Chapter 4 Gigi

Tia's POV

The car door closes with a soft, thud. Leather hugs me. His cologne mixes with the new-car smell. Dylan drops two phones into the cup holder and starts the engine, his watch flashing when he shifts gears.

"So, Gigi," he says, amused. "Do you always make men work this hard?"

"Do you always send boys and waiters to say hello for you?" I ask.

He laughs. "I'm a busy man. Sometimes I outsource."

"Sounds lazy with extra steps." I say, looking out the window. 

"You’re grumpy. No boyfriend?"

"Not exactly," I say. "My life is complicated."

He chuckles. "I like complicated."

Lights smear across the windows as we leave the club behind. I don't know this side of town. All I see are quiet streets and fancy buildings.

"You looked bored back there," he says. "Like you'd seen it all."

"Maybe I have," I say. "Maybe I just fake it well."

"I like you," he says. "Gigi."

You don't even know my real name, I think. 

He turns into a driveway lined with lights. My chest tightens when I see the hotel: glass, stone, soft glow. I gulp.

"I thought you said somewhere quieter," I say.

"This is quiet." He smiles. "And comfortable."

Everything in me wants to tell him to turn around. Instead, I think of my life again. The lie I told Hannah. The bruise still under my fringe.

"Comfortable sounds good," I say.

Upstairs, the mirrored elevator throws us back at ourselves: him, tall and polished; me, cute in borrowed hair and heels.

The room is big and smells foreign. He tosses his phones on the table.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, already opening a bottle in an ice bucket.

"I'll start with water," I say.

He pours wine and hands me a glass anyway. I sit on the couch. He sits opposite me.

"So," he says, "what do you do when you're not ignoring men who buy you drinks?"

"Not sure," I say. "Tonight is research."

“Research?” The smirks. “I knew you were bored but I didn’t think you were that bored.” He takes a sip of wine then stands to his feet and takes off his jacket. His phone rings before I could reply properly. He picks up and starts talking business, finally making me bored enough to actually drink. I didn’t fail to note how he spoke of "money" like it was nothing.

When the call ends, he occupies the space next to me and places his hand on my thigh. He squeezes lightly, like he was testing to see how I’d react.

I swat his hand immediately. "I'm not cheap.”

"I never said you were."

"I'm also not free."

His fingers still. "And what does that mean?"

"I'm not here for charity," my heart thunders in my chest. "If you want more than talk, you pay first. I'm a pay-before-service girl."

He leans back, eyes narrowing. "How much?"

"How much can you offer?"

"Don't play games. Give me a number."

I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Fifty thousand."

He huffs a laugh. "You think you're worth fifty thousand?"

"I think I'm worth more," I say. "If that's too much, I can call a ride and go home."

He studies me. "Twenty thousand," he says. "Take it or leave it."

I bite the insides of my mouth. Twenty thousand. Thats more than I've ever had to my name.

"Fine," I say. "Twenty."

"Account number," he says.

I recite it, hoping I still remembered it as I haven’t used it for so long. He types, then frowns at the screen. "Why does it say Tia Kravhus? You said your name is Gigi."

"I’m having issues with my account," I say smoothly. “I'm using a friend's for now."

He watches me a beat longer, then hits send. "Don’t blame me if your friend bolts with it."

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes. It actually buzzes. I pull it out from my purse slowly, like it might burn me.

The notification:

Credit: 20,000.00.

Account name: Tia Kravhus.

My chest tightens. For a second, I can't breathe. Five digits. My name. I blink then look again. The money’s actually there. 

"Got it," I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. I slip the phone back into my purse like it's nothing.

He looks at me with narrow eyes. "Good.” His facial expression returns to normal as he stands and unbuckle his belt. 

My stomach drops.

He smiles as he steps out of his trousers, and my throat goes dry. He pulls me close and reaches for my zipper. My body tenses. 

I catch his wrist. "Not tonight.”

His smile dies. "What?"

"I'm flowing," I say. The lie comes out steady, but my pulse hammers in my ears. "You know. Monthly red drama. It started today."

"You waited till now to say that?" His voice sharpens. "After I paid you?"

"You didn't ask." I keep my tone soft. "And I didn't know I'd end up here. I'm not trying to cheat you. I can still make you feel good."

"You think I'm stupid?"

"I think you're tense and shouting won't get your money back." We lock eyes. "Let me at least give you something. Go to the bathroom, shower and I'll take care of you. That way we both leave here happy."

He stares at me. Anger and ego wrestling with the promise. “You’re lucky I like you.”

I smile like I believe my own lie. "Go on. I'll be waiting for you."

He grabs a towel and disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks and water starts to run.

I move. Heels in one hand, purse in the other. I crack the door open and slip out into the hallway. My heart slams against my ribs. The elevator button doesn't light up. I press it again. Come on.

The doors slide open. I step in, hit "Lobby" with a shaking finger. My reflection stares back in the mirrored walls but I ignore her, afraid of how she might look right now. At the bottom, I slip back into my heels so I don’t look awkward and walk out briskly. Past the desk. Past the chairs. Past anyone who might question me.

Only when I'm outside, past the gate, swallowed by dark pavement, do I take off the heels and tug the wig off. My scalp breathes. I clutch the shoes, wig, purse, then run.

I ran far enough then held out for the nearest person who would believe I’d been mugged. Soon, someone offered me a ride. I held my belongs tight to my chest throughout the drive, afraid that if even one thing goes missing, it might have an effect of the money in my bank account.

Nothing could stop my mind from reeling. Twenty thousand. Twenty fucking thousand. It feels dirty and clean at the same time. Wrong and yet perfect. I think of Jordan's card. Jordan's rules. Jordan's voice telling me I'm nothing without him. This money is ugly. It also has my name on it.

For once, something does. Maybe I crossed a line tonight or maybe I finally found a door that opens when I push.