Chapter 3

“Forty thousand fucking dollars!” A guttural roar burst from Amelia’s throat like broken glass – jagged, cutting, flaying her vocal cords raw. “That dollar-store Elsa lookalike walks in here with her too-good-for-this-place privileged face and steals my party? My money?” Blind rage seized control of Amelia as she ripped open the closet door with such force that it ricocheted back and almost waylaid her face. “I’ll destroy that bitch before she sees another dime in this house!”

“Oh, come on now. You don’t mean that.” Nostrils flaring, Jenn stood rooted in the doorway, arms crossed, the immovable object against Amelia’s irresistible force. Her otherwise blank expression belied years of mediating countless brothel conflicts: payout disputes, allegations of favoritism, and jealousy-fueled vendettas amongst the working girls themselves just like this.

Time to play babysitter again.

She stood witness as Amelia’s fury translated into motion – silk and lace projectiles sailing from drawer to suitcase in rapid succession, price tags still attached to some. “Amelia, this isn’t about –”

“Don’t!” Black mascara bled thin, streams slipping down her already damp cheeks. “Don’t you dare defend her. That Hollywood reject has been here for what, eight hours? Eight goddamn hours, Jenn! And she’s already getting our most premium client?”

“Mr. Johnson made the choice himself,” Jenn said, tone cool and measured. “Management didn’t arrange this or try to undermine you. Mr. Johnson saw her profile on the website and called to switch while on his way. This isn’t about Valkyrie. She had no idea this was happening until I pulled her aside five minutes ago and suggested she get ready. There is no reason for you to be upset at her.”

“I don’t give a single solitary fuck who made the choice.” Amelia whirled around, a lace bodysuit still clutched to her chest. “A forty-thousand-dollar party, Jenn. That was my salvation money. My summer vacation!” She snatched a Jimmy Choo heel and hurled it at the mirror, which cracked but didn’t shatter.

“Jesus Christ, Amelia.” Jenn rushed into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “Get a grip!”

“A grip? A grip?” Amelia’s body crumpled, rotating midair before collapsing to the carpet, spine pressed against the dresser’s wooden frame. Her knees drew upward, arms wrapping around them in a protective embrace as if trying to hold herself together while everything else fell apart. “I’ve been sucking dick in this shithole for five years! Five fucking years of letting all these fat, sweaty, disgusting pigs pretend they’re all that while they wheeze on top of me. Five years of dealing with whiskey dick and premature ejaculation and faking orgasms, all the while listening to their pathetic life stories and pretending I give a damn about their kids’ baseball and soccer games!”

Another drawer slammed shut – a sharp crack of impact – and the dresser groaned as it rocked. “And for what? For what?” Tears blurring her vision, Amelia pressed the heels of both hands to her forehead, her body trembling. “For some undeserving cunt to waltz in here and hook the biggest whale in the ocean on her first fucking day? While I’m left with Finger-Blister Bob telling me how much he hates his wife and wishes he could run off to the Bahamas and elope with me? Goddammit, Jenn, Valkyrie doesn’t even want to be here!”

“Are you finished?” she asked, unmoved by the tirade.

“Not even close.” Amelia pulled herself upright and snagged a bottle of vodka from the nightstand. She downed a hot, burning swig, her face contorting. “Tell me, did Valkyrie lick your pussy too? Lindsay’s as well? Is that why the two of you are so eager to roll out the red carpet for her?”

“That’s enough.” Jenn’s expression transformed, her words snapping like a bullwhip.

“No, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.” Amelia yanked open yet another drawer, emptying its contents into a second suitcase. “I’m out of this fucking dump; I quit. Chastity’s Ranch has been trying to poach me away for the past three years. Better rates, better security, better management. And so much closer to Vegas than here. I hate this house; I fucking hate Flagstone too.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me.”

“Stop it,” Jenn said, levelling her with a glower. “You’re having a tantrum, and we both know it.”

“A tantrum? You want a tantrum?” Amelia’s arm sliced through the air, connecting with her jewelry box. Necklaces and bracelets exploded across the room, silver chains slithering like metallic snakes while earrings pinged against the baseboards. “How’s that for a tantrum? This was gonna be my biggest payday ever. Do you know what I could have done with that money? Do you? But nooooo, all of that gone now because some heartless asshole monger decided he wanted to play musical whores at my expense!”

“I understand you’re upset about losing a big payday –”

“It’s not just a big payday. It’s about everything I’ve ever worked for and had to endure since I got here. It’s about respect, the principle of the matter. I’ve worked my ass off for you and Lindsay. I’ve paid my dues. And now Valkyrie reaps all the rewards without lifting a single fucking finger. Without deserving a goddamn penny.”

Jenn’s expression softened. “I know, honey.”

“Don’t call me that.” Amelia sank onto the edge of the bed, hands clutching her stomach. “I feel ... these last few years, I’ve been stuck in neutral. Going nowhere. You think I want to be slutting it up here when I’m your age?”

The barb struck a nerve, and Jenn’s face tightened before she regained control. “That was unnecessary.”

Amelia looked up, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “So is having some Hollywood wannabe slore show up and take food out of my mouth on her first day.”

“Valkyrie didn’t take anything from you.” Jenn exhaled, shoulders lifting as she grasped both hands in front of her. Though never easy, she’d had variations of this discussion with other working girls, equally distraught, over the years. Always having to placate, to smooth over. “Mr. Johnson – Malaki – made a choice.” Sometimes, the level of patience and restraint Jenn exhibited shocked her. “That’s how our business works. Clients choose. We don’t ask them why.”

“That’s what’s so fucking infuriating.” Amelia’s attempt to wipe her face just mashed more mascara in, leaving it messier than before. “That arrogant prick has never even seen me in person. Just scrolled through our website like he was ordering Uber Eats and decided to swap out his entrée at the last fucking minute.”

“Men,” Jenn simply said.

“Rich men,” Amelia corrected. “The kind who’ve never heard the word ‘no’ in their lives and think their money buys them the right to ruin mine.”

An extended lull fell between them, silence save for the rhythmic musical beats from the bar and the louder, uneven sound of Amelia catching her breath.

“Talk to Lindsay before you do anything you regret,” Jenn finally said. “She’s the boss. You don’t want to quit. She is partying with Justin now, but –”

“What’s she going to do? Wave her magic wand and make Malaki change his mind?” Amelia sawed out a humorless laugh. “Or maybe she’ll offer me some sympathy dick as consolation? Donald, maybe? Oh, for joy, for joy, another night with Lindsay’s show pony.”

“Lindsay might have other options or ideas. May give you a rebate on a portion of your fees owed to soften the blow. You know she values you, Mia. Plus, there will be many more mongers showing up throughout the night.”

“So I get the leftovers?” Something faint emerged from Amelia’s throat, akin to a wire humming just before it snapped. “The B-list while Tinseltown gets the headline act?”

“This is one client, Amelia. One party.”

“A forty-thousand-dollar party!”

Jenn squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, eyes closed as she released a slow, controlled breath. “I know, honey. I know. I know exactly how much money that is. But throwing tantrums and threatening to quit won’t get it back. What will get you money is cleaning yourself up and returning to the floor where clients who actually want you are waiting.”

“I hate her,” Amelia’s words were barely audible, yet laced with venom. Pure venom. “I barely even know Valkyrie, but I hate her fucking guts.”

“Hate her all you want in private. But out there?” Jenn hiked a thumb toward the bar, eyes again cataloging the small spiderweb fracture in the mirror courtesy of Amelia’s earlier rage-fit before shifting back. “Keep it professional. We’re still a business. And neither Lindsay nor myself will tolerate you mistreating her in the slightest.”

Amelia’s jaw firmed into a rigid line. “Just go.”

“Talk to Lindsay before you do something foolish,” Jenn reiterated, hand on the doorknob. “All I’m asking.”

When she didn’t respond, Jenn blew a slow stream of air skyward, ruffling the hair across her forehead, and opened the door. “Oh, and Amelia? Try not to destroy anything else.” One finger tapped the frame as her mouth twisted sideways. “Next time, it’ll come out of your paycheck.”

“So, you from Norway for real?” His voice was deep, very deep, and for some reason it reminded Kristanna of velvet, or a cup of smooth hot chocolate ... without the cream.

“Y-yes.” The lone syllable snagged in her throat as she struggled to maintain eye contact, her body sunk into the three-piece sectional sofa. Though Jenn ascended the staircase less than sixty seconds ago, leaving her alone with Malaki in the recreation room, Kristanna’s heart had already gunned into overdrive. “I was born and raised in Ødegård, a small village outside of Oslo.”

“This not some brothel marketing ploy Lindsay or Donald cooked up, is it?” Lounging on the recliner just opposite her, Malaki brought a finger to his cheek and dabbed it. “Say something in Norwegian, then.”

A tiny muscle twitched beside Kristanna’s eye as it narrowed; an instant later, her posture squared. “Du er enda mer tiltalende i virkeligheten.”

His head jerked back. “What that mean?”

Stay professional. Stay in character. She couldn’t possibly give him the exact translation, could she? Jenn insisted I can’t fan girl like I did in front of Lindsay and Amelia earlier. “Just ... that it’s surprising to meet you in person. I’ve seen you online before.” Unable to hold his gaze, she glanced down, scuffing the gold tip of her high-heel against the carpet pile, a hand fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. “I ... I know you. Know of you.” I’m your biggest fan.

“I can dig that.” Malaki revealed a full rack of perfect white teeth, charming and gregarious. “I get that a lot. People saying they know me from online. I don’t know if I always live up to their expectations, though.”

You’ve exceeded mine.

This wasn’t how Kristanna had imagined her first client interaction would be. I still can’t believe I’m alone with Malaki Johnson. Since making her grim bargain with the devil to enter this profession, she’d never anticipated this magnetic pull, this immense attraction that overshadowed what this discussion – and what would happen later – truly represented. He will offer cash to put in his dick in me.

How could Kristanna even begin to articulate her feelings? This man was cut like a blade and carved like a shadow. Eyes the color of pitch with dreads to match, his face slashed in perfect, beautiful angles. Muscles bulging from beneath his black tee and skinny jeans. Every inch of skin she could see decorated in tattoos, so many Kristanna couldn’t make out the designs, except the constellation of five tiny stars shooting across his right temple.

She then realized what Malaki’s most striking feature was, what attracted her the most.

His aura.

“Most people I meet, they so caught up trying to say what they think I wanna hear, they forget to be real.” His gaze pierced her. “You different, though. I can tell.”

Her chin lifted. “How so?”

“Your eyes. They don’t match your words yet. You ain’t learned to lie with your whole body. Give it time, though. Places like this,” he spun a finger toward the ceiling in circular motions, “teach you that quick.”

I don’t ... I don’t want to lie to you. “I’m still adjusting.”

“For real, for real, I can dig that. Mad props. Jenn told me this is your first day on the job.” He leaned forward, brimming with curiosity, fingers now laced on his lap. “So, tell me, Valkyrie from Norway. How does a sweet girl like you end up in a place like this?”

Warning bells sliced through the fog in her brain. Remember what Lindsay said. Never reveal desperation, never admit financial distress. Clients wanted fantasy, not reality ... even ones like Malaki. Why else would he be here? “I’m exploring different opportunities. Broadening my horizons.” The rehearsed lines fell flat.

An abrupt laugh wrenched its way out. “Management already got you on those talking points, huh? Different opportunities? Broadening your horizons?” Still grinning, he wagged his head back and forth. “Is that the best Lindsay or Donald could come up with?”

The column of her throat rippled with a swallow. “This ... it’s not what I imagined doing.”

“Rarely is.” His tone dropped, his gaze perceptive. “Life takes unexpected turns. I was supposed to be an engineer – that’s what my pops wanted. Now I make videos and play GTA and other games on the Internet and got my own clothing line, plus a bunch of endorsements too. So many, in fact, I don’t even know what all of them are. Sometimes the detour becomes the destination, you feel me?”

Prostitution will never be my destination. I want to be forever gone from this country within six months and leave everything here, take nothing with me.

This house itself had been built by craftsman over a hundred years ago and its downstairs family room boasted scarred hardwood floors and rustic wooden walls. The chick cave, others told Kristanna it was called. The lone place the working ladies could call their own, admitting clients only under extraordinary circumstances. For men whose public personas couldn’t weather exposure – political heavyweights and entertainment luminaries like Malaki – it offered the ultimate luxury: invisibility. Here, there were no accidental encounters or brushes with ordinary customers, no risk of recognition. These gentlemen could feed their most wicked desires while still safeguarding the discretion, without fear, their reputations demanded.

“What did you do before this?”

“Film student at Pepperdine.” This truth was one Kristanna felt safe enough to share. “Hollywood actress.”

“Ahh, that explains it.” Malaki nodded as if putting two and two together. “The way you hold yourself, how you listen – that’s all training, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” A sigh escaped her lips. “Although it doesn’t seem to be helping much today.”

“You doing better than you think.” He added a wink for emphasis. “So what happened to the acting career?”

Again, this was veering dangerously close to territory she had been warned to avoid. Certain clients, Lindsay advised her, will dig and claw and scrape to learn any little detail they can about you, hoping they eventually reveal your true identity. Kristanna’s eyes surrendered to a lengthy blink. Watch what you tell anyone. It could lead to your family finding out that you’re here.

Yet something about Malaki made dishonesty, even deflection, feel impossible. “Hollywood has...” Was it the physical attraction Kristanna felt? The cadence of his voice and how he seemed genuinely interested in her? I don’t have to tell him the whole truth. “ ... no, let’s just say the rejections far outweigh the job offers.”

He reclined back, arms crisscrossing his slim chest. “I feel that. Entertainment industry’s brutal that way. All that talent, all that training, and they still tell you no based on whatever arbitrary bullshit they decided that day. It isn’t right.” Lines brought the corners of his mouth upward. “Their loss is definitely my gain today, though.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes darted to the wall beyond his shoulder, growing unnaturally bright and watery. I should’ve just stayed in Norway.

“You got a different energy. I like it.” He slicked his lips with a quick pass of his tongue. “Most escorts I’ve met, they playing a role hard as hell or they checked out completely. You still present. You still you.”

“Is that ... good?” Ice coated her skin.

“For me? Definitely.” Another smile materialized, splitting his face. “For you? Probably make this job harder, being so connected to everything. Most successful girls, they learn to separate – create distance between who they are and what they do.”

Wasn’t that exactly what she was struggling with? The inability to detach Kristanna from Valkyrie? This is your first day here; you act like you’ll never be able to compartmentalize. Give it time. “You speak like you’ve given this a lot of thought.” Lindsay said her first-ever tour was a massive struggle full of nerves and jitters too.

“I have. Same thing happen in my world – you create a persona, a brand, something the audience can consume without touching the real you.” Even as Kristanna plucked at the hemline of her dress, Malaki’s focus remained tethered to her face. “Protection mechanism.”

The parallel between their situations – so different on the surface yet sharing this fundamental similarity – created an unexpected bridge between them. For a moment, they weren’t client and courtesan, but two people recognizing a shared truth.

“Can I ... can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” He swirled his champagne and took a sip.

Kristanna faltered but then committed to the question burning in her mind since she first learned this man was coming to visit. “Why are you here? I mean, someone like you, you could ... you could...”

“Could what? Have any woman I want?” His visage bled into disrepair. “That’s what everyone think, right?”

“Well... yes.” A blush assailed her cheeks. “You’re Malaki Johnson. You have a hundred million followers on social media, you’re a... billionaire. Women scream and cry and faint and throw themselves at you constantly.”

This time, he suppressed a morbid laugh. “They throw themselves at what they think I am. At the idea of me. At what I represent.” His eyes held hers with unexpected intensity. “You know what come with all that? Expectations. Complications. Entanglements.”

Kristanna was all ears, genuinely fascinated by this glimpse behind the public persona.

“Women I meet outside,” he continued, “they all want something. To be in my stories. To get tagged in a post. To be seen with me so they can level up their own life.” He shook his head. “Or worse, they think they in love with the character they see online, not the actual man.

“Here, in the brothel, everything crystal clear. No illusions, no hidden agendas. I pay for your time, you give me exactly what we agree on, and when it’s done –” he snapped two fingers, “– no complications. No paparazzi, no gossip blogs, no screenshots of text messages sold to TMZ, no unfounded paternity claims.

“You see, spending time with escorts is the most honest part of my life. Might sound crazy to you, but for someone in my position? That clarity worth every dollar.”

Malaki checked his smartphone. “An hour-long party with you won’t be enough.” His eyes turned serious, more assessing, boring into her, stroking her from the inside-out. Kristanna’s complexion had a fresh glow that popped, and her hair fell in silky waves over the thin straps of her minidress. Malaki ground his hands together, cords in his neck strung taut. “Thinking we should extend it to three, maybe even longer if all goes well.”

Reality crashed back with brutal force. This wasn’t a discussion between two kindred spirits connecting on a deeper level – it was the prelude to a transaction. He will fuck me and leave. No illusions. No hidden agenda. No complications. Whatever connection Kristanna had established with him these past few moments had been extinguished by the harsh reminder that this was business, and she was the product.

Gusts of scorching wind whipped across their faces as Donald and Christina stood atop Hoover Dam, leaning against the protective guardrail, and surveyed the panorama. On one side, a vast lake stretched out, its glassy surface framed by the silhouettes of desert mountains. On the opposite, Hoover Dam plunged like an imposing concrete wave, descending to the restless river below, where water surged and frothed from powerful vents.

“Eh. Big damn wall.” Christina gave the structure a slow, disinterested scan. “Looks like a movie set from twenty years ago. Waiting for the big CGI Transformer to climb over it and start attacking all of us.”

“You have to admit it’s pretty impressive.” Donald shifted his weight, leaning an elbow more firmly on the guardrail. “You have to.” He knew reading Christina’s moods was crucial, especially now. “The dam, if I recall, is seven hundred and twenty-six feet high.”