44. CASSANDRA

I think it’s morning, but I’m not sure. Being sure would require me to open the curtains to peek outside. Or get up and look at my phone on the dresser.

Both of those things require me getting out of this cloud of a bed, and that just ain’t happening.

Carson stirs beside me and lets out a deep sigh. His chest has been gently rising and falling in a slow rhythm since I’ve been awake, which hasn’t been long.

Or maybe it has. Time lost all meaning when we stepped into the elevator last night.

He turns toward me and opens his eyes.

“Thank God,” he says, a hint of red embarrassment in his cheeks. “I was scared to fall asleep. I honestly thought I’d wake up and realize last night never happened.”

“Oh, it happened,” I say. “Three times. I’m surprised you didn’t collapse into a coma after that last one.”

“It was an important night. I wanted to make sure it was worth waiting for.”

I climb on top of him and weave my fingers into his.

“Imagine you’re waiting to taste lobster for the first time, because everyone you know always talks about how great lobster is,” I say. “And then, the first time you try it, it’s the meal we had at Piccolo last night.”

His eyes widen.

“Wow,” he says.

“And then multiply that by a billion.”

He chuckles.

“There’s only one problem,” I say.

“Problem? What problem?”

“You set the bar ridiculously high. If you don’t live up to last night every single time from now on, well...”

He slides his hands under my rear and gives me a friendly squeeze.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” he asks with mock gravity. “Carson Drake eats challenges for breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “And then Matthias whips him for it in the gym later on. That song’s been on repeat for a while now, babe.”

He barks a laugh. I giggle, too.

I didn’t mean to lead the conversation in this direction, but I’ve been taught to take advantage of every opportunity. We’re on the subject, and we’re both in a talkative mood.

“Speaking of challenges,” I say. “How on Earth did you end up in the Chase?”

“I knew I couldn’t avoid this for much longer,” he sighs. “I have to be honest with you, Cassie: I was bored.”

“That much I figured out on my own. You never could sit still – you always had to have something to occupy your mind or you’d go crazy. I’m curious how you heard about it.”

He shrugs. “It was in the Billionaires Club newsletter.”

I cock my middle finger with my thumb and flick his earlobe. Hard.

“Ow!”

“There’s more to come if you don’t smarten up,” I say. “I’ve interrogated men in ratholes in the Middle East who would eat you the way you eat challenges.”

He goggles at me.

“Is that true?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say with a grin. “The fact that you have to ask means I’ve done my job.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“Now: how did you really hear about the Chase?”

Carson props himself up on his pillows. I do the same – it’s more suited to serious conversation.

“I have a friend named Maksim,” he says. “His family is connected to the Russian mob, though I’m pretty sure I’d have a hard time proving that. He put me in touch with someone who brokered the deal.”

Brokered the deal. Hmmm.

“Let me guess,” I say. “About five-eight, long blonde curls, crimson lipstick?”

“Seriously? You know her?”

“She brokered my deal, too.”

“Huh,” he says. “Makes sense. They probably don’t want to do the dirty work themselves, so they contract it out.

“Your turn: how did you find out about the Chase?”

It seems like a thousand years ago now, even though it’s only been a few months.

“I was doing research for work. I came across a cryptic site on the dark web offering a commission for anyone who could connect the poster with someone who had – let me make sure I remember this exactly – ‘a very unique set of circumstances.’”

Carson’s eyebrows go up.

“That’s a pretty good way to describe it,” he says.

“It piqued my interest,” I say. “The first thing that came to mind, obviously, was sex slavery. But the more I discovered about it, the more I realized it wasn’t a criminal operation. At least not in the strict sense of the word.

“They were looking for a woman who had counter-espionage or intelligence-gathering skills. Someone who could lead a bunch of rich, old men on a merry – old – chase.

“And, of course, they had to be a virgin, and willing to… submit to the winner.”

I blush, even now, after everything. Carson smiles and kisses my hot cheek.

“In return, the quarry would get $250,000 a day,” I continue. “That kind of money represented a freedom I didn’t even know I wanted. As soon as I saw it, all I could think about was leaving the underground lifestyle behind and becoming financially independent.

“I think I finally realized that I only signed up because my father pushed me into it. He said it was my duty to the country to use my smarts to save American lives.

“But when you wake up one day to discover you’re thirty years old and you’ve never even been to bed with a man, you start to get a new perspective.”

Whoa. That was a revelation. I suppose I’ve had those thoughts before, but I’ve never articulated them like that, to myself or anyone else.

“Your dad is definitely a demanding guy,” Carson says. “How did he take the news that you wanted out?”

I wince. “How do you think? He said I was wasting my potential. Disappointing my country. Disappointing him.” Even now it hits me in the gut like a haymaker.

“You know what? I think what you’re doing now is discovering your potential. We’re both living proof that you don’t know what you’re capable of until you go for it.”

He always knows exactly what to say. I could get used to that. To this. For the rest of my life.

“If I had a glass of champagne, I’d toast you,” I say.

Suddenly his expression darkens.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “You only got $250,000 a day for this?”

“Only? That’s a lot of money.”

“My buy-in alone was $20 million.”

Holy shit. Wealth may be relative, but that’s a serious wage gap.

“Those bastards,” he says. “I thought it would be at least a million a day. That’s an obscene profit margin.”

I shrug. “Most obscenely rich people don’t get where they are by undercharging, Carson.”

His face lightens and he doubles over, covering his heart with his hand.

“That hurts,” he groans.

“The truth often does,” I say. “Better get used to it. Because I don’t swing and miss.”

He smiles absently. I’ve seen this look before: there’s an idea percolating in his head. I’ve missed that look. God, how I’ve missed it.

“You’re right,” he says.

“I always am. Which instance are you referring to?”

“I’m obscenely rich.”

“Well, the first step is admitting it, I guess.”

“We should be doing the kind of things obscenely rich people do together. Last night was a good start, but there’s all sorts of stuff we could be doing. The only limit is our imagination.”

The thought sends a little thrill through me. If last night was only a sample of what life could be like, I think I could get addicted to it.

“Just one thing,” I say. “You’re obscenely rich. I’m not.”

“Who cares, as long as one of us is?” he says. “Your time is coming, babe. And when that ship comes in, you better believe you’re going to be picking up the check. I’m a firm believer in feminism.”

I punch his shoulder.

“We need to make some plans,” he says. “What do obscenely rich people do?”

I put my lips to his ear and take his left hand in mine, placing it between my thighs. His touch makes me instantly wet.

“Do obscenely rich people fuck?” I whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he whispers back. “Obscenely.”

Turns out he’s right.