SYLVIE

I don’t think I ever truly understood the word “ravish” until Holt took me on his desk. I had seen the word used many times in books, but I did not know what it really meant until I found myself receiving his release. Clinging to him so tightly it felt as if his climax was mine, as if I shared his hate, as if his release was my own all over again.

Technically speaking, things had either gone to plan or completely fallen apart. In those fast breathing after moments, I couldn’t tell which was which. There was a chance—a very big chance—this had been a spontaneous act and not him agreeing to anything. What was that term I once heard to describe the scene in the second season opener of Insecure? “Hate fuck.” Yes, there is a chance the thing that just happened between Holt and I was nothing more than that.

As if to illustrate my point, I feel Holt stiffen inside my embrace. “Let go,” he says, his voice as flat as it was when he responded to my suggestion about talking to Wes.

Shame washes over me and I do as he commands, unwrapping my limbs from around him. Holt, in turn, moves away from me. Scrambling backwards like I am a snake pit he accidentally fell into.

I disgust him. I wish I was as disgusted by him. But losing our skin-to-skin contact makes me feel instantly bereft—even more needy and insecure than I was ten years ago as a severely cloistered, fool of a girl.

I concentrate on retying my robe, thinking there are questions I should be asking. Questions like, what did that mean? do you agree to my proposal?

But as it turns out, coming in here like this took me to the very bottom of my bravery reserves. And despite being older and more cynical, I still do not have the ability to negotiate sex as if it were a business contract.

“I’m guessing your hotel manager boyfriend was shitty in bed. I haven’t seen a woman your age come that fast in…” he pauses as if he is actually making calculations and eventually comes back with, “ever.”

I regard him for a deliberately calm second, then say, “I’d forgotten that about you, Holt. How mean you can be sometimes. Lashing out whenever you feel something you don’t want to. Like a child.”

Fury flashes across his face. But perhaps because he doesn’t want to prove me right, he says nothing. Just puts himself back together, tucking in his shirt and rolling his sleeves down as if these two actions will erase what just happened on his desk.

“You can go now,” he says when he is done, an expression of irritation flashing across his face as if my dismissal should have been obvious and he is annoyed I’m still there.

I head to the door like a trained dog, accepting his final answer and hoping to make it out of his office before any of the intense emotions I’m feeling start leaking from my eyes.

But just as my hand finds the door knob, he says, “Hold on.” His voice is as quiet as a lion’s footstep.

When I look over my shoulder, he is still where I left him. But now he has both hands splayed across his hip bones, arms crooked like Superman in a button-down. His eyes lock on mine, assessing me like I am a problem he is trying to solve on the fly.

Then he says, “No more interruptions while I’m working. My bedroom is at the end of the hall. From now on, you can go there, get naked, and wait for me. Every night for the remainder of your contract.”

I stare at him, my heart beating in my throat.

He must mistake my surprise for incomprehension, because he shifts and asks, “You’re getting this, right?”

I’m getting it. I understand but I can only nod mutely in reply, not trusting coherent words to come out of my mouth.

He gives me another up and down look before saying, “Tell Allie when your school year starts and she’ll get you a new contract by the end of next week.” Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “Now go.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush out so fast, it feels like my heart is beating inside my head by the time I get downstairs. It worked! I can’t believe it actually worked.

And though the sex I agreed to is my only means of escape from the ruthless billionaire who has roped me into coming here, there are butterflies in my stomach. The same as when I was a girl, too stunned to believe an everything boy like Holt could really be interested in a nothing girl like me…

I rush outside and I don’t look back. I don’t dare look back. But somehow, I can sense him at his office window. Watching me leave like he used to ten years ago.

And as I dash barefoot across the lawn between his house and mine, a Killers song he once put on a playlist for me sounds in my head, “When You Were Young.”