Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
She tilted her head and gave me a pointed look. “I’m helping because you’re my friend, Madison.”
“Well, I really appreciate it, friend.”
“Of course. Hey, I know this sucks,” she said, “but I can think of at least one silver lining.”
She was always so freaking positive. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I bet your new place will have a hot shower. I told Yasmin this morning I’m about ready to suggest we do shower shows on OnlyFans to fundraise for that water heater.” Her tone had an edge of sarcasm, just enough for me to wonder if she was being serious or not.
My pulse quickened as the idea struck me. “Would you?”
“Do a sex show? Please. Nobody would pay to see,” she swept a hand down the length of her body, “this.” Which was silly. She was cute, with a nice curvy body, but she seemed entirely unaware of her attractiveness. “What about you?”
I leaned against the back of my chair and thought about how to respond to her question. She’d probably expect me to answer quickly, to make a snap decision. It wasn’t something that was supposed to require careful consideration, and yet . . .
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Maybe.” Because my answer was yes, but I wasn’t sure if she’d judge me for it.
Her movements slowed and her expression changed, but it wasn’t to criticize. She looked curious. “Really?” When I nodded, the corner of her mouth quirked up into a slight smile. “My cousin is a cam girl. She says the hours aren’t great, but she makes good money.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said in a joking tone, although I was completely serious.
As she returned to face the closet, my mind raced. I was sexually inexperienced, but I wasn’t a prude—nor was I shy. What if the answer to all my problems was a simple, yet unconventional solution?
I sat on the edge of the bench and swallowed dryly, struggling to keep my nerves at bay. The lobby of the hotel was fancy and busy, and it seemed like no one noticed me waiting there.
My gaze was hyper-focused on the entrance. I had no idea what to expect about this meeting, other than it would be with a person named Nina. She’d been the one to respond to the email I’d sent, and after we’d chatted through text messages, she’d asked me to meet her here.
I’d been people watching when an elegant blonde woman appeared and pushed her way through the revolving door. She wore sky-high heels, an expensive dress, and I was pretty sure her Louis Vuitton handbag was not a knock-off. My breath caught as she spotted me on the bench and began to approach.
This was Nina?
She seemed to be in her mid-thirties, with flawless skin and a killer body. I was struck by how she looked more like she was the talent, rather than the owner of an adult film company.
“Madison?” Her voice was deep and smoky, and kind of sexy. “Hi, I’m Nina.” She thrust out a manicured hand for a handshake, which I took.
“Nice to meet you.” I hoped she couldn’t see how intimidated I was. Everything about her screamed money, plus she was so beautiful, it was disorienting.
She smiled and motioned toward the hotel bar. “What should we drink?”
When she started toward the mostly empty bar, she didn’t watch to see if I was following her—she just assumed I would.
So, I did. But my brain went empty as I tried to come up with a sophisticated drink. “Uh . . .”
“They do a great pomegranate martini here. You want to try that?”
“Sure.”
She leaned over the bar and placed our order, but she didn’t take a seat while we watched the bartender mix our drinks. The hotel was swanky and upscale, and when I glanced at the prices on the drink menu nearby, I saw how proud they were of their cocktails. Nina rested a hand on the polished counter and looked at ease in her nice clothes, whereas I felt out of place.
I’d done my best to dress the part. Tight jeans, heeled booties, and a black sweater that was cut low to show off some cleavage. Now I was wondering if I’d tried too hard.
“You’re a student at Davidson, right?” she asked as we watched the bartender strain our ruby red drinks into martini glasses.
“Yeah. I graduate at the end of the fall semester.”
“Your major?”
“Forensic accounting.”
She reacted how people usually did when I told them. Surprise, followed by interest. “Big fan of math, are you?”
“I like numbers,” I said. “They don’t lie.”
She seemed to find that answer fascinating, but then our drinks were ready. The bartender set them down, and she handed him a credit card. “Let’s keep it open.” He nodded, and she picked up one of the drinks before turning to me. “There’s a table over in the corner. We can talk there.”