I’m still flustered, my stomach tangled in knots when I push through the front door of York’s twenty minutes later to check the schedule. Even though I’d already acknowledged yesterday that Jackson Cade’s voice was quite possibly the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, I expected him to look like his dad—pudgy from excessive drinking and partying with a receding hairline. The man I faced in the high-rise office, though, was the epitome of tall, dark, and wickedly handsome.

As soon as he turned to cast that devilish grin on me, my nerves faltered. And when he strode around to my side of the desk to lean his long, muscular body inches from mine—that’s when the rest of my cool flew out the window. With his messy raven hair, golden skin, and a gleam in his turquoise eyes that pinged between scalding and frigid, Jackson Cade wasn’t like any other suit I’ve ever met. He was GQ sexy.

And filthy. Oh, god, he was filthy.

Unable to focus on the schedule on the dry-erase board, I release a curse as his words stream through my head. His proposition had knocked the air right out of my lungs, but it wasn’t nearly as startling my body’s reaction to him. While my head and mouth rebelled against him, my nipples pebbled when we touched. My pussy clenched as he spoke. And my panties clung to me like a fucking swimsuit even though my brain swore up and down he was wrong about making me wet.

Even now, I can still feel his effect on my sex.

“Fuck you, Jackson Cade,” I snap as I text myself my work schedule for the rest of the week. Spinning around, I almost run directly into our kitchen manager. Ziggy backs up against the swinging door and blows a low whistle.

“Damn, what’s got you so pissed off?”

“Work stuff.” I cross my arms over my chest to hide my body’s reaction to the mere thought of that rich prick. Nodding toward Dad’s closed office door, I ask, “Is he in yet?”

“He was earlier but I think he left.” Ziggy starts into the kitchen but pivots around and frowns. “You’re not here because Sabrina called in, are you? Because Brooke said she could handle it.”

I groan. “No, I just wanted to check the schedule since Dad didn’t pick up when I called.” Stuffing my phone into my purse, I sigh. “She’s not coming in again?”

He shakes his head. “She has an appointment with her divorce attorney. Think she’s screwing him?”

“I don’t care if she’s screwing him, just so she’s not screwing us.” Over the last several weeks, Sabrina’s called in more times than she’s made it to work, but my father hasn’t had much to say to her about it. I guess his mind has been preoccupied with the douche in the immaculate office suite. As soon as I picture Jackson again, my mouth goes dry and my panties—my panties are going to need their own Slippery When Wet sign if I don’t get myself in check.

Shifting uncomfortably, I clear my throat. “Did my dad call anyone to fill in for her?”

“No, but—” Ziggy pauses as I reach around him to snatch my apron from the rack. “What the hell are you doing, Flick?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” I grab my timecard from the slot by the schedule board. “I’m clocking in.”

“You were here until eight last night.”

Securing the strings around my waist, I lift my shoulders. “I have nothing else to do,” I lie. I’d planned on spending the day visiting every bank in Chicago for a loan. “Brooke shouldn’t have to handle the shift on her own. I’m working.”

“Your dad’s not going to like it. He says you’re here too much.”

“Good thing he’s not here.” Bumping Ziggy’s shoulder lightly with my fist, I force a grin. “But if he bitches about it, I’ll tell him it was your idea.”

When Dad finally makes his way into the restaurant a few hours later, we’re in the middle of lunch and I’m behind the counter printing a receipt. He doesn’t give me the third degree like Ziggy predicted. Instead, he dips his head, the defeat from yesterday twice as prominent. Before he reaches the counter, I pour him a Coke, leaving it on a placemat spot near the register.

“What happened now?” I ask just loud enough for him to hear.

Sighing, he scoots onto the barstool. “I’ve been out at banks. It’s not going to happen. My personal credit’s not good enough and I don’t have collateral. Like I told you, I’m fucked.”

When one of our regular customers three stools down swivels around to cast a curious look at us, I lean close to Dad. “Do you think they’d consider my credit?” Other than my student loans, I’ve had one credit card and my car loan that I paid off.

“It wouldn’t work.”

“You don’t know that.” And suddenly, Jackson’s voice is back in my thoughts. Taunting and commanding. Promising to fuck me better than any man before him in exchange for another extension. If he only knew just how many men have touched me, he would have choked on his words. “Look, Dad, I—” My phone vibrates in my apron pocket, and I pause. Holding up a finger, I grab my phone, frowning at the Unknown Caller.

“Everything okay?”

I hover my finger over the ignore button but then think better of it. It could be Jackson telling me he reconsidered my request. “Do you mind watching the register for a few minutes? I need to take this.”

Dad says that he will, so I accept the call, hurrying from behind the counter and out the front door as I answer. I pray the voice that greets me is the same that sent ripples down my spine, but it belongs to a woman. Slightly accented. Disappointing.

“Yes, this is Nadia with Green Light Group. I’m trying to reach a Miss—” She pauses, and I hear fingers dancing across computer keys, “Miss Felicity York.”

My eyebrows shoot straight up. “Yes, this is Felicity.”

“Ah, perfect. Let me be the first to offer my congratulations on the success of your listing. You haven’t been live a full day and already you’re trending.”

“Wait, what?” Thanks to the Versa’s lack of cooperation, I hadn’t had time to check the status of my eBay auctions this morning. Of course, I didn’t see the point because I never thought a few bags of old H&M and Express clothes would amount to a success. “My clothes are trending?”

Nadia laughs, instantly making me feel like a child with a cutesy lisp. I scowl. “I see you must be in a public place, Miss York. Perhaps I should—”

“No, I’m alone. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m calling in regards to your auction on V-Bay,” she chirps, and the blood drains from my face. My auction. On V-Bay. “I just wanted to make sure you’ve been in touch with your physician about the…”

And this is where the rest of the numbness sets in. They need proof of virginity from my doctor. A copy of my driver’s license, birth certificate, and social security card along with photos of me holding all three to confirm my identity. They want a letter from my bank with my account numbers for my deposit, which will be wired one week from Friday—the end of the auction if none of the bidders choose the Bed Her Now option.

Bed Her Now.

Bed-Her-Fucking-Now.

It’s an auction I never signed up for, and as I stand outside my dad’s restaurant, I realize my day will end with me getting arrested. Because I’m going to murder Wendy.

* * *

“Where the hell are you?” I shout, stalking into our apartment several hours later. All day long she’s either ignored my messages or sent me straight to voicemail. Which infuriated me even more. “Wendy, if you don’t answer me, I will—”

“Flick,” she says in a dazed voice as I turn the corner. She’s on the couch, with her brown eyes transfixed on her computer screen. Lifting her head, a slow grin widens her traitorous face. “This is insane.”

“The fact I’m about to shove my car keys down your throat?”

Eyeballing the keys in my hand, she scrambles off the couch. “I know you’re mad,” she rushes, putting a safe amount of space between us, “but you did say to do whatever I wanted.”

I toss my keys on the coffee table and drag my hands through my hair. “What are you talking about?”

“When you went into the bathroom last night. You said, and I quote, ‘whatever you say.’ And have you even looked at your page yet?”

I hadn’t, but only because I knew I would skip out on work to track down my friend. “One, when someone says ‘whatever you say’ it’s blatant sarcasm and not an invitation to literally fuck them and two—”

“You’re up to 77 thousand, Flick,” she interrupts. When I only stare at her, wide-eyed and unmoving, she leans over the back of the couch and turns her laptop to face me. “It was at seventy when I got home an hour ago.”

Lifting the computer close to my face, I get my first glimpse of my V-Bay listing. Wendy had taken the bikini picture of me at the beach last summer right off my Facebook page. When I see the dollar amount just above my photo, a strangled cry leaps from the back of my throat. Seventy-seven with a few zeroes in front of it.

“Holy shit.” I sink down on the couch, and Wendy tentatively creeps around from behind it, her eyes occasionally darting to my car keys. “Who in his right mind…”

“Quite a few. No matter how pissed you are, you’ve got to admit this is amazing.”

“You put this up without my permission.” But my tone isn’t angry. It’s just … shocked. Someone is willing to give me over seventy grand. And what he wants in exchange is my virginity.

“Yes, and look what happened.” She reaches behind me for her purse. For the first time since I walked through the door, I notice she’s styled her short, reddish-blonde hair in loose waves and she’s dressed to the nines in a green mini dress and her favorite floral heels. “Wait, where the hell are you going?”

She shoots me an apologetic look. “I’ve got a date with Erik.”

Erik’s a dick, but I simply jab my tongue in my cheek as I nod to the computer screen. “So you do this and then take off. Nice, Wendy.”

“At least consider it.” Sighing, she kneels in front of me, plants her elbows on my bare knees and gives me a pleading look. “And if you don’t want to do it, don’t accept the contract.”

“I…” I can’t find the words thanks to the dollar amount on the screen, though. It’s a lot of money—enough to satisfy Dad’s obligation to the Cades and for me to go to school without student loans for the next two years. I would be crazy not to think twice about going through with this. “You’re not off the hook,” I say huskily.

“I’m kind of hoping you’ll cool down by the time I get home.” Scrambling to her feet, she winks down at me. “While I’m out you should, ah, look at your inbox. It’s fun.”

Fun, huh? Before I can ask her if she’s spent all day sending candid photos of me to wealthy men with a virgin fetish, she hurries off, singing that she’ll be back in a few hours. I smell like a grease trap and the shower is calling my name, but I can’t pull myself away from the auction and the messages waiting for me. When I’m finally done reading them, the bidding is at eighty-two thousand.

Setting Wendy’s computer on the coffee table, I press my palm to my mouth and breathe into it. I can’t believe I’m considering this and that I haven’t contacted Nadia to get my profile taken off the site STAT. One night. All it will take is one night and I’ll save my father and set myself up. Wendy’s right about one thing: the idea of financial security is tempting.

A new message alert stops me just before I start for the shower. It’s from Conquer&Please with the subject line: Bed Her Now? How About Another Proposition? My fingers shake as I open the message, but I’m quickly disappointed to find there’s no message. Unable to stop myself, I fire off a quick note. Did you forget to attach the dick pic?

I’ve already seen at least five, and it’s the only reason I can think of for him to forward me an empty message. I hit send, then hold my breath because he’s already typing a response.

Conquer&Please: I don’t need to send you a dick pic to make myself feel better, sweet. I wanted to make sure you messaged back. Obviously, it worked.

Snorting, I answer: Do you always get what you want?

Conquer&Please: If I tell you yes, will you be disappointed?

Something about his words launches a shot of adrenaline to my heart, but I brush off the strange feeling once he replies.

Conquer&Please: I want to push that button so I can have you now because I don’t like knowing there are other men just as eager to fuck your sweet little pussy. I want that privilege, and I intend to have it. You want to give up your virginity, but I want to teach you how to fuck the right way. I want to make sure you come—on my cock, my tongue, and anywhere else I see fit. I want more than one night, though.

Thirty days.

I want you to agree to spend the next thirty days with me, and I’ll end this now.

Dizzy from a handful of sexy sentences, I leave the laptop. Several times during my long shower, though, I have to grip the wall to keep myself upright because Conquer&Please’s words are wedged beneath my skin. There’s a chance the auction might reach the Bed Her Now amount on its own, but I’m intrigued. No, I’m dripping wet with my sex throbbing. It’s the second time that’s happened today—only this time, it’s thanks to a man I’ve never seen.

As I dry off and get dressed, my brain sorts through all the things that might go wrong if I accept his terms, but I always come back to one thought: I’m running out of time and this is a fix that will take care of everything.

I’m flushed and a little breathless when I return to the computer half an hour later to answer him with only one word. Yes.

His response comes through so quickly; I almost get the feeling he already had it written.

Conquer&Please: Good. I want to see you tomorrow night. The representative from V-Bay will be in touch to give you the details.

My breath hitches. So soon? My fingers quiver as I ask him if he’ll be able to make it to me—or if I’ll have time to get to him—but I receive two notifications. The first is that username Conquer&Please has logged off the V-Bay server, and the second alert speeds my pulse:

BIDDING IS NOW CLOSED AT $200,000

* * *

By the next afternoon, I’ve sent all my documents to V-Bay and they get back to me lightning fast with instructions for my first evening with Conquer&Please. I’m to meet him here in Chicago at The Brighton, a swanky hotel close to the business and financial district. He’ll send a car to pick me up at the location of my choice. I’m to wear white.

When I show Wendy my outfit—a pair of strappy white wedges and the only white dress I own—she gives me two thumbs up and a look that borders admiration.

“You’re looking very … virginal,” she says. I cover my face with both hands and breathe a dry moan into my palms. My best friend is by my side instantly, dragging my hands off my face and giving me a stern look.

“I shouldn’t have said that. You look beautiful. You’ve saved your family’s business, Flick. You’ve just put yourself through the rest of school and paid off your student loans. You look like a woman who’s making shit happen. Relax and breathe.”

Since the driver who picks me up from the coffee shop six blocks over doesn’t say a word on the way to The Brighton, I mentally repeat Wendy’s words like a mantra.

When we arrive, the driver opens my door, hands me a keycard, and tells me which floor to go to. Nothing else—not even when I ask the room number. “Thanks, I guess,” I mutter. He smiles and tips his head.

A few minutes later, I stand outside a door with a Do Not Disturb hanger already in place. It didn’t take me long to figure out there’s only one unit on the ninety-second floor—The Royale Penthouse—and part of me is desperate to run in the other direction. I’m seconds away from entering a room that easily costs several thousand dollars a night to meet a man who’s just bought me for 200 grand, and it’s all too much.

I take a step backward, but then I ball my fists by my side and shake my head.

“I’ve just saved my dad’s business. I’ve just paid off my student loans. I’m making shit happen,” I say, even though I don’t recognize my voice.

I take a deep breath, shove the card in the door, and step into a luxurious, dimly lit foyer. It opens up to a spacious living room with plush white linen couches and an adjoining dining room. Letting the scent of masculine cologne filter through my senses, I tell myself to relax and breathe. That it will be fine. That I can do this.

And then I realize that I can’t. Can’t relax. Can’t breathe. Can’t do a damn thing because my eyes lock with the ones behind the tiny bar a few feet from the dining table. The blue-green eyes are excruciatingly familiar being that I’ve glared into them before.

“You,” I hiss, and he nods his gorgeous head.

“Yes, Little Flick,” Jackson Cade says, and desire and fury pool in my core. “Me.”