Vikki

Alyssia gives me a hug. "I'm so sorry all of this happened to you."

"Don't be. I am leaving tonight a wealthier woman, just not quite how I imagined." I give her a smile before something occurs to me. "Shit! If I'm going to his tonight, I don't have anything with me, no pjs, no toothbrush, nothing!"

Alyssia looks around us, but we're alone. "Don't worry. I've got you, wait here."

She scampers off as I shrink behind a marble column to avoid the naga's gaze.

"Mr. Horenson's car is outside, young lady," he hisses. "Don't keep him waiting."

"You're the second…person, to tell me that tonight," I fire back. "But then he did accidentally buy me at an auction I don't think was legal, so…" I raise my eyebrows at the naga.

If it bothers him, he doesn't show it, the cold-blooded creature.

"Here!" Alyssia appears at my side and hands me a leather Gladstone bag. "All you should need until you get to go shopping." She grins, grabbing my phone and typing at it. "There, I've put my number in. Give me a call when you get some time off."

Still rather stunned I've made a friend, I push my way out of the huge, heavy front door of the club and out into the cold night air.

Waiting on the double yellow lines is an enormous Bentley, sleek and black. As I walk down the steps, a chauffeur gets out and opens the back door for me while smoothly taking the bag from my hand. I'm slightly bamboozled by everything and half fall into the rear of the vehicle, very nearly planting my face in a big troll lap.

"Sorry, Mr. Horenson." I do my best to recover my composure and sit as far away from him as possible.

"Call me Max," he says with an interested smile on his face. "All my staff call me Max."

"Okay then, Max." I try the name out for size. It suits him. "What exactly do you want me to do for you?"

I really, really wish I hadn't asked the question because he looks down at his lap, the one I nearly ended up in, and then back up at me.

"Absolutely nothing of that sort," he says.

I feel the wind taken completely out of my sails in the oddest way. Part of me was sort of terrified he might want favors of the "other" kind, especially after what we shared in the passageway. Part of me is relieved beyond belief I'm not going to find out any more about troll anatomy other than how big they are up close.

"Good," I say, hugging my handbag.

"Good," he replies.

There is silence as the car glides through what little traffic is left in this part of the city at this time of night.

Well, this is awkward…

The Bentley glides smoothly into an underground garage under an enormous glass and metal building which appears to be leaning rakishly to one side, presumably some sort of weird vision from the architect, and we come to a stop next to a set of glass doors.

Without a word, Max, as I'm now supposed to call him, gets out. I look for a door handle.

There isn't one.

I knew all of this was too good to be true. Panic rises inside me. I'm alone, under this huge building, and there are no witnesses here to what happens next.

I've not negotiated the salary of the century, I've sold myself into indentured slavery.

My heart pounds. The palms of my hands go slick with sweat as I feel over the door for something, anything which will let me escape. My breath comes in short pants as the fear within rises and rises.

Until the door swings open and the chauffeur stands to attention.

"Mr. Horenson is waiting," he intones, and I see Max holding one of the glass doors open.

I practically vault out of the vehicle and make no attempt to look nonchalant as I make it over to him.

"That's the third time tonight I've been kept waiting," he says in a voice which shouldn't be sinful, but it is.

"Sorry," I mumble, taking the door and allowing us both to pass through.

Inside is a small lobby with several elevators. Max presses the button to call the far one, reaches into his inside pocket, and pulls out a tube, flicks off the top and tips out a large cigar, which he proceeds to trim and light, a wreath of smoke engulfing him as the elevator pings and the doors open.

Without even a glance at me, he strides inside, and I have to follow him through his self-made smoke screen.

The doors close and the numbers on the digital screen tick upwards. I press my fist over my mouth and nose in an attempt to stifle some of the strong cigar from my lungs.

It seems this is enough to grab Max's attention.

"I have very few vices. But good liquor, good food, and a good cigar are some of them," he says in a tone which brooks little argument.

"All vices which are calculated to kill you," I murmur into my fist.

"I'm over a thousand human years old." Max draws himself up to his full height and his horns nearly scrape the elevator ceiling. He pats his stomach, which I notice has a little paunch. "And I'm in the best shape I've ever been in." He puffs on the cigar and eyes me.

The doors open and I step out before him, given the fug from his cigar is starting to make my eyes water. I find myself in a huge, marble lined ante room. It appears to run the width of the building as at either end there is a large window looking out over the city. I can just see my reflection, tiny next to the huge bulk of my new troll employer.

This is weird. Very weird.

"Why did you ask me to start working for you tonight?" I ask.

"Because if I'm paying you half a million, I want my money's worth," Max growls at me before opening the massive double doors in front of us and revealing a veritable palace.