LYDIA

Rhys is outside waiting for me. Outside as in he's pulling his car up to the back entrance.

I'm not sure if I should be offended by this use of the back entrance or if that's how he picks up all his girls.

Vince and Payton walk me to the door, Vince pushing it open and holding the door wide for me to pass through. "Have fun," he says, while Payton adds, "Break a dick!" as I step outside.

There's a car straight ahead, sporty and low, the engine purring and the headlights casting a wide beam across the parking lot. The passenger door is on my side so I don't have far to walk, for which I'm grateful, because even with flat shoes my knees are feeling a bit wobbly.

It's chilly, which for Vegas means it's dropped below sixty. The only coat I have with me is Rhys's jacket, folded over my arm. I hope he doesn't want to go anywhere, because I don't have a jacket of my own. It's already late though, and I can't imagine he has a walk in the park in mind for tonight. I hope he doesn't have a walk in the park on his mind for tonight. When I get to the car I open the passenger door and bend, peeking inside to make sure it's Rhys before I get in. Can you imagine if I hopped in the wrong car after all of this?

It's Rhys.

I slide in, pulling the door shut behind me. He's staring straight ahead and the car is in motion before I even have a chance to buckle up. I drop my bag on the floorboards, his jacket crushed in my lap, and grab the seat belt, clicking it into place as he accelerates out of the parking lot and merges into traffic.

He still hasn't looked at me.

"Hi," I offer, because I'm not sure what else to say and he's being weird.

He grunts in response.

I straighten his jacket again, smoothing it carefully so it doesn't wrinkle. Then I toy with the hem of my shirt, bunching the fabric nervously in my fingers because I don't care about wrinkles on my own clothing. When I shiver Rhys punches a button on the dash and warm air blows lightly from the vents.

"What were you thinking, Lydia?"

Okay, so we're talking now.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

And he's mad. Real mad.

"Is it the money?" I ask. "Because—" I don't get very far because he cuts me off.

"No, it's not the money, Lydia. Half a million wouldn't even cover the swag for the casino opening. You cost less than the party favors, so don't worry yourself about the money."

Wow.

He's rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow and his forearm muscles flex as he handles the wheel. His jaw clenches and he's still not looking at me.

"Just tell me, was this always your plan?"

What? "No, of course not." This plan is less than two days old, so no. It's hardly even a plan, more of an irrational crazy idea.

"A goddamned virgin. I thought you were different, but fuck, Lydia."

"Wait, you're mad at me for something I haven't done? That's not even fair. It's discriminatory. You can't discriminate against me for being inexperienced."

"You let me whisper filth in your ear thinking you knew what the fuck I was talking about."

"I liked the filth!"

"Jesus Christ." He takes a hand off the wheel and drags it across his jaw as if he's stressed.

"Okay." My voice catches and I steady myself so I don't cry. "You're mad. I'm sorry. I just thought—" I stop myself from saying more. "Just take me back. You're obviously not interested in me. I don't know why you bid on me. Just take me back." Vince is going to kill me. Maybe literally, I don't know. He'll have to refund Rhys and he'll probably make me reimburse him for the money he lost which I'll never, not ever, be able to do. He'll charge interest and the balance will just keep getting bigger and bigger—as it does when you owe the mafia money—until I'm forced to make a deal that involves me burying a body or lying to the feds.

I literally cannot believe the effort I've gone through for this jerk.

"Take you back?" He laughs, but I don't particularly care for his tone. "I've paid in full. I'm keeping you."

"Whatever! Fine, if you want to."

"If I want to?" He exhales like I've exhausted him in the few short minutes we've been in the car together. "I don't have time for this right now, Lydia. In case you haven't noticed, I've got a lot on my plate right now."

"I know, but I looked it up on the internet and read that on average most couples have sex for seven to thirteen minutes and I don't mind if it's closer to seven minutes. We can be quick."

We're at a stoplight and he finally turns to look at me. "What?" His eyes flash in the dark, questioning, the tiny lines at the corners creasing as he tilts his head a fraction in my direction.

"You said you were pressed for time," I say slowly, not sure what he's not getting. "But it'll only take seven minutes." He doesn't say anything so I keep talking, wondering if I misunderstood what I read. "Maybe you could skip seven minutes of sleep tonight and you'd still be right on schedule." I think that sounds like a very reasonable resolution but he bends over the steering wheel and laughs so hard I'm afraid he's going to miss the light. "Or we can wait till after the opening," I offer and shrug, trying to pretend I'm not disappointed, like it's no big deal. But it's a very big deal. I am never losing my virginity. Like ever.

"This might be the best half mil I ever spent," he mutters but I'm not sure he's speaking to me. "What are you going to do with it anyway? The money?" The fingers of his right hand tap rapidly on the steering wheel as if he's agitated. I'm not sure if it's with me or the red light.

"Student loans," I reply, crossing my arms as I lie. I don't feel like talking to him about the money. I never wanted it, I only wanted Rhys. I only wanted more time with him. An opportunity to understand him a little better, to explore the connection I felt with him at the bar, the connection I know he felt as well. Maybe he wasn't as enamored with me as I was with him, but I know he felt something.

Besides, my plans for the money were small. My deal with Vince was for fifty percent. I was thinking fifty percent of ten thousand, not fifty percent of five hundred thousand. My plans will require some re-working.

"You know how it is. Those interest rates are no joke," I add, looking out the window to avoid looking at him.

"Okay," he says, but his tone indicates I'm full of it. That he doesn't believe me. That I'm a conniving money-grabbing hoe-bag.

We've arrived at the Windsor and Rhys guides the car into the employee parking section of the garage, but to a section I've not been to before. We access it though a lift gate marked ‘private’ and he slides into a numbered space and kills the engine. We sit in silence for a few seconds, Rhys staring straight ahead at the cinder block wall, me side-eyeing him from the passenger seat.

"Okay, well." I un-click my seatbelt and open my door. Rhys follows suit and we meet at the trunk of the car, toe to toe. I glance up at him under my lashes but he's already turning, walking towards the elevators.

He punches a series of numbers into a keypad and the elevator doors open. We step on and I notice this elevator only stops at a handful of floors. The parking garage, floors two through four and thirty-four, where the executive suites are. I'm not even sure where this elevator lets out on four. Clearly it's private and meant as a personal elevator for the executive staff.

The doors open on thirty-four and it looks pretty much like the rest of the guest floors I've seen. Rhys leads the way, his footsteps near-silent on the plush carpet, before coming to a stop at a set of double doors. And then we're inside, standing in a large marbled foyer. Straight across, past a seating area with a large sectional sofa, are floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Strip. It's nice. It's also a little sad. It looks like a combination of a model home and a hotel suite. It doesn't look very lived-in.

"How long have you lived here?" I ask.

"A little under a year."

"Where's your stuff?”

"What stuff?"

"Books? A knickknack? Something that belongs to you?"

"It all belongs to me. I own the hotel."

That's one way of looking at it, I suppose.

"Thank you for the jacket," I offer, holding it out for him to take from me. His eyes drop down to the material in my hands as if he hadn't realized I was carrying anything. He takes it from me, along with my bag, and turns, disappearing down a hallway that I assume leads to his bedroom.

I continue to stand in the same spot because I've never sold my virginity before so I'm not sure what the proper protocol is, or what I'm supposed to do.

Rhys reappears and walks past me without a glance, heading to a bar situated at the far side of the living area. I follow slowly behind, staying on the opposite side of the bar as he pours himself a drink. A shot of something, I'm really not sure what. I'm not that familiar with alcohol either, truth be told. I'm only twenty-two and I didn't do much underage drinking. By much I mean any.

"Can I have one?"

"Do you need one?"

His reply is curt, his eyes on mine as he knocks back his drink.

"Why are you being so mean?"

"Mean?" His brows rise in surprise. "Mean?" he repeats with a laugh. "I just saved you from creepy Stan and I'm mean?" He shakes his head. "Now you're stuck with creepy Rhys instead," he mutters to himself.

"I don't think you're creepy," I say, shaking my head in refusal. I didn't think Stan was creepy either, assuming he's referring to the older guy who was bidding on me, but I don't think it would be appropriate to mention that at the moment. He was super old and I didn't want to have sex with him, but he looked nice enough.

"I just bought you, Lydia. For sex."

"You buy lots of girls for sex," I answer because I'm not sure why it's such a big deal that he paid for me. It's not as if he hasn't done this before, but his eyes narrow and he seems annoyed again. "It wasn't against my will," I add, in case that wasn't clear to him. "It was my idea. The auction was my idea. I don't owe the mob any money. Not yet, anyway."

He sets a second glass on the countertop and fills both, sliding one over to me when he's done. I pick it up and hold the glass to my lips and even though there's not much in the glass I take a sip instead of knocking it back like he did.

"That's terrible," I sputter, setting the glass down.

"That's Scotch," he replies. “Do you always want things that you end up not liking, Lydia?"

"Not usually, no. But one time I bought an ugly sheet at Goodwill thinking it'd be cute when I turned it into pajama pants, but I was wrong." I hold my hands up in a gesture of defeat. "The pants were just as ugly as the sheet had been. I'm not sure that constitutes something I wanted though. It was more of a bad purchase situation but I got them at fifty percent off because they were marked with a pink tag and it was pink tag week so it was closer to an experiment than a bad purchase," I finish in a rush. I think I'm nervous. I wonder if I should try another sip of that awful Scotch? While I'm contemplating that something else occurs to me. "Maybe I'm a bad purchase? Why am I even here? I thought you were too busy to have sex? I could have just gotten a ride home with my roommate."

Rhys has rounded the bar while I babbled and now he's stopped directly in front of me. He places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he whispers in my ear. He doesn't seem so mad anymore.

"Is it happening right now? Are we doing the sex?"

"We're most definitely doing the sex," he confirms and takes my hand in his.