THE FIXER

Ashley and Sheri are right behind her. “I can’t believe you’re here! How long can you stay?” Sheri asks. They are also degrees of blonde-it is California, after all-amplified with expensive highlights. Both could be models. When the four of us went out on the town together, we attracted massive attention.

A tall brunette I don’t recognize clears her throat pointedly.

“This is Kimberly,” Kayla says. “I met her doing dinner theatre. She took your room.”

“But not my place in your heart,” I say immediately, striking an old-time Hollywood actress pose.

“Never,” Sheri laughs. “So how long, girl? Do you have a place to stay? You can sleep in my room if you want.”

“I doubt I will stay the night. I ran away from my keeper, and he will probably catch up with me,” I say ruefully. “Hopefully not before we get to party.”

“Oh my God, you are so bad!” Ashley smacks my arm. “You gave Daddy’s bodyguards the slip again?”

I wasn’t under guard while I was at school-not like I was at home. But every once in a while, I’d catch a guy in familiar black tattoos following me. Taking photos to send to my dad. My friends and I used to toy with them, running over to throw ourselves at them, sit in their laps or lick their necks. Just to make them uncomfortable and throw the balance off. It was fun. I played that game on my own before, but my friends made it into more of a tournament. It became our goal to make my watchers squirm.

“Well, this time Daddy didn’t put a bodyguard on me.” I hold up my left hand. “He arranged a marriage.”

“Oh shit,” Ashley murmurs.

“What? Seriously?” Kayla sputters. “How does that work? Why?”

“What’s the deal?” Sheri prods.

“So he died last week. And I guess he didn’t feel comfortable leaving me with his fortune without a man to control it. So I had to marry this guy or inherit nothing.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Kimberly says in a low voice. I don’t even know her, but I appreciate her sympathy. “Are you okay? That is so intense.”

“I’m so sorry, Sasha,” Kayla says, turning her big, babydoll brown eyes on me. “That’s insane. And I’m sorry about your dad dying, too,” she adds as an afterthought.

I shrug. “Yeah. I’m more upset about the marriage part, too.” I know there’s some grief over my dad, too, but it’s so tainted I can’t experience it.

“So is he Russian? Why are you here?” Sheri wants to know.

“He’s Russian but he lives in Chicago. His name is Maxim.”

“Is he old and ugly?”

I smirk. “Not old.” I shake my head, thinking of Maxim’s handsome face. The GQ way he dresses and carries himself, only the tattoos belying his poor upbringing. “Not ugly, either.”

“How is he in bed?” Kimberly asked.

I shake my head. “I’ve been holding out on him.”

“Still?” Kayla demands. She and my former roommates know I never had sex with men when I lived with them. I gave head frequently because I liked the power it gave me over a man, but I never let anyone into my panties. I never told my roomies I was a virgin, though. They may have guessed, but I liked to pretend the opposite.

“Do you actually hate men?” Ashley demands.

I shrug again. “I just don’t think this guy should get control of my inheritance and my body without me having any choice in the matter. And since I can’t do anything to change the inheritance part…”

“You’re holding out,” Kimberly finishes.

“But what about your needs?” Kayla said. “I think it’s a mistake to think of sex as something only men get something out of. I mean, God knows, sometimes that’s true, especially with college men, but you find yourself a real man? They know how to work for it.”

“Mmm hmm,” Sheri concurs.

“Yeah, he keeps promising I’ll be satisfied,” I admit.

“So make him work!” she encourages. “You should be getting more out of this arrangement.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” They may be right, but I have this shadowy fear that once I give my virginity up to Maxim he’ll own me completely.

And despite the fact that I did save my virginity for my husband, just as my father had ordered, now that the time has come, I don’t think he deserves it. Like my very virginity is some treasure he should’ve had to earn.

I was so willing to give it up to him once. But he spurned me.

He lost his chance.

Maxim

AFTER CHECKING INTO CHATEAU MARMONT, Hollywood’s famous boutique hotel, known for keeping celebrities’ most scandalous secrets, I keep my eye on Sasha’s tracker. I checked my credit card charges, and they match with the trip to L. A.-she didn’t just give her phone to someone to give me the slip.

No, I imagine Sasha knows full well I will track her here and bring her back home; she just wants to make me work.

And to have her fun in the meantime.

According to Dima, the address she’s been for the past couple hours is an apartment near USC-the same one she lived in last year. It seems she’s visiting someone-a roommate, perhaps.

A lover?

The idea unsettles me. More than unsettles me. It kicks me in the gut.

I never asked her if she was previously involved. Maybe she had a boyfriend in Moscow on the day we married. Maybe that’s why she hated leaving.

No, that didn’t seem right. She was hurt and angry over the marriage not heartbroken.

But the possibility of her having a past lover living in Los Angeles sits like a brick in my gut. I don’t like the sense of jealousy it produces.

My fingers clench into fists. If Sasha’s going to play this game with me, I will cut her loose. She can go back to Moscow with a target on her back. Take her chances on her own. I’m not going to play it with her.