Why the hell was I naked in his office?

Living. I almost forgot.

"I sell sex. We are human. We have sexual, animalistic needs, and there is a market. It's nothing more than a physical act with a literal happy ending, but not for the faint of heart or frail."

"You sell women?"

"If you are implying I rent out whores, you are incorrect. I offer a high-end call service. There is a difference. We are class, not trash, and have clients that pay close to 20k for one night. My girls are at the top of the sexual pyramid. Rigorous interviews and compatibility tests are involved as well. I'm not running a meat service, Ms. Downs. It's offensive for one to imply so."

I opened my mouth and closed it immediately.

"My girls have rights and protection, legally and physically. The rules are strict, and everyone must abide by them, including the clients. Women beg to be a part of The Elite, and I deny thousands, yes, thousands per year."

"I… I…"

"I'm offering you something that not many are given, an opportunity to join my team, to become one of my girls."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"Say yes."

"But…"

"I can offer you thirty a month, tax free. There is something about you, Ms. Downs, something that I want. Plus, I can get a very pretty penny for your virginity. Probably over a million, and you would earn eighty percent of that."

"Thirty? And wait, you want to… to sell my virginity?"

"Thirty thousand and yes. You'd be prime real estate, Ms. Downs. Of course, you don't have to make a decision now. Give me a call when you're ready to give yourself to me."

He handed me a black business card, different than the first, with white lettering and a red shiny imprint of a kiss on the back. Then he poured himself another round of Maker's Mark.

"Get dressed, Ms. Downs. It's time for you to leave. Call my extension when you've made your decision."

"I…"

"Get. Out. Now."

Instead of saying something immature–like fuck you, or you're an asshole–I walked to the pile of clothes on the floor, and quickly dressed. I grabbed the bobby pins from the floor, put my hair back into a loose bun, and glanced at him as I slipped out the door. Mr. Felton never turned around or spoke another word as he stared out the windows that overlooked the city.

The secretary at the front desk smiled at me as I walked by. Two women waited in chairs, both blonde and beautiful. Would they strip down to nothingness as soon as they walked in, just as I had? Would they walk in blind and walk out enlightened by the fact that someone capitalized on selling sex?

If I decided to do this, I would make over a quarter of a million dollars in the first year. That kind of money for a recent college graduate was unheard of.

As the elevator floated downward, I could only think about the offer. How valuable was my pride? When I came to Vegas, I wanted change, but a complete 360?

The limousine, slick and smooth with windows so dark I couldn't see inside, waited as Mr. Felton promised.

A bottle of iced champagne sat next to a crystal flute. Tied around the top was a note with perfect handwriting that read:

I'll be expecting your acceptance call.

-F

"Fucker," I whispered to the piece of paper and I ripped it into a million pieces.

But could I really do it? Could I really be one of "his girls," as he put it?

The limo stopped moving forward and seconds later the door swung open. Light flooded in, filling the dark car with rusted rays of sunshine. Charlie tipped his hat at me as I stepped out, and as I turned to say thank you, he returned to the driver's seat. The long car sped into the distance before it turned right.

Had everything really happened, or was it all a product of my imagination? Did I have a wild side hidden somewhere deep inside? I didn't think so; I'm too modest, too shy, too nice, I thought.

But if I were being honest, I wanted to find out. I wanted to be someone else, if only for a while.

I strolled to the hotel entrance and realized I had left my clutch with the hotel key back at Mr. Felton's office. Idiot. I didn't want to call until I made my decision.

The chipper woman at the front desk made a new key as if it were nothing. I thanked her and went upstairs to my room. I walked in, plopped down on the bed, and thought about my options.

To be one of Mr. Felton's girls, or not to be—that was the million-dollar question.

I lay on the hotel bed fully clothed as my phone buzzed next to my head.

Stupid text tone.

I picked up my cell phone, and opened my text messages from an unknown number.

You left your purse at my office, and I got your information from your brilliantly crafted resume.

I typed thanks and programmed Felton into my phone.

Boiiiiiing. Boiiiiiing. Another text.

Have you decided?

I threw the phone across the bed and ignored the rest of the texts. Maybe the silence would give him a hint?

I needed to leave the room and experience some part of Vegas. I ran to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes—for the second time that day—and jumped in the shower. I quickly shaved my legs and armpits, washed my hair, and even brushed my teeth in the shower. After drying my hair, I put on heavy eyeliner and mascara, and slipped on several sets of clothes before choosing a pair of dress pants, a sleeveless top, and a little suit jacket with sparkly buttons.

The hotel bar was boring as hell. Old people sat around eating fancy pretzels while watching a baseball game. I sipped more of the delicious cranberry wine and then the events of the day filled my mind, making my thoughts cloudy.

Straight ahead, several sized bottles lined the long wall. I wanted to talk to someone, anyone. I needed to tell somebody what I had done today, have him or her console me, and tell me it would be okay. Times like this, I wished my mother were here. I wished I could hear her voice again, her laugh, and the way she could make anything dark become light. Too fucking bad, so sad, a voice said in my head.

Fucking asshole logic won't quit talking.

I called my best friend Abbie.

"Hey, Ab."

"Oh my god. I've been worried about you. The next time I see you, I am beating your ass for not calling me when you got to the hotel. What the hell, Jen? No excuses."

"I know. God, I know."

"What's wrong? I can hear something is wrong in your tone."

She knew me.

She knew me better than I sometimes knew myself.

Although my parents weren't here and I didn't have any siblings, Abigail Green knew me like family.

"I've had a weird fucking day. I didn't get the interview with Simon & Fitch. I was late because of a flat."

She knew how much the interview meant to me. How much I had banked on landing that job. It was my only plan.

"Oh. So what will you do? Come back home?" Her voice brightened at the thought. She wanted me back home.

"No. I had another interview, actually."

"Really? I didn't know you had any more lined up."

"It was an accident, and a huge mistake. This guy walked in on me while I was bathing and offered me a job."

"Uh, yeah. That is weird."

"Well, it didn't happen like that completely, but it did. It sounds weird saying it out loud. And. I got naked in his office."