “Too much? I apologize. I thought you’d think it funny.”

“I, um, I’m no virgin,” she stammered. “But I’ve never done it like that,” she whisper-hissed.

A wide grin split Zander’s face.

He’s probably scheming on how to break me into his sex games. Effie seized a lock of hair and madly twirled it around her finger.

When they entered the elevator, her tongue tied up in knots. She pressed into the corner of the lift and stared at her gold Vans.

“What do you like to do?” he said, breaking the silence. He pressed the button for the lobby.

“Sexually?” she blurted.

He smirked. “If that’s where you want to go, I’m game. But I meant for work or fun.”

“Um, it’s not very interesting. I don’t think you’ll care to hear.” She tugged her hair to the point of pain.

“Let me decide.” He pinned her to the wall with his gaze.

“I like…” She tried to think of a more interesting answer. “Rocket science.”

His head jerked back. “Seriously?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

The lift dinged, and the doors opened.

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. As he led her through the marble-floored lobby, toward the night-lit street, he said, “What are you really interested in?”

She blew out her breath. Okay, here goes. “I love biochemistry and physiology. Living organisms excite me. It excites me to understand complex processes in the human body.”

She waited for the blow of disinterest to strike. Strangely, it didn’t come.

Instead, he held the door open for her, smiling. They both exited onto the sidewalk and then started for the crosswalk.

“Are you serious this time?” he asked, coming to a stop at the red light.

He reached for her hand again, and she did not resist. She thrilled with the sizzling contact of skin to skin. The night seemed electric with possibility, something she rarely felt.

“Yes. Go ahead and say it’s pathetic.”

“Why pathetic? I think that’s fascinating. You have a bright mind. I like an intelligent woman.”

The “Walk” signal started blinking, and he led her across the street.

“Are you teasing me? This is the time when most guys bolt,” she said.

“Scout’s honor.” He crossed his chest with his tech-hand. “And I’m not most guys.”

He led her into a coffee shop called Hipsters.

Effie shivered. Some sort of date with this god of a man was about to begin.

He was a big deal. A member of the depraved elite, if she believed her mother.

And she was a great big nobody with a brain too big for her body.