I wasn’t one of those girls who couldn’t separate love from sex. I’d had my fair share of one-night stands before marrying Kevin. And if I was going to sell my body, at least I’d be doing it in a high-scale establishment.

Besides, if I lived simply and made decent money, I could crawl out of the sinkhole I had been in for the last eight months and maybe finally have a brighter future with Sophie.

Having sex with strangers was a means to an end. It wasn’t something I would have to do forever.

I pushed on his chest until a few feet separated us. Turning around, I widened my stance and bent over. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a quick intake of breath behind me, but I couldn’t be sure. Just as quickly as I bent down, I lifted myself back up and spun around to face the men.

“You’re no better than Dick over at Pussy Willows.” At the mention of Dick’s name, the man’s face darkened and the energy in the room became electric. I took a step back, amazed that his mood could so thoroughly fill the room, but continued on my tirade.

“If this is what men want from me, fine! It’s theirs. I’ll do whatever it takes, and while you might have me between a rock and a hard place, it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a little bit of respect either.” I finished my rant on a shout, my chest heaving with frustration.

A look of admiration flitted across his features and the danger level in the room lowered before he spoke to Ghost. “Marx called and wants a girl for the night. Send…” He trailed off, waiting for my name.

“Alyssa. Alyssa Swanson,” I answered him, hope blooming in my chest that he wasn’t scraping me off just yet, especially after my outburst.

“Send Alyssa.” Then he stepped forward so that his body was brushing mine again, my hard nipples grazing his chest. “This is a trial. Pass tonight and we’ll go from there.”

Ghost was looking at his boss like he was crazy. And maybe he was. Didn’t matter, though. I’d make this work. I could practically see a better future forming right before my very eyes.

“A car will pick you up at nine o’clock sharp tonight. You better not be late.” With that he stormed out, leaving me standing there completely naked and reeling from his absence.

Xavier O’Brien sat at the large, distressed oak desk staring at a piece of paper but not actually seeing the words written on it. Not when all he could see was the blinding beauty of Alyssa Swanson. The fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the dip of her naval, her creamy white thighs and the small strip of hair between them.

She was such a paradox. Her eyes wide with innocence, her face full of vulnerability, and a body of fucking sin—hot, sweaty, no-holds-barred sin. His favorite kind.

His fingers tightened around the pen in his hand at the reminder of the way she drank in the sight of him, her teeth sinking erotically into her bottom lip when he informed her if she wanted a job in this business he’d damn well know what he was selling. She wanted that, he thought, for him to sample her. And fuck but he wanted that too.

“Boss?” Ghost broke Xavier from his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“What?” he barked at the man in the doorway, mostly pissed that the images on play in his mind of Alyssa’s body were being interrupted.

“You sure you want to send her to Marx?” Ghost’s face was hard, all business where the lovely brunette was concerned. Xavier chose not to explore why he was far more pleased than he should have been at the realization that the man wasn’t taken with her. He might not like the answer he discovered if he did.

If it weren't for the fact that he paid Ghost to help run the business, he would have shot the man for even implying that he didn’t know what he was doing. Just the same, he pulled the Glock out of his drawer and leveled it on him. A little fear, even in your right-hand man, went a long way in this business.

“I call the fucking shots around here and I said to set it up. I don’t pay you to question me.” Xavier’s tone was cold and lethal, exactly what he was known for. It was the reason he was still alive. “Follow her and report back to me. If she so much as sneezes, I want to know about it.”

With a quick nod and a blank face, Ghost shut the door behind him, leaving Xavier alone with his perilous thoughts.

Alyssa Swanson was a distraction—a dangerous one—and he would do well to remember that.

At nine fifteen on the dot, the black town car pulled up to the high-rise building made of mostly glass. The driver opened the door and held his hand out to help me from the car. Standing on the sidewalk, I looked up, and up, and up towards where Marx’s condo was located—all the way up the forty-two stories—the penthouse level.

My mind was working overtime after the day I’d had. Between signing up to be a prostitute and then lying to Ruth about being a prostitute—something I detested greatly—I couldn’t calm my brain if I tried.

To say Ruth was disappointed in my decision to be a stripper would be an understatement. She lectured me for a solid twenty minutes before I finally couldn’t take it and had to politely tell her it was my life and I would live it the way I saw fit. She finally agreed that she didn’t have to approve of my choices, only support me as I made them. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, and seeing as she was the only person I considered a friend, and with no family to speak of, it would suck if I had to cut her out of my life.

Which is why I lied to her. It made me feel guilty and shady, but it was the only way to save her from both the heart attack I was sure she’d have and from having our relationship combust instantaneously. She had been good to me, and I owed her not to have her worry as much as I knew she would if she learned the truth about me selling my body to the highest bidder.

Women made good money exposing their bodies in one way or another all the time. Even models pimped their bodies out for people to ogle and exploit. I was choosing to believe I was no different.

I knew that one day I very well might look back on my decision and regret it. Sophie might not understand her mother’s decision to sell her body when she was old enough to know what that meant. Maybe she would be proud of me for being self-assured and strong enough to make a hard decision for the greater good rather than be ashamed of me. I didn’t know.

Life wasn’t all about getting what you wanted. But I was damn sure going to make certain we had what we needed.

With a deep, calming breath to soothe my rattled nerves, I walked towards the entrance of the building where a doorman ushered me inside. One look at the décor and I knew I was out of my element. White marble gleamed from every surface of the lobby, announcing to anyone who walked through it that it was a fancy establishment.

A portly, older man stood from the desk and smiled at me as I approached.

“Good evening,” he welcomed me warmly.

“Good evening,” I returned. “I’m here for Mr. Marx.”

“Your name?”

“Uh… Alyssa Swanson,” I answered. If he noticed my slight hesitation, he didn’t mention it. Were prostitutes allowed to use their real names? The Den would have told me if I needed an alias, right?

“Oh yes, ma’am. Your name is on the list. I’ll just call up to Mr. Marx and get the elevator for you.” A small part of me sagged in relief that there were no issues to contend with. Real name it was, then.

I gave him a smile that probably did nothing to hide my nerves, and a few minutes later I was standing on the elevator as it smoothly rose up to the top floor. Each second felt like an eternity as I drew closer and closer to my fate. Doubt niggled at the edges of my brain, and I feared I might bolt before the deed was done.