The Arrangement

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consentual or reluctant sex.

*

*

What was I doing here?

I watched as everyone walked around...chatting one another up...mingling, that was the right word, wasn't it?

I'm not a social person, so even a 'small get together,' with 50 or so people, in a posh hotel suite, was too much for me. Nevermind the reason I was

really

here. I mean...I didn't even want to think about

that

.

I snagged my third glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not feeling at all comfortable in a shocking, ruby read, form-fitting cocktail dress. The dress looked amazing against my caramel skin, even I had to admit that. It hugged every curve, and I had plenty. The black lace Vicki Secrets bra did its job, pushing up my full breasts and practically spilling them over the low bust line. And then there was the small strip of black lace lodged between my generous buttocks...not at all comfy. My hair was pulled back into a severe bun, highlighting my cheekbones and perfectly arched brows. My full lips were died a matching ruby red, my hazel eyes outlined in heavy, smoky liner...I looked fantastic. The problem was I was

totally

uncomfortable. These were not my clothes. I was much more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt. I hadn't done my own make-up because I always went for subtle, not racy or smoky. And bottom line? I didn't want to be at this damn party.

I sipped the champagne. Having downed the first two glasses like a woman dying of thirst, I was now beginning to feel the buzz. I didn't like champagne much either. I sighed, okay, I had to stop bitching and moaning, even in my head. My job was to try and fit in, try to relax...try to be 'appealing.' It wasn't working...or maybe I just needed to work harder at it? I didn't know...I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb.

A part of my brain kept thinking...what kind of woman gets herself into this mess at the age of 36? I mean...I was a web-designer. I helped small businesses design and maintain their webpages. I didn't have a degree in this area, I actually had an undergraduate degree in Political Science, but I had a knack for it and a small but steady pool of clients. And I was doing okay for myself. My husband had a degree in mechanical engineering. Do you know how rare it is to find a black man with a degree in engineering? So, he'd had his choice of jobs and made four or five times my salary. We'd been married for five years. And we'd been doing...okay. I mean, the thrill was gone, we'd both gained a little weight, Mason was now balding (I thought it was cute, but he obsessed over it) and we didn't have sex very often. But we were married and it was...okay. He also worked a lot of hours. We lived in a suburb of Philadelphia and he worked in the city, often staying overnight in a tiny apartment we rented just so he wouldn't have to drive home late. Now, lots of women would think their husbands would use that apartment to cheat. I didn't think Mason would cheat. He had enough respect for me that if he wanted to sleep with another woman, he would divorce me first. And I felt the same way. The minute I wanted another man, I would just tell him and we would start divorce proceedings. No, Mason had another problem that concerned me. But we'll get to that later...

I glanced around at the people again...they were attractive. There were an equal number of males and females and everyone was dressed quite nicely. I'm not sure how often this type of party took place, I didn't attend these types of parties typically. It seems Julian, a 'friend' of my husband's, hosted one every few weeks and the guest list was pretty exclusive. Most of the women in attendance were like me. Very attractive (or in my case relatively attractive), dressed to highlight our bodies, strutting around in thousand dollar high heels (the heels also were not mine), educated... black, Hispanic, white and Asian... The men also came in all colors, shapes and sizes. I think the most important criterion they had to fill was the amount of money in their bank accounts.

To me, everyone seemed to be having a good time. No one else seemed bothered by this type of event. They were drinking, chatting, laughing...getting to know one another. I'd attempted to engage in polite chitchat, but I wasn't much for small talk...and did I mention I was still freaked out about being here?

"You look like you're going to bolt first chance you get," a deep voice said behind me. A deep voice, but clearly a woman's voice. Perhaps a comrade in arms?

I smiled to myself, thinking that was the understatement of the year. I turned, prepared to share my sense of doom with a woman also trapped in this situation, but the words faded from my brain.

She was tall...taller than me and I'm about average height. And she had amazing shoulders, especially for a woman. Broad...nicely shaped. She wore a simple, excellently cut black suit that probably cost more than I earned in six months. Her hair was long, pulled back and braided into one long braid that hung down her back. Her skin was a rich, coppery brown, her cheekbones high and pronounced...the hair, skin color and cheekbones screamed of a Native American background. And she had the most amazing eyes...so dark they looked black. Intense eyes...mysterious eyes.

She looked good. Quite attractive.

I could feel the champagne zinging around my bloodstream. That was the only explanation for why I didn't run. That was the only explanation for why I took a deep breath, smiled, and batted my long, mascara-thickened lashes.

"You have no idea how appealing that sounds," I teased.

She smirked, sipping at gold colored liquid in a short, thick glass.

"Not your cup of tea?" She asked.

I shook my head, "not even close."

She raised a brow, "so what would you normally be doing on a Saturday evening?"

"I'd be dressed in boxer shorts and a tee, watching something corny on television. Perhaps pigging out on ice cream." Not an overly appealing image, but for some reason, regardless of what I was truly doing here, I wasn't trying to impress her. I just...I don't know. Something about her appealed to me on some elemental level...and I felt relaxed talking to her, not tense and frantic like most of the other people here made me feel.

She laughed at my comment...and I really liked her laugh. Deep, husky...sexy. The thought should have bothered me, but it didn't.

"Well, as appealing as that sounds, I like the way you look tonight. You're quite lovely."

I smiled, my cheeks warming a little, "thanks."

She nodded, indicating my mostly empty glass.

"Can I get you another?"

I shook my head, "this is my third. If I have another, you'll have to carry me out of here."

She raised a brow, "so, another drink then?"

I laughed...she was quite charming. And did I mention sexy as hell? I hadn't been attracted to a woman since my adventures in college, so this was quite the surprise.

Her eyes were watching me closely, carefully, seemingly taking in everything about me. A moment passed between us and then she stuck out her hand.

"Kaden Knight."

I smiled, tilting my head to the side. "Cool name. I'm Isabella. Isabella Frey."

She raised a brow again, "odd name for a black woman."

I chuckled, thinking of all the teasing I'd received as a kid, "tell me about it."

"What do they normally call you?"

"Izzy."

She nodded, "pretty. But I think I like Isa more."

I laughed outright, "presumptuous of you."

She winked, "you have no idea."

*

She moved us into one of the rooms that had small round tables and padded leather chairs, comfy sofas and its own bar. The room was dimly lit, soft jazz piped through hidden speakers...there was a soft hum from the other people sitting around chatting...it was cozy. Once there, we talked and talked and talked...and I forgot all about the reason I was really attending this party. She was

amazing

. Funny, charming, intelligent. She had a graduate degree from Harvard. She was African American and Sioux. She'd traveled all over the world, including Turkey, different parts of Africa and Iceland. I noticed small things about her as she sat beside me on an oversized sofa, relaxed and, once again, sexy as all hell. Like the diamond stud in a piercing at the top of one ear. The nicely developed muscled biceps and thighs barely concealed by what had to be a tailored suit considering it fit her perfectly. The wonderfully heady cologne she wore that seemed to be fusing with the champagne buzz I already had going and creating the most delicious sensations...

She was witty...sweet...and funny.

She actually listened when I talked about growing up in West Philadelphia, an only child of a single father who'd died when I was 16. He'd had me declared an emancipated minor before he died, so I was able to keep our apartment. And his life insurance had put me through school. She didn't seem to lose interest when she glanced at my ring finger, instead asking about my husband directly. I told her about him...how we'd met through an online dating service, married a year later...the struggles we faced as a couple...

She'd never married, which she claimed most people thought was odd considering she was now in her early 40s. She said she'd never met the right woman...and we both ignored the brief awkward silence that settled between us as she took me in with those dark eyes after saying that.

I have no idea how long we'd been talking. Then my phone buzzed and I glanced down, realizing it was 1am and, technically, I was 'allowed' to leave. She noticed the time also and we both stood at the same time.

"I need to—"

"Would you like to—"

We both stopped and chuckled. I waved a hand in her direction.

"You go."

"Would you like to go someplace? Maybe get a cup of coffee?"

And I froze. Suddenly who I was, where I was, and what I was supposed to be doing snuffed out whatever camaraderie we'd shared. I smoothed down the snug fitting dress, glancing at the shoes pinching my toes, no longer wanting to look into those mesmerizing dark eyes. How could I have forgotten why I was here? How could I have forgotten that she

knew

...she

expected

...and she was

entitled

...to me.

"I—"

I started, but I was caught off guard when she placed a finger beneath my chin, lifting it up until our eyes met.

"It's not like that, Isa. No expectations. I'd just like to spend more time with you."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to turn the clock back to just a few minutes before I'd remembered my place. But it was too late for that now. The bubble had burst. I swallowed, moving back a step so she was no longer touching me.

"I'll be at the next party. Maybe next time?"

I turned to leave, but she grabbed my hand, gently, and turned me back to her.

Before I could say another word, before another thought passed through my brain, she lowered her head and...kissed me. Softly... sweetly... just a whisper of her lips against mine... and I felt the warmth of her move through me all the way down to my toes. A second later, she took a step back, a small smile on her lips.

"Until next time then."

And I stood there, frozen, watching as she walked away.

*

She moved through the crowd, unbuttoning her tailored jacket, searching... She saw him chatting with a small group and approached, ignoring the eyes that followed. She was used to people watching her, especially once they realized who she was.

Julian had extracted himself from the group by the time she reached him. She expected no less. People catered to her, it was expected. Money, lots of it, had a way of doing that. And she could see he was a little nervous as he closed the distance between them, something that also very often framed her interaction with people.

"Kade, dude, you leaving already?"

"Isabella," she demanded, ignoring his question.

Julian raised a blonde eyebrow, his green eyes curious. Kaden had attended any number of these little get-togethers. Rarely did she find a woman that piqued her interest. And if she did, she certainly didn't ask about her. She simply paid the fee and left with her. But Isabella...clearly had intrigued her. And Kaden obviously didn't give a shit that the woman was married. Julian himself had wondered what kind of man would ask his very attractive wife to attend this type of affair...

"Oh, well, she's an interesting story," Julian started.

Kaden raised a brow, listening intently as he shared.

*

"How'd it go?"

I shimmied out of the dress, having kicked off the shoes and let my hair down, making a mental note to dry clean and send the clothes back to Julian as soon as possible. Was he actually asking me how the evening had gone? Well, I guess he had more of a vested interest in the outcome than I did. I hung up the dress and was removing the very expensive undergarments (which I was allowed to keep), on my way to the bathroom before I answered.

"One possibility. We made plans for the next event."

He didn't respond and I turned to him, naked, ignoring the hunger that flared in his warm brown eyes.

"Did you sign the divorce papers?"

His body jerked a bit, as if I'd physically struck him. He nodded...and I closed the bathroom door between us.

*

A few days before the next gathering hosted by Julian, the packages arrived again. This time the clingy cocktail dress was a rich dark coffee, sexy underwear, expensive shoes and designer purse to match. An outfit that easily cost over a thousand dollars, not including the shoes. Certainly more than I could ever pay for one evening's wear.

I wore my hair out this time, thick, loose curls that framed my face nicely. I didn't do my make-up, knowing the make-up artist at Julian's would take care of it. I glanced at my phone a few minutes before the car Julian sent for me was scheduled to arrive, opening the door to our bedroom (actually, it was now

my

bedroom), and ignoring Mason as I walked to the front door.

"Babe—" he started.

But really, what was there to say? He'd put me in an impossible position. And now I was forced to do something that I would never have imagined myself doing. All because of him.

So I didn't stop. I just kept walking, closing yet another door between us. Julian's car didn't show at the appointed time, so I hailed a cab in order to avoid being late.

*

The make-up artist did my face in complementary shades of browns...eye shadow, blush, lipstick...she was a damn genius. Julian's assistant didn't like my hair down, so now it was pulled up into a fancy bun, wisps artistically escaping to frame my face delicately. As I stood staring in the mirror, I wondered why I couldn't dress myself like this. I looked damn good. It was almost as if I was staring at someone else in that mirror.

I glanced at my phone again...and could now admit that my stomach tensed just a little at the thought that Kaden Knight might be in attendance. I'd caught myself thinking about her, but had forced myself to stop. There could be nothing between us. The context in which we were meeting, her tax bracket (an assumption given the fact that she'd been invited to one of Julian's soirees)... fantasy didn't even begin to describe the only way I could have any type of friendship, or whatever, with her. I shook my head. If nothing else, having been on my own since 16, I was a realist. I didn't do fantasy. I wouldn't start now. 'So,' I told myself, 'just remember why you're here and you won't get caught up like you did last time.'

A group of us left the dressing suite together and rode up to the penthouse. A different set of faces in the same fancy suite. The first thing I did was find a glass of champagne. I downed it quickly and grabbed another as my eyes, of their own volition, searched the space for a tallish, bronzed body with hair braided down her back and fantastic cheekbones...

"Izzy, what're you doing here?"

I turned and took in our tall, blonde, very attractive host. I had no idea what Julian did for a living...but all of it seemed to be illegal. I know he took bets. I know he sold certain drugs (many of which were available at these parties for an additional cost). And I know he hosted parties. I'd met him through my husband, so our relationship was strained to say the least.

"What do you mean? We agreed I'd attend at least six of these."

He hesitated, looking at someone over my shoulder and indicating they should wait for him. He grabbed my arm and led me into one of the other rooms. This one was a small bedroom, nicely decorated in teal and white. I stepped away from him nervously.

"No, I meant, I called your husband. Told him he was paid up."

I looked up at him.

"What?"

"He didn't tell you? I called earlier tonight. His account was paid."

I briefly recalled Mason trying to get my attention before I left tonight and the car that was supposed to pick me up never showing.

"Uh, I didn't get a chance to talk to him before I left. And...I don't understand. Who paid it?"

"Knight."

I stared at him as if he'd grown a third head. Kaden Knight had settled my husband's account? I...didn't understand.

Oh, I guess it's time to fill you in. My husband, well soon to be ex-husband, has a serious gambling problem. He'd had this problem before we married...before I knew he had a problem. So, while he made at least four times my salary, we lived in a modest house in a modest suburb because we were pretty much broke. It took me a while to figure out that something was wrong. Once I did, I had Mason see a variety of therapists and attend Gambler's Anonymous meetings. Nothing seemed to work. Not even hypnosis, prescription drugs or aversion therapy.

Why was I divorcing him considering we marred 'in sickness and health'? Because he'd lied to me. Again. He told me he had everything under control, that the latest therapist was a Godsend, that the meetings were finally working and he wasn't gambling anymore. I'd heard this story before, but he sounded so convincing this time...until the night he came home from work to tell me he owed Julian $250,000. And Julian wasn't a bank, so not paying him back did not result in a bad credit rating. It was...well, according to my husband, a death sentence. He said Julian couldn't afford to let it slide, had to make an example of him...unless I agreed to attend these parties. My role here? To sleep with anyone interested. These were Julian's business partners, or potential business partners, and he organized these parties to keep them happy. So, if they expressed an interest, I had to cater to their every whim. If I attended six parties, and played my part well, the debt would be halved and Julian would give us six months to pay off the balance. If we couldn't pay it, there would be a penalty added and I would have to attend another six parties. That was the arrangement. And my husband, a man who supposedly loved me, had agreed to it before he'd even talked to me about it. So, by the time I was brought in on the deal, I had two choices...attend the parties or let my husband die. Not much of a choice really. I was divorcing him, but I still cared about him. I didn't want him to die...well, not most days.

And so now I was standing here and Julian was telling me that a woman I'd spent one evening chatting with, and shared one very gentle kiss with, had paid off a $250,000 debt? Was he kidding?

"Julian, I don't understand."

"Look, neither do I. But the cash was transferred into my account this afternoon. So you're good."

I stood there, still more than a little confused.

"So do I go to her—"

Julian shrugged, "she didn't lay out any specifics and she didn't RSVP for tonight. Listen, you can stay tonight if you want, without any expectations of course," he smirked, "but otherwise you're free to go."