I, Porn Star (I #1) (6 page)

6

LIGHTS, CAMERA…

Lucky

I follow the
plump lady with the clipboard and giddy smile down a dark grey hallway. The
rooms we pass are all empty, but just from the expensive wallpaper and light
fittings alone, I can tell a lot of money has been spent on this apartment.

Clayton threw a
ton of money for a major revamp of The Villa a few years ago in a bid to
attract clients from as far as LA and Frisco, but it was nowhere near this
classy. This is solid gold compared to Clay’s nickel-plated efforts. The
hardwood floors gleam beneath my feet and inside the rooms, the curtains I
catch glimpses of are heavy and expensive looking.

“Would you like
something to eat while we complete the forms?”

Fionnella’s
question jerks me back to the present. Her hand rests on the handle of a wide
door at the far end of the hallway, and she stares up at me from a diminutive
height.

For a second, I
wonder what a woman who seems to vibrate motherliness is doing in a place like
this. Then I catch myself. I’m pretty certain she’s not here out of the
goodness of her heart. She’s being paid, same as I hope to be. And money can
pretty much buy you anything. Even temporary absolution from death. I should
know. It’s what I’m attempting to do.

“I have a menu if
you’d like to see it?” she presses. “It’s not very extensive but there’s a good
selection to choose from.”

The timely
gnawing in my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since a rushed half burrito at
lunchtime. “If it’s no trouble, thanks.”

Her smile widens
as she throws the door open. “It’s no trouble, honey. Besides, putting a little
more meat on your bones is part of my brief.”

Brief
. I swear I’ve heard that word more times
in the last week than any other time in my entire life. True, I’ve also thought
about it, specifically the part where it involves my brief interaction with
Quinn Blackwood.

I haven’t been
able to get him out of my head, although the actual reliving of our meeting has
been kept to a minimum, simply because it messes with my head and body in a way
that scares the shit out of me.

Even more
alarming was the gutting disappointment not to have been summoned into Sully’s
office today and sent to help upstairs. A lingering look from a cop on the way
here reminded me why risking exposure in any way could shatter the thin layer
of protection I’ve managed to buy myself.

I enter the room
and stumble to a halt. I hadn’t quite understood that a
team
would mean more than Fionnella. Three more people from
sectioned off corners of the room turn to stare at me, and I can’t help the
visceral chill of fear that rises.

“Let me introduce
you. This is Wendy, my assistant,” Fionnella says, pointing to the woman seated
at a table draped with lingerie. Beside her are three railed rows of clothes.
Wendy nods, and returns to her sorting.

Obviously not as bubbly as her boss.

“The camera-wielding
fiend over there is Todd.” She smiles at a tall, skinny guy with dirty blond
hair at the far side of room. He sends me a two-fingered wave, but his
attention returns to the expensive looking camera in his hand. Scattered around
his workspace are all types of lighting equipment, back lights and three large
floor lamps. “He’s just setting up. You won’t work with him or Wendy until your
grooming gets underway.”

I drag my gaze
from Todd to a woman in a skirt suit who approaches with a serious face and an
outstretched hand. “And this is Dr. Allen. She’ll be in charge of your blood
work, and a couple of other things. I’ll let her explain, after we get you
something to eat.” I shake hands with the woman who then disappears behind a
screen. Fionnella smiles encouragingly. “Do you have the menu, Wendy?”

Wendy rises
without responding and presents me with a heavy folded menu, the kind you find
in posh restaurants, only in miniature. She retreats just as silently, but not
before I catch a look I’ve been familiar with for most of my life.

Contempt
.

I choose to let
her keep the stick up her ass. One less person who takes an interest in me is
one less person to worry about exposing myself to.

Fionnella
indicates a desk with two chairs on her side of the room. As I walk to it, I
wonder again about the man behind the camera.

The man without a
name.

I look around
what was probably a great room or a small ballroom in the original design. The
walls, like the rest of the apartment, are beautifully lined and there are
elaborate ceiling designs that I’m sure didn’t come from some production line
in Taiwan.

On the far side
nearest Todd, a set of French doors looks out onto a softly lit terrace. I
don’t have to be money savvy to know that terraced penthouses in Manhattan cost
millions of dollars.

Right now, the
room is divided into four spaces. The last space is unoccupied, but I see what looks
like a portable massage table and several baskets of grooming products. There’s
also a makeup table and chair set up. “You’ll meet Angela later. She’ll go
through makeup with you.”

I nod and take a
seat in front of Fionnella’s desk. When she gesutres encouragingly at the menu,
I open it. My mouth waters immediately, and I want to point to the first thing
I see, which happens to be a triple cheese burger and fries. I swallow the
surge of saliva and force my gaze down the list.

Pasta and
prosciutto in white wine sauce.

Beef and spinach
stuffed ravioli.

Rib-eye steak
with Cobb salad.

My stomach rolls
in painful anticipation. “I’ll have the burger and fries, please.”

Fionnella smiles.
“Anything else?”

“Soda?”

Her gaze drops
over my body. “How about we make it a milkshake? Unless you don’t like
milkshakes?”

I barely stop
myself from telling her I’d give both pinkies for a banana milkshake. “Okay.
Banana. Thanks.”

She gives me a
happy nod and picks up a sleek phone on her desk. My order is relayed in crisp
tones. “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Now, let’s get started.” She places the
clipboard in front of her and spears me with a slightly less maternal look.
“Fair warning, it’s in your best interest to be as truthful as possible.
Everything you say here will be held in the strictest of confidence, but the
boss doesn’t take well to liars. Okay?”

I want to cough
out the fear knotted in my throat. But that would give me away. So I nod. It
satisfies her and she’s back to being kind and gentle Mother Superior.

She clicks her
pen. “I have your contact details but you don’t have a permanent address?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay. For the
purposes of this job, this will be your address. Is that okay with you?”

I want to ask why
she’s asking. It’s not like I’m going to file taxes or cite this gig on my
resume anytime soon. But the look in her eyes says she wants an answer, so I
nod again.

“Great!” She
looks me over again for a second. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you
normally this weight?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me
how much weight you’ve lost recently?”

“Umm, about
twenty pounds.”

She nods
thoughtfully. “And is the reason a medical one? You’re not on drugs or
anything, are you?”

“I’m not on
drugs, no.”

She pauses. “Let
me be specific. We’re going to put you on a healthy meal rota. Will there be
anything stopping your weight from coming back to normal if you eat right?”

“No.”

She smiles and
scribbles on her clipboard. “Do you exercise regularly?”

I curb a
hysterical laugh. Sure, I exercise regularly if you take a cross-country run
for my life, exercise. “I keep fit,” I prevaricate.

“Perfect. You’ll
be assigned a fitness instructor as of tomorrow.”

I frown and
remember a work schedule was one of the questions I meant to ask Mechanical
Man. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Fionnella’s brow
creases. “I’ll check with the boss. I’m sure we can rearrange a few things.”
She scribbles some more and ticks a couple of boxes, then turns over the page.

“You’re sexually
active?”

“Yes.”

“When was the
last time you had sex? Weeks or months?”

Ridge’s sweaty
face swims before my eyes and I suppress a shudder. “Umm, weeks,” I say. My
voice doesn’t emerge as firm as I wish, and I earn a peculiar look from
Fionnella.

“Dr. Allen will
go through this more thoroughly with you, but are you on birth control?”

“No.”

I’m not sure if
this pleases her or not because her expression neutralizes. She ticks a box.

“Have you ever
had a colon cleanse?”

“A
what
?”

“I’ll take that
as a no. You have to have one once a week.”

“Why?”

“For the anal
scenes,” she states without blinking.

I stare at her,
unable to form words. She stares back. A throat clears beside me.

I jump and snap
my head to see a man in chef’s attire holding a tray of food.

“Ah, great, thank
you, Georg.”

Georg nods and
sets the tray down in front of me. The burger’s aroma hits me in the face and I
almost drool. Fionnella’s smile widens.

“Go on, eat.”

I’m not sure I
want to eat while having a discussion about my colon and anal sex, but hunger
takes no prisoners. I grab the burger and take a huge bite. Fionnella grins as
if she’s personally responsible for curing world hunger. She waits for me to
swallow before she looks back down at her notes.

“So you’re okay
with that, right?”

I pick up a fry.
“Does it hurt?”

She shrugs. “I’m
told there’s a small degree of discomfort, but I expect it won’t be anything to
worry about.”

“Okay.” I take
another bite of food. The first pull of the divine shake makes me almost moan
in pleasure.

“It’s good,
right?” Fionnella grins at my plate.

“Incredible,” I
mumble round another bite.

“Okay. Almost
done. Do you have any piercings, inside or out?”

I shake my head.

“Do you have a
toy preference?”

“Toys?”

“Sexual toys. The
boss has his own selection, of course, but you’re allowed one or two of your
own.”

“Ah…no, I don’t
have a preference.”

“Are you good at
deep-throating or do you think you need instruction?”

I nearly gag and
my stomach attempts to twist in on itself. I’m not sure if it’s because of the
conversation or because I ate a little too fast. I suspect it’s a mixture of both.
“I…uhh…”

Fionnella drops
her pen. “The boss doesn’t like gagging. You’ll need to know how to swallow him
properly. You can be taught how to relax your throat to avoid gagging. Are you
good with that?”

“Can I…say no to
performing the act?”

“No,” she replies
firmly, then makes up her mind one way or the other and scribbles on her notes.

The sensation of
living a weird fantasy returns. I quickly polish off the burger and fries. If
I’m about to wake up from a hallucination, I’d much rather do it having enjoyed
the best meal I’ve had in my life.

I look up from an
empty plate to see Fionnella going over her notes. “That’s about it from me.
I’ll go and have a word with the boss as to when to start your grooming and
exercise regime while you talk to Dr. Allen.”

She escorts me to
Dr. Allen’s side of the room and leaves.

The doctor waves
me to a chair. “Sit down. I’ll try not to keep you too long,” she says briskly.

I get the feeling
she’s trying to be as professional as possible without letting her true
feelings show. On the sliding scale of friendliness, I put her third after
Fionnella and Todd. Except I’m yet to experience the camera guy so maybe I
should reserve judgment—

“Fionnella went
through a few sexual questions with you, but mine will probe deeper.” No apologies.
No niceties. Just straight to the point.

The whole
operation is smooth enough to make me wonder how often the man with the
mechanical voice organizes one-million-dollar sex gigs.

I don’t care. The
money is all I’m after. Selling my body to buy my life is an exchange I can
live with.

“Have you ever
had an STD or suspect you might have one now?”

I jerk back to
myself and shake my head. “No. Never.” Use of condoms was a number one rule at
The Villa. One of the very few things Clayton got right. Although I suspect
buying rubber was cheaper than forking out for medical bills, or worse, having
a prized girl off work.