Chapter 5

Holden's guest bathroom is practically the size of my loft. Given that my loft is spacious, suffice it to say his bathroom is obnoxious. The entire thing is cold, gray slate and stainless steel. Something you'd expect in a lobby, not in a crapper.

A basket sits beside the shower with a black sign the size of a postcard that has "With Compliments" written on it in gold scrolling script. Inside the basket is a hotel kit, complete with toothpaste and mouthwash, a razor and shaving cream, and a fluffy grey robe.

Holden's pretentiousness is equally as fascinating as it is off-putting. The man acts like a prick who has everything. Maybe because he is a prick who has everything.

My clothes have seen better days, I've been wearing these since the flight and I still have paint under my nails from doing touch-ups before my exhibit. I definitely feel a little scruffy and out of place in this room. I peel them off — I should probably burn them — and step into the shower.

I close my eyes and allow the warm water to rush over my skin. For the smallest amount of time, its warmth takes my problems down the drain. I forget about Gen, about her betrayal, about Drew and Steph and what brought me here. It's just me and the steam.

There is no need to hurry. I have nowhere to go. The idea of being around Holden, as obnoxious as he is, is much more appealing than making the trek home. Gen might be there, or worse, she might be gone. I make it my mission to use all of Holden's hot water. After quite some time, wrinkling skin, and blurry vision, it's apparent it's a battle I'm going to lose. Genevieve would find her match in this shower.

The water does the job, even though the temple-pounding's still there, it's numb and more bearable. When I step out from behind the glass, I notice folded clothes on the chair and a jacket draped over its back. Did Holden's redhead, (Marissa, was it?) come in while I was showering?

A small part of me is excited by the idea. The larger part can't get the image of Gen and that woman out of my head.

I pick up the first item of clothing to find a dress shirt, with a thin black-tie folded underneath. Of course, he'd give me a suit to wear.

I slide the pants on. They fit perfectly. I can't remember the last time that's happened. Because of my height, I have to get my hems dropped. This makes me wonder what went on during my blackout.

I towel dry my hair and look at the tie. If I'm going to be forced to wear a suit, I'm going to do it my way. I leave the shirt un-tucked, mostly unbuttoned, and push up the sleeves. I ignore the jacket, tie, and nice polished shoes, and slip into my boots.

When I return to the room, I find Holden sitting on a gray velvet couch thumbing through his cell phone. He isn't alone. A leggy blonde's cleaning up breakfast. She's packed so tight into her top, one wrong move and she'll be on display. Her shorts look like they're made from scrap pockets and she doesn't seem to care. Every few moments she glances at Holden with some strange kind of hopefulness in her eyes.

The redhead from earlier is planted next to him, her hand rests on his shoulder possessively and by the look on her face, I wouldn't want to be the one who separates them.

Seated in the far corner, so still I almost miss her, is a mousey brunette with her eyes down and her hands twisting over her lap. She's a mirror of how I feel, and something about that moves me.

There's an innocent quality about her that the other two don't possess, it's a different kind of attractive, beautiful even.

Holden looks up from his phone, and offers a business-like, cool smile. "Finn." His eyes thin into slits when he sees what I've done with his outfit of choice. "Somehow, it's still an improvement."

I thank him even though I want to tell him to fuck off. I don't need his approval about how I look or what I do.

"This," he touches the shoulder of the ginger beside him, "is Marissa, you've met briefly."

I nod. "Hey."

Holden sits forward and Marissa's hand falls off his shoulder like a piece of lint. She doesn't seem to notice, or if she does notice, she doesn't mind.

"The blonde bombshell over there is Nyla."

"Hi Nyla."

She offers a small wave then resumes cleaning.

"And the painfully shy, yet stunning beauty, is my Japanese import, Machiko." He refers to her as someone would an item in an art collection and it makes me choke on my breath.

"Hi Machiko," I say, wishing I had the balls to tell Holden to fuck right off with objectifying her. But then she lifts her chin in simple acknowledgment of me, our eyes connect and it takes my breath away. She's the type of girl I ache to paint, the type with a story in those eyes.

"Nyla, darling, bring our good friend Finn here another cup of coffee."

"Yes Sir," she says, setting the cloth down to fix a coffee. When she's finished, she takes long slow strides and holds out the mug like some kind of peace offering. I force myself to smile into her eyes — it's not easy with her tits hanging in my face.

Somehow I manage to take the coffee without spilling it. She flashes a knowing smile.

"Thank you, Nyla," I sputter out.

"Welcome."

Holden clears his throat. "You're welcome, what?"

I have no clue what's going on. "It's fine, I'm fine," I say, holding up my hand.

Still, she straightens her back and turns to me. "You're welcome, Sir."

"Good girl," Holden tells her.

Good girl? What have I walked into? I bring my coffee to my lips and stare at the ground.

"My Darlings," Holden begins. "As you know Finn is our guest."

My head shoots up to see all three, even the beautiful Machiko, nodding.

"Finn, my friend," Holden says, reaching into his pocket. He sets the red velvet box on the table between us. It's a beacon of my shame and I can't seem to take my eyes away. "I'm going to teach you how to ensure no woman will leave you again, at least not unless you tell her to."

My heart sinks. Am I that transparent? I straighten my back, lift my chin, and stare him down. "And how's that?" I say, making no attempt to hold back the sarcasm.

Holden doesn't even flinch. "By teaching you how to pleasure a woman of course." He smirks up at me. "The rest will come in time."

I laugh. I laugh, because that's what you do when another guy suggests you suck in bed. But even my laugh sounds weak. I tighten my grip on my mug and take a long sip.

"My Darlings," he says. "Which one of you would like to teach Finn?"

I lurch forward, spilling coffee all over the new pants. "What the fuck?"

Holden laughs. "More like who to fuck."

All three of the women are raising their hands. "I'll show him," the redhead says in a lilting tease. "Though he looks breakable." She runs a long rouge nail down Holden's suit-clad arm, and holds back a laugh.

"I can show him too, Sir," Nyla says, and I can't help wonder if it's a valedictorian offering or she really wants me.

I'm sure my eyes are half out of my head. This can't be happening.

The shy brunette at the back is blushing like crazy and although she doesn't vocalize her desire to be included, her hand's in the air.

"What's even happening?" I ask, lowering my coffee, clinging to the mug with both hands, hoping it's not shaking. Holden smiles, which sends me over the edge. It doesn't matter how he answers, I'm determined to storm out of the room and leave this fucked up situation in the past where it belongs. But after everything with Gen I need to retain some of my dignity. "I know I must look wrecked to you but I'm not paying for sex if that's what this is."

A flicker of anger passes through Holden's features. Still, I don't regret a thing I just said.

"This isn't anything, Finn," he says, adjusting his tie and cracking his neck. "I'm merely asking who you would like to fuck. If, of course, you're feeling generous. Really, that will be up to you."

Nyla saunters to me and runs her fingers through my hair.

It's like I woke up in the twilight zone. I'm stunned stupid.

Holden laughs and taps his pinky ring on his coffee cup. "Rest assured Finn, each of these beautiful women are here of their own accord. They're volunteers for the position, pun intended, and you really needn't feel strange about it. They're here to please and be pleased."

"You're sick," I say, pulling away from Nyla.

He laughs again. "No," he says. "I know what women want, and I intend for them to have it."

As he says this, all three nod in agreement. A small twisted part of me actually wants to listen to him. He promised no woman would leave me again, and to be honest, I could really use that. I don't know if I can handle more heartbreak.

"Finn my friend, I'm more than willing to share that information with you." He leans forward, setting his mug on the table in front of him. "But first things first, you must pick one of these beauties."

My body and mind wrestle with the temptation of it. I'm shattered, and a good fuck would be a great distraction. But I'm not the kind of man who does shit like this. "You don't know a thing about me and you're asking me to sleep with a stranger?"

"Every man's dream no doubt. Trust me, Finn. You will thank me. This is the first step to forgetting about your cold-hearted bitch."

His words sink deep into my core, past the place of vulnerability, to the pit of loneliness. It makes me furious that he could impact me like that. That anyone could.

"You're insane." I slam my hands on the chair arm. "And so are your whores." I try to stand, but the blonde steps in my path, hands on hips, her foot tapping. For the first time I realize how out of place she is in her clothes. They weren't meant for her, she's something more than a slutty maid.

She pokes my shoulder. "Who are you to judge us? Do you think I can't walk into a club, or coffee shop, or supermarket, for that matter and find some guy to have sex with me?"

"I...uh." Oh I don't doubt it, my body is already reacting to her pull. I set my mug down and slide a pillow over my lap.

"I'm here because I want something more than sex. Something not many men can give."

It's like I'm seventeen again, sitting in front of my father, the hero soldier, as he scolds me for my choice to attend art school, spouting things about 'a man's duty', and that 'he didn't join the army for his son to be a pansy,' and my mom fires off nasty nods of agreement like sharp little bullets between dad's insults. Dad was always the judge and juror and Mom his executioner. I'm so lost and confused, I feel like sneaking vodka from his liquor cabinet and drowning these feelings. But I'm not home, and I'm not seventeen. I glance up. Nyla's waiting for me to say something, but I have no clue what she wants, so I blurt, "Money?" and as soon as the word escapes I regret it.

"Money?" She scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. I can't help notice how it squeezes her breasts together. "I don't need money you ass. I'm a lawyer, I spend more on a dinner than you make in a month."

"That she does," Holden laughs. "And she's not just any old lawyer, Nyla was top of her class at NYU and the youngest to make junior partner at the club's firm. Isn't that right, darling?"

I'm confused, I'm angry, and if I'm being honest, I'm embarrassed. "For gods sakes, what is it?" I run my hands over my face. "What do you want?"

The room falls silent as Machiko stands and walks toward me. She kneels at my feet in some kind of sick and twisted offering that has my breath hitching. "Pleasure," she says. "And I want you to give it to me."