Page 6 of The Client
I feel like I’m floating outside of my body as I struggle to answer. “Is this…relevant to a modeling job, Mr. Zoric?”
He smiles like I’m the tenderest of idiots who must be spoon-fed. “You didn’t read the fine print on your contract before signing. Ah, well, that’s your fault, not mine. It clearly states that you are legally bound to provide any and all relevant information about your body, including height, weight, medical history, and health status, and therefore you are required to answer the question. Are you a virgin or not? Because the men who are going to bid on you at the auction tomorrow night will want to know. So. Yes or no?”
Theauction?
Diya said she was auctioned off.
Tied to a bed.
Trafficked.
The edges of my vision turn gray as the reality of the situation sinks in and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
It’s my turn now.
2
IZABELA
I’m standing,though I don’t recall getting to my feet. The illusion that the room is getting smaller and smaller grows tenfold. As my fight or flight response kicks in, sweat beads at my hairline. My mind is still desperately trying to reject what my boss is saying.
At the same time, my first impression of him shatters. I thought he was handsome for his age, his steel gray hair streaked with silver, the lines on his face giving him a distinguished air. His confident, powerful presence was going to usher in a new era for me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“This isn’t appropriate, Mr. Zoric,” I say, my voice coming out much higher than usual.
All I can do is stand there frozen, staring at him across the desk. He looks bigger than before, his body taking up more space. Maybe it’s because of the way he’s resting his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers while cutting me down with that self-satisfied look. As if he’s already won this game, and I merely need to accept my fate.
His eyes take on a predatory glaze, and for the first time, I’m afraid for my life.
“Sit. Down. Miss Jasinski,” he says, laying out each word as if it’s a weapon.
He’s about to eat me alive, a lynx in the henhouse, and he’s going to enjoy it.
I’ve seen this look before, from men back home. It never mattered that I was an excellent student or a hard worker. Males gravitated to me with hunger in their eyes regardless of my accomplishments, assuming, I think, that I would be easy to manipulate because pretty girls are never supposed to be smart, too. Pretty or smart, you can’t be both. And if you’re pretty, every man feels entitled to catcall or make a pass at you, and it’s your job to smile and bear it, as if it’s some kind of penance for the face or the body you were born with. I’m not naïve.
Surviving in rural Poland was one thing. The world I’m trapped in at this moment is something else entirely.
Mr. Zoric won’t let me walk away from his desires the way I did from men back home. He’s my boss. I signed a contract. There is no escaping him.
“I said,sit.”
I can’t do as he asks. My legs are stiff and locked at the knee. Every nerve in my body resists his order.
“I…can’t,” I tell him.
He arches one brow. “You can’t what? Cooperate with the auction, or sit?”
“Either.”
He makes a saddened sound and glances down at something on his desk. “I’m sorry to hear that. This auction would be the gateway to your future. Jobs, money, networking opportunities that can change your life. Don’t you want that for yourself?”
As he speaks, his demeanor gradually morphs from domineering to…kind? Fatherly, almost? Yet despite the gentleness of his tone, the softening of his expression, the way he leans back in his chair with his arms spread wide, I feel no comfort. He’s not convincing me, and he knows it.
“I am not a prostitute, Mr. Zoric,” I say firmly.
He leans forward so fast, the back of his chair makes a popping sound. A divot forms between his brows as he shakes his head. “No, of course you’re not. But you are a beautiful, ambitious woman who wants to work her way to the top, aren’t you? And you’re going to spread your legs for a man eventually. So why not do it for one with power and money?”
The muscles in my chest tighten as he stares at me. Seconds die to the drum of my pulse, one after another after another, until the silence becomes impossibly uncomfortable. He’s trying to break my resolve with this disgusting logic, to break me down.
