Dance with the Billionaire
By: Charlotte EveBut even so, I can’t do that. I can’t be ‘his’ for a week – to do with as he pleases.
Because that’s just prostitution, isn’t it? Plain and simple.
And on top of that, I don’t want to lose my virginity to some guy who thinks he can buy me like that.
But then I find myself thinking again about why I’m still a virgin in the first place. This goes way back ...
You never met a couple more mismatched than my mom and my dad. They had nothing in common, but they didn’t have that fiery opposites-attract passion either. It was just arguing all the time, fighting almost every night. And I mean fighting. Crying, screaming, slamming doors, smashing plates; that kind of fighting. They split up when I was really young – just before my fifth birthday. I don’t remember much, but I do remember feeling so relieved that all the shouting was finally over.
I guess you could kinda say it was all my fault. You see, the only reason they got married in the first place was because my dad had got my mom knocked up.
So when I got a little older, I vowed to myself never to get trapped like that. I was never gonna give up my virginity until I knew that the guy was really special, and surprise surprise, I’m twenty-one years old and that guy still hasn’t come along yet.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m inexperienced. I may not have had sex, but I’ve done practically everything else. I’ve just drawn the line somewhere. And I’m not going to cross it for anyone ... anyone except The One.
So you see, it’s not out of some religious belief that I’ve stayed a virgin. It’s simply to protect my future – so that I don’t end up like my mom, some clueless pregnant kid, saddled with a baby and a husband she didn’t love.
Because if I wait for The One, there won’t be any of that. There won’t be any screaming or fighting, and I won’t have to work three jobs just to make ends meet. Because The One won’t bail on me.
But this situation is a whole other ballgame. If I say yes to Dylan Campbell, a hundred thousand dollars would protect my future way more than my virginity ever could. Because money like that could pay for my whole three years at Eldridge ...
I’m still lost in this last thought when I feel my cell vibrating in my purse, and as I pull it out, my panties go flying onto the sidewalk too, right in front of a young kid and his mom.
The mom shoots me an evil look as I quickly snatch them up and stuff them hurriedly back into my purse, and then I hit ‘answer’ on the call.
“So?” Nat’s voice says excitedly from the other end of the line. “How’d it go?”
For a moment I freeze stock still on the sidewalk. How the hell did she know about my meeting with Dylan?! I didn’t tell a soul. Then I clock that she means my audition, of course.
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Good and bad. Listen, meet me at Countdown in an hour and I’ll tell you all about it. It’s been a weird few days. I could do with a drink and best of all, a dance.”
“Funny you should mention that,” she laughs. “I was about to suggest the exact same thing.”
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Countdown is my favorite place in the whole of New York. It was the first club Nat took me to when we started hanging out together. It’s big and loud, laid out on loads of different levels, and sprawling enough that you can be totally anonymous and really let yourself get lost in the music. The DJ’s are amazing, and Nat’s been coming here so long that all the doormen love her and let her in for free, and because I’m her friend, I get to tag along for the ride.
We push our way into the busy club – crammed as usual with dancing, sweaty bodies. But tonight, before we start dancing, we take a seat in one of the booths in the back room and order two frozen margaritas. Almost the moment we sit down, Nat wants to know just what I’ve been up to.
“What do you mean things have ‘been weird’,” she grins. “Oh and where were you earlier? I rang like three times before you answered. Were you on a date?”
“Oh, come on,” I sigh. “Like I’ve had the time to date recently! My audition’s taken up practically my whole life. You know that.”
“Then you need to re-evaluate your priorities,” Nat says, pointing a long, expertly-manicured fingernail at me.
I don’t want to talk about this right now, so I try and change the subject. “Hey,” I say, grabbing her hand to check out her nails. “These are really fierce. Where did you get them done?” I stroke a pointed fingernail; it’s painted a deep purple with glittery diagonal gold stripes and tiny diamante detailing.
