7. Purpose

Chapter 7

Purpose

M ost people fuck for pleasure.

They want to feel good. They want every cell in their body humming with a euphoric release. They want to chase nature's ultimate high. They want to feel wanted. Want to feel loved. Touched. Seen.

Me? I don't fuck for pleasure.

I fuck for purpose.

Pleasure is simply an added bonus... If done right.

My purpose varies from day to day. Sometimes I need to mute the world. Other times, I need to mute my own mind. But more often than not, I think my purpose is a test.

A test to check if I'm still human. If my body and spirit and mind are still present. Still of this world. There are days when I feel like I'm floating. Where everything is detached. Nothing is connected.

Sex is grounding.

It pulls me together for a fleeting moment, a temporary blip in time, and then when it's over, I'm scattered again.

Like shattered fragments of a withering being.

Broken.

There's a beauty to being broken.

A safety of sorts.

Once broken, the damage seems to lessen over time. If you drop a plate off of a ten-story building, it's going to break. It's going to litter the street with shards of ceramic. And if you collect all the shards, and drop them over and over and over again, the pieces start to stay intact. Too small to break.

My pieces are microscopic. Barely visible.

And today, the pieces will momentarily mold together for a different purpose.

Business.

It's always business.

Never pleasure.

Time slows to crawl as I sit on my bed, staring at the black silk slip gown hanging outside my closet doors. It's a sexy garment. Simple yet complex. Like a decadent chocolate.

Malik Alba will eat that shit right up.

Zoey's research on the gunrunner revealed that he's somewhat of a conservative. A man of tradition. From my experience, those types of men are the dirtiest bastards alive. Proper on the outside, deranged on the inside. The number of CEOs that weasel into Suffer N' Rage, asking for The Beauvoir is astronomical. I know what they want.

I know rich men .

For better or for worse, I practically am a rich man.

"Alba's going to be here in ten minutes," Zoey calls out from the living room. "You should get dressed."

I glance at the small pile of cocaine on my nightstand, letting out a sigh. To endure a night with the Khal Drogo wannabe, I'm going to need a little boost. Something to make his inevitable pontificating bearable.

I grab the gold-plated straw and do a line, tilting my head back and sharply inhaling the dust of white misery. Instantly, my body relaxes as my pulse quickens. A contradiction. A blessed one.

Zoey shouts from the other side of the door again, nagging me to get ready. Occasionally, it feels like she's my mother, constantly making sure I eat, drink, and sleep. It's wrong. She doesn't get paid for that. It's not a part of her duties. One time she said it's because she cares about me. I laughed. She's funny sometimes.

"So?" Exiting my room, I rotate slowly as Zoey smiles, taking in the sleek ensemble. "Does Alba stand a chance?"

"You could wear a potato sack, and he still wouldn't stand a chance," Zoey says, handing me my clutch and faux fur stole. "Go get us that contract." She pauses. "But be safe, okay? Don't do anything you don't want to do."

I scoff, striding toward the elevator. "I never do anything I don't want to do."

The second I step out of my condo building Malik's lecherous eyes soak in every inch of my body before flicking up to my face. Well, that was easy. I offer him a reserved smile as I hold out my hand, carefully examining his dark and burly features.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Camilla ," he says in a thick accent as he brings my hand to his lips. "Your father didn't warn me that his daughter was so beautiful."

I tilt my head coyly. "Perhaps my father doesn't find me beautiful."

"In that case, I am glad he is gone. I do not work with idiots." He lets out a rough chuckle, opening the door to the stretch limousine. "After you."

"Thank you," I hum, sliding onto the leather interior.

A limo? God, he's worse than I thought.

Malik sidles up next to me and closes the door. "So, Camilla, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" I ask as the driver pulls into the street once given the go-ahead.

"Everything," he grins.

I chuckle. "Not going to happen. Be more specific."

"Hmm..." Malik shifts his body toward me but leans back. Interesting. "Tell me... How are you handling...the transition? Your father informed me of his retirement only a few weeks ago. I must say, I was a bit shocked."

We all were.

"Well, I already have you smiling at me, and it's only been two minutes." I cross my legs, the slit on my dress rising. His gaze darts to my thigh. "I would say the transition is going fairly well, wouldn't you?"

He rubs his chin, a smirk spreading on his face. "Are you trying to seduce me, Camilla? Is that your plan?" He leans closer, the thick stench of his cologne suffocating me. "If it is, I must tell you, pussy holds no power over me. I only speak in dollars."

"How fortunate." I expel a melodically incredulous laugh as I place my hand on his thigh, digging my nails in slightly. "We seem to speak the same language."

Malik's eyes spring open for a fraction of a second. "Already so much in common? Perhaps this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

"Perhaps." I feign a smile. "Why don't you tell me about yourself , Malik?" I reach for the bottle of champagne and two flutes. "I'd like to know more about the man I might be crawling in bed with." I pause. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Where to start?" He laughs, popping the champagne, the head of the bottle foaming with bubbles. "I was born in?—"

Men are like champagne. Shake 'em up, and they'll burst with everything you need to know.

Thankfully, the drive to the Waldorf-Astoria doesn't take long. I'm a good actress. Great even but I can only pretend to be interested for so long. The man doesn't shut up. In the short time we've spent together, I've learned all about his family, his hobbies, and where he likes to hide his profits. It's ridiculous. I barely know him, and he's spilling all his secrets. It's like I'm his damn therapist.

Therapist.

Shit.

I forgot about that.

"Shall we?" Malik holds out his hand as I step out of the limo. A light breeze blows through my hair. "I have never attended a banquet for an aquarium before. Will there be food? I'm starving."

"Oh, yeah," I mumble as we head inside the hotel. "There's usually a lovely selection of seafood ."

"Really?" He beams. "I can't wait!"

I blink at him. "That was a joke."

He frowns. "I don't get it."

"Forget it," I sigh as we reach the ballroom. I scan the seating chart, looking for my table. Thirteen. How unfortunate. "Our table is over here."

"Lead the way." Malik reaches for my hand as we maneuver through the crowds. "Do you know people here?"

"Not really." I scan the tables, looking for a particular set of green eyes.

Where are you, doc?

Malik frowns as we reach our table. "You don't know anyone here and you were planning on attending alone?"

I glance over my shoulder at Frankie, who's lingering by the hors d'oeuvres. "I'm never really alone."

"Still..." He shakes his head as he pulls out my chair. "A woman should always have an escort."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, thank God you're here then, right?"

"Yes," he says, sitting down beside me. "It seems as though fate brought me to you right when you needed me the most." He looks around at the other six guests at our table. "Good evening everyone, I am Malik Alba, how do you do? "

Excellent. Now he has six other souls to irritate for the time being.

"Finally," I say under my breath as a server hands me a flute.

Elegant notes of string music float through the room as I subtly check the tables again. There are lots of familiar faces. I don't know their names. I don't come here to make friends or business partners. No. I come here because...it's a part of him. The love of the ocean. Maybe I should stop. I will. Soon. I'll?—

Ice.

My body freezes as a cold front encapsulates me, my tapping foot instantly stopping as our eyes meet. Dr. Malcolm hovers behind a chair at table eleven, his gaze locked on mine as he sits down. He doesn't break it. Neither do I.

Today, he swapped out old-school tweed for obsidian couture. I don't like it. I prefer the tweed. It's less threatening. Less...hypnotizing. I can't look away. But I know I should. He's staring at me like his glasses are a microscope, and I'm some extraterrestrial. He's trying to study me. Analyze me. Read me.

But he can't.

I bring the glass of champagne to my lips and take a slow sip. A drop cascades down my chin. I run a finger across my skin to catch it before it falls and ruins my dress. His eyes darken. He's angry, I think. He's angry he can't read me. I'm a language he's never heard of, never seen, never even knew existed.

He's supposed to be plain English, and yet... He's unreadable to me too. I can't figure him out. On paper, he seems so simple. A picture book. But as he sits across from me...a burning desire to understand him flows through my veins.

Who are you?

The feedback from a microphone breaks our link, and I snap my head toward the podium, the director of the foundation hobbling on stage.

"I hope he doesn't talk long," Malik whispers, glancing at the wait staff. "I am hungry. When is dinner?"

"Shh." I squeeze Malik's thigh, keeping my head forward. "Don't talk. It's rude."

He scoffs. "It's rude to keep guests hungry."

I turn my head, casting him a forced but sultry smile. "I'll make sure you're nice and fed by the end of the night."

"Really?" His eyebrow perks up. "You will ensure that I am satisfied?"

"You're my guest," I whisper, removing my hand from his leg. "Your satisfaction is my top priority."

"God, I have missed America." Malik chuckles under his breath. "And its women."

"Shh," I hush again, focusing back on the stage.

This time, he listens. It's hilarious. Men like to believe that they're stronger than women. But look at him behaving like a faithful little dog waiting for his treat.

Predictable.

And as always… boring .

As the director talks about the importance of ocean preservation, I find myself stealing glances in the direction of table eleven. A tinge of disappointment pinches me when I see him intently listening to the man on stage. I jerk my head back. Whatever. Doesn't matter.

Malik claps his meaty hands like a child once the speeches are over and the wait staff slowly start pouring out of the backroom, trays of food in hand.

"At last!" he growls, slapping the shoulder of an older man to his right. "We eat!" When the colorful plate is placed in front of him, his nose scrunches up. "Where is the meat?"

"No meat," I say, lifting my fork. "It's a vegetarian menu."

"Absurd," he mutters, turning to the old man again. "We are men! Men need meat."

I sigh, ignoring the uproar of conversation building at our table as I quietly enjoy the melody of fresh seasonal vegetables. Occasionally, I nod and smile as Malik commands the attention of all the strangers sitting around us.

So obnoxious.

So fucking loud.

"I'm going to get some fresh air." I stand up and grab my clutch. "I'll be back."

"Be fast." Malik nods without looking at me, far too entrenched in the conversation he's dominating. "That's what I was saying! Let me tell you?—"

"Fuck me," I whisper to myself as I weave through the tables, my mind no longer as numb as I'd prefer. Should've brought some with me. Idiot.

I step through the glass doors onto the open brick balcony. The dramatic panoramic New York cityscape soothes my ticking annoyance as I fish a cigarette out of my clutch and light it.

Turning around, I close my eyes and lean against the railing. Finally some quiet. Maybe I'll gag him later. That way he can't talk. Hmm. Maybe a little too much for a first encounter.

"Bored already?"

Ice.

Again.

But it's hot somehow.

Like a burning cold.

My eyelids flicker up slowly. "I'm out here for a purpose," I say, gesturing to my smoke. I tilt my head as Dr. Malcolm stalks toward me. "I think you're the one that's bored."

"I don't bore easily, Miss Bianco," Dr. Malcolm notes, looking distantly at the shimmering view. "It's a learned skill."

"Sounds useful," I muse, flicking the cherry on the floor. I hold out the pack. "Want one?"

"Haven't you heard?" Dr. Malcolm turns toward me, half his face covered by a shadow, the other by light. "Smoking kills."

"Hmm...is that so?" I take a step closer to him as I inhale a long drag. When my head rushes, I open my mouth, pushing a cloud of smoke into his face. "I guess I have more in common with cigarettes than I thought."

"You should quit while you're still young," he says, taking a deep breath and sucking in the smoke. His chest rises with...pleasure? Huh. He blows a tiny grey cloud back to me. A game. I see. "It's a horrible habit, Miss Bianco."

"Yes, it is," I agree in a whisper, inching closer to him, hoping that I can get close enough to read him. To understand. "It's very bad..." I lean forward, my finger circling the lapels of his suit. " Dirty ..." I twist my neck, my lips grazing his earlobe. " Nasty even."

"Cam—" He tenses, clearing his throat as he snakes his hand around my forearm, the pressure firm.

"It's just so hard, Doctor ," I continue, dragging my hand down his torso at an excruciatingly slow pace. "I seem to thoroughly enjoy things that are bad for me." His grip on my arm tightens as he yanks me back, his eyes cold. I smirk, getting the exact reaction I wanted. "What about you? Got any vices, Hayden ?"

"I know what you're trying to do, Miss Bianco," he says, releasing my arm. "It won't work."

"Yeah? And what's that?" I ask. "Give me your expert analysis."

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "If I recall correctly, you have no desire for my expert analysis."

"Desire's not the word I would use," I say, giving him a shrug. "Need would be more appropriate." I smile. "This is your chance, doc. Right now... I want it."

"And I'd be more than happy to give it to you," he replies, a masked, teasing edge to his voice. "But not here."

"You can't give it to me here? Why? Too private ?" I counter, unable to conceal a grin. "You prefer more... public places ?"

"I am open to giving it to you whenever you want." He cocks his head. "But the first time is always in my office."

"Wherever I want?" I lick my lips. "How very...accommodating."

"I find that it's important to be flexible with my patients," he says. "It's a service I offer."

"Are you offering to service me, Doctor?" I pout. "How unprofessional."

"We're talking about therapy, Miss Bianco," he says, scanning my face. "Are we not?"

"You tell me." I give him a challenging look. "Are we?"

The doctor doesn't say anything for a beat, the humming of traffic and lights and foreign electricity whirling in the air around us. His gaze snaps to the balcony doors. "Your escort is here."

I keep my attention on Hayden. "I don't have escorts."

"No?"

"No," I say, putting out my smoke. "I have pawns."

"Like a queen?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.

"No," I say. "Like a king."

"Interesting," he muses, holding out a business card. "Take this, Miss Bianco. Maybe one day, need might outweigh want."

"You just want to get in my head." I take the card from his hand. Our fingers touch for only a second, but it's enough time for all the alarms to sound in my mind. My gaze flicks up. "Don't you?"

"It seems like a place worth exploring," he replies, taking a step back from me. "The darkest minds often hold the most treasure."

"You think I have a dark mind?" I ask, frowning. "How do you know?"

Dr. Malcolm smiles. "It's my job, Miss Bianco."

"You're a shrink, not a god," I say, feeling Malik's presence moving closer to me. I pocket Hayden's business card. "That's the problem with all you doctors. You think that you know everything."

"You seem to have a doctor complex," he notes. "We can talk about that if you would like."

"I don't talk."

"You talk plenty, Miss Bianco," he says. "You're practically screaming right now."

"I don't?—"

"Enjoy your evening," he says as Malik stumbles toward me and glares at Hayden. "Goodbye."

"Who was that?" Malik asks, peering down at me.

"No one," I say, watching Hayden disappear inside. I'm no longer numb. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Malik asks. "I need to finish my dessert."

"No." I smirk up at him as I grab his balls and give them an expert tug. "You seem more of a spice man to me."

Malik's eyes close as he lets out a squealing groan. "Yes, mommy."

See? They're all deranged.

Well...maybe not all .

Yet.