Dudes who give their credit card numbers to Bennet Babes are harder to please than you're probably thinking. But even with all the free shit out there, I know how to get the tips rolling in on top of those recurring payments. But when the show is over, it's over.

Usually.

When the camera's off I just enjoy my life in this crazy, massive mansion. The last thing I want or need to think about is a fan, or some random cam lurker.

Usually.

Yet here I am, three days later, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling in the middle of the goddamn afternoon doing exactly that.

"Mr. Big."

Well, there it is. The first time I’ve said the name of any of these dudes out loud. Outside of the show, that is. I've officially brought my work home, something I never do. But I'm enjoying it way more than expected.

Mr. Big. I think about him stopping a blowjob so he could jack it to my show. Yeah fucking right. I give him credit for being entertaining with his bullshit, at least. That is a load of shit, right, babe?

Yeah, of course.

Okay, this was bound to happen. I have a crush on a dude who doesn't really exist. Occupational hazard. I'll forget about this crap by tomorrow. This is ridiculous. And hilarious. Why am I laughing so hard at the frigging ceiling?

I keep laughing after my door swings open and Lydia flounces in with all her Lydia-swagger. She just stands there, arms crossed, looking at me and having none of it. Well, almost none of it: I can spot her trying-not-to-laugh expression from a million miles away. It's all in her eyes.

"The fuck you laughing at, girl?"

Now I start cracking up seriously hard. Lydia just stares. She knows me well. My laughter finally breaks when I see Lydia look down slightly, the amusement quickly draining from those gorgeous eyes.

Those iconic eyes sell more subscriptions to Bennet Babes than any pair of tits or set of succulent, dildo-caressing lips could ever hope to. Lydia's spot in the mansion is well-earned, as is mine. It feels wrong to see her no-fucks-given face go a bit sour, and maybe even sad.

"What’s all this? What’s with you?" Lydia gestures to me with her hand, her expression suspicious. What the hell is she on about?

"What are you on about?" I sit up on my bed.

"You. In here by yourself laughing like a lunatic. You’ve finally lost it."

"Lady, I lost it a long time ago."

"That's not what I meant. You…" Whatever Lydia's trying to get out is stopped dead in its tracks by the startling sound of Catherine the Great—a nickname I'm smart enough to keep to myself—bellowing at us from downstairs somewhere. Lydia breaks her cool to shoot me a confused look.

I just shrug.

"Well, Catherine's finally lost her goddamn mind."

For some reason, Lydia doesn’t find this funny. She looks properly freaked as she practically runs out into the hallway. I follow her casually, not giving up the joke.

"I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually."

I try to keep up with Lydia as she powerwalks through the corridor and down the Italian marble stairwell. We follow the sound of Catherine's voice like it's some panicky homing signal.

I still can't make out what she's shouting, but now I see she’s standing in the foyer by the front door. Why would she stand there? What kind of place is that for a house meeting, anyway? There are far better places for that in this giant building we call home.

I’m still tagging behind Lydia as we make it to the foyer. Mary and Jane are there already, looking petrified. Catherine quiets down for a moment when she sees me. Her face is colorless. It must be really bad to faze her like that.This shit's getting out of hand.

"I don’t know who died, but I think you're all overreacting."

My remark is met by silence. Damn, no one's laughing at my jokes today.

"Charlie! Charlieeeee!" Catherine launches right back into it, but I can finally make out what she's shrieking about. She's calling for the last mansion-dwelling cam girl still at large.

Not for long, though. Catherine lets herself stop roaring as we all hear the clacks of Charlie's high-heeled sandals reverberating throughout the entire first floor.

Charlie joins us to complete a misshapen, scared-shitless, small semi-circle around Catherine. Yeah, I may be feeling a bit panicked myself. We never have meetings like this.

But I feel a ten-ton weight is being lifted from my shoulders when I see Catherine compose herself to speak to us like she always does. Okay, well she's smiling a bit.

Let's hear what she has to say. Maybe it’s not so bad.

"It may be over."

Okay. Never mind. Scratch that.

What the fuck does that mean? Catherine seems so calm, but turns out what I thought was a smile is actually a grimace.

Fuck, now I know exactly what it means. The realization dawns on me as I hear Charlie's voice squeak out a question, something like "what may be over?" Through my stomach-dropping anxiety, I only make out a few words in Catherine's response: website, jobs, mansion residency, sold.

This doesn’t make sense. I thought I had it figured out. I'm here because I'm goddamn amazing at what I do. As is everyone in this room, including Catherine the Great.

The life we have here is incredible, but it didn’t come easy. Things don’t just fall onto our laps. Everything we enjoy is well-earned through genuine dedication and endless hard work.

It's not like somebody can just take it away.

Can they?

I'm at a rare loss for words. That won't keep me from speaking the fuck up, though.

"Selling Bennet Babes? Seriously? There’s no other site of our quality. And that's because of us. How could anybody just let that all go?"

I feel flushed and legit furious, but Catherine seems calm and starts smiling for real as she responds.

"Oh, my sweet child. You're worried about quality and fairness? This is a business. You know that."

"A business? We're more than just fucking assets!"

I can see that Mary, Jane, Charlie and Lydia are transforming from fearful to confident with my lead. They're not going to sit through this shit, either. Good.

"So, when are we going to get a say in this whole shitstorm?" Mary finally pipes up, with Jane supporting her: "Yeah, when?"

I do my best to keep the heat on.

"It's too late for that. Isn't it, Catherine?"

"Lizzie…" Catherine trails off. She can't think of what to say. I almost feel bad for her as I look into the faces of my fellow Bennet Babes.

Catherine's own stint on the site wasn't that long ago, and I realize that she's handling this the best she can. She’s just as upset about the idea as the rest of us.

"There's nothing anyone could have done, is there?" Fuck, I can't let myself tear up. I can see Catherine already is.

"I'm so sorry. You're right. There's nothing I could have done or can do now, realistically. But, the paperwork isn't finalized. They’re not shutting us down necessarily. Just taking over."

"Who's 'they'?" Now it's Lydia's turn, and she’s asking the right questions.

"Will Darcy." Catherine is back to deadpan, now.

"Who the fuck is that?" I snap. "And who else?"

"George 'Hawk' Wickham is the other gentleman."

I chuckle at the name despite everything. I can almost see the quotation marks on whatever fucking contract they're waiting to sign. I'm relieved to hear the other girls laugh, as well. Yeah, we all know about former porn star Hawk Wickham.

Catherine, on the other hand, plays it serious as she continues. "You may yet get your say. I did convince them to visit while the site is still in operation. I marked it on the calendar."

I’ll say this for Catherine: she would never look to us for gratitude, or even a simple thanks. She does what's right for the sake of it. Plus, she still marks everything on a paper calendar in her office.

Now everyone is looking at me for a resolution. That's what I get for speaking up. I run through my thoughts. I have no fucking clue about this Darcy dude, but Hawk Wickham has the financial chops to make this deal happen. For sure, loaded to the gills.

To these guys, Bennet Babes is just another investment, numbers in a portfolio. If they're smart at all, they'll realize that the people in this room control the value of their investment. The power is in our hands.

With my fellow cam ladies watching me expectedly, I deliver my ultimatum.

"Those guys will want to keep us on. And for them to have us, they'll have to play ball. On our terms. We'll have our own stipulations ready for them."