She walks in at 6pm on Monday.

I watch her through the monitors, and finally admit to myself what I’ve shrugged off all weekend. The unexpected twist of her turning out to be a Blackwood Tower employee has turned the tide in her favor. When I gave instructions for the ad to be placed in Blackwood Quarterly, my company’s magazine, the best I hoped for was miniscule but twisted private satisfaction in the interim; knowing I was toying with Maxwell, with the larger pleasure to be reaped when the unvarnished truth came to light. I didn’t anticipate this turn of events.

Lucky. Elly. And whatever the hell other names she has tucked beneath that cheap uniform and velvety skin, has managed to achieve the impossible; she’s piqued my interest for a second time.

There’s a deliciousness in knowing she could be serving me by day without knowing I’d be fucking her by night. That unanticipated morsel has elevated my mood from deadly lethargy to mere languor since Friday.

Well, that and keeping Maxwell twisting in the wind.

Avoiding Maxwell won’t last, of course. He won’t let it. He’s never been great with being ignored. And after almost a week of unanswered summonses, it’s only a matter of time before that particular bough breaks. Languor fades, and I imagine I can feel something.

The intercom next to my elbow buzzes from the team I have waiting next door. “She’s here. Shall I take her in and explain the procedure to her?” Fionnella Smith, the team leader asks.

“Not yet. I want to talk to her for a minute. I’ll send her out when I’m done.”

“Okay.”

I slide my voice distorter into place and wait.

She’s shown into the room five minutes later. She pauses at the door. Her eyes warily assess the room, her body poised with more than a hint of self-protection. Intrigue heightens.

She’s scared of something. Or someone.

The urge to bloody myself with her secrets escalates.

I cross my legs and wait for her to enter. When she doesn’t, I speak, “It’s good to see you again. Come in, Lucky. No one’s going to bite you today.”

The provocative words achieve the desired results. She steps in and shuts the door behind her, while one eyebrow spikes. “No one’s going to bite me any day.”

“Is that your definitive view on the subject of biting?”

She drops her tiny backpack and pulls out the chair in front of the camera, a frown crawling over her exquisite features. “Do I get docked points if I say no?”

“This isn’t a game show, Lucky. I merely want to assess your boundaries. I bite sometimes when I fuck. Will that be a problem?”

Heat engulfs her face, and her fingers drum on the table before rising to curl around the ends of her ponytail. One shoulder lifts. “I’m okay with it, I guess, as long as you don’t draw blood.”

“Noted.”

Her gaze flickers for a second, then she does what I’ve wanted her to do since she walked in. She stares straight into the camera. She’s better composed now than she was in my executive restaurant on Friday. She’s had time to prepare for this meeting whereas then, her reaction to me was raw and unfettered.

I muse over the possibilities as I stare back at her.

Eventually, the question spills out, “So, I’ve got the gig?”

I pause for a long minute. “Yes, Lucky, you have the gig.”

The sharp breath she takes is curious. Her expression isn’t one of happiness or the ecstasy of gluttony satisfied. It’s overwhelming relief that stems from abated terror, like a person snatched back from the jaws of certain death.

Her whole body trembles with the release of the paralyzing feeling. Her lower lip quivers, but she kills the telltale action by catching it between her teeth and gnawing on it.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, Lucky. There’s a reason I’m paying you a million dollars for your time. You will be fucked with, and not always in ways you’ll find…pleasant.”

Her fingers find her hair again. “But, you won’t hurt me, physically?”

“Not intentionally, no.”

She clears her throat. Decision made. “You chose me, and I don’t intend to fail.” Determination born of self-preservation.

Against my will, pique digs in a little deeper.

“No. You won’t. I won’t allow it.”

Her lashes sweep down for a moment as she gathers herself. “What happens next?”

“Next you get prepped.”

“Prepped?”

“A minor ground rule, Lucky. Don’t make me repeat myself. Don’t ask for explanations for things that are out of your control. A million dollars buys me unlimited access to your body and a button on your lip, barring further ground rules to be hammered out. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That said, you have questions. I’ll allow a few. Make them count.”

I sit back and sip the whiskey at my elbow. She doesn’t instantly launch into questions. She takes her time, considers. I approve of that.

“Am I going to meet you before we start?”

“No.”

“But aren’t you worried we might not be compatible?”

I recall the flicker I felt when she served me on Friday. She almost succeeded in piercing the outer layer of the seething blackness with her unexpected presence. At her initial interview, I overestimated what a wall of bricks and glass could achieve. Sensing her close in the restaurant, looking into her eyes afterward, I’m almost certain the flicker turned into a daring little spark. “I’m not worried.”

Cynicism twists over her face. “You sound very sure about that.”

“I have a cock, you have a cunt. We’re compatible.”

Her nostrils flutter at the uncouth words, which surprises me in light of the hardened look I’ve glimpsed in her eyes.

“Does my language offend you?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve heard worse.”

I slot the info away, for what purpose, I don’t know. “Glad to hear it. Do you have any other questions?”

Green eyes probe the camera lens. “What…umm, do you have a name?”

“I do.”

She waits a beat, then I get the cocky eyebrow again. “Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

She frowns. “Then what should I call you?”

“What would you like to call me?”

Her head tilts. “Mechanical Man?”

“That won’t suit.”

“I’m not great with terms of endearment.”

“I don’t require one.”

Exasperation filters through. “So you want me to call you nothing?”

“If you could pick a name or an initial for me, what would it be?”

She stares into the camera for a few seconds, then her gaze drops. The corner of her lower lip twitches, as if she’s worrying her flesh from the inside. Her fingers still in her hair, her breathing alters and a light flush drifts over her skin.

“What are you thinking about, Lucky?” I murmur.

“Nothing.”

“Who are you thinking about, Lucky?”

Focus returns to her eyes. She blinks rapidly and shakes her head. “Nobody. I don’t feel comfortable just slapping a name on you when we haven’t even met.”

“A number then. Or a letter.” I derive detached amusement in herding her where I want her to go.

Predictably, her nose wrinkles. “It’ll be weird for me to call you by a number.”

I remain silent.

She sends the camera another direct stare. “J?”

“I’m not a bird,” I drawl.

Her sumptuous lips purse. “M.”

“Too British spy movie. Tell me who you were thinking about a minute ago.”

She shakes her head again. “I’d rather not.”

“If you insist. Do you have any more questions?”

“The…umm, money. How will you pay it to me?”

“However you want. When the time comes you can furnish me with your wiring details.”

Her brow creases. “Can I be paid in cash?”

“Of course.” I press the intercom on the table next to me.

The knock sounds on her door a minute later. She jumps up immediately, her stance firmly in fight or flight mode. “That is Fionnella. She works for me. Let her in.”

The fight drains out of her, but her approach remains wary.

Fionnella enters and smiles at her. “Hello. I’m head of the team hired to prep you. May I call you Lucky?”

She eyes the woman cautiously, then nods.

“Great. Would you like to come with me?”

“Umm, I’m not sure if we’re finished here.” She clears her throat and glances over her shoulder at the camera. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I have some more questions.”

“They can wait.”

She hesitates, flicks a glance at Fionnella. “Where are you taking me?”

Fionnella smiles. “To another room, to answer a few questions to start off with.”

Lucky tenses. “What sorts of questions?”

Fionnella indicates the clipboard in her hand. “Routine questions about your health, your diet, boring stuff like that. Then we get to the exciting part.” Her smile isn’t reciprocated.

Lucky slides her hands into her pockets in a feigned gesture of calm. But still she hesitates.

“Go with her if you want the job, Lucky. Or leave.”

She won’t leave. I already know that. Fear and desperation hang over her like dark clouds. She casts one last glance over her shoulder before she nods. “Okay.”

I watch her leave, track her via the monitors until she reaches the studio set up to begin her transition. I find myself wondering how far I can push her. How fast her resistance will hold. Whether I can exploit her fear, take this game to another level or satisfy myself with finding out what her secrets are.

It’s clear she’ll do just about anything for the money, despite her feeble attempt to set boundaries. I also get the feeling her boundaries have already been tested.

But I can’t imagine they’ve been stretched as far as I intend to stretch them.

And fuck if that doesn’t make my black soul twitch.