PleasureGames: A Games Novella

  She had a point.

  The women were called, one by one, into the room. Each one emerged grinning happily or squealing with excitement. No one seemed disappointed in the slightest, which was a good sign. Maybe this billionaire was a genuinely nice guy despite his megabucks. I could handle a nice guy instead of just a rich asswipe. I'd dated a guy with money...once. Yeah. He was the one that broke my heart. At this point, I'd have preferred a starving but polite artist. I could relate to that kind of guy, seeing as how I was a starving artist myself. We'd probably have to live in a broken-down trailer somewhere, but dammit, we'd be happy and artistic together.

  A few of the women came over to chat with us, shrieking happily with Leona over how dreamy 'our man' was.

  "What's his name?" I asked one girl.

  "It's a secret," she told me, eyes bright. "One to be revealed later tonight."

  That seemed...stupid to me. "Unless it begins with Bill and ends with Gates, I'm not sure why it's a big secret," I said. She frowned. So did several other women. Okay, I'd just keep my mouth shut...after one more comment. "Probably should have said Mark Zuckerberg."

  "Juno?" The host called out.

  Oh, that was my cue. I stood up...and was immediately hit with a rush of nerves. Maybe I'd bring my champagne with me in case I needed some liquid courage.

  "Right this way," Lawrence said, gesturing at the double doors.

  "Can I bring my drink?" I asked.

  Lawrence's brows drew together. "If you wish."

  Oh, I wished. Hopefully, I wouldn't need it and the butterflies in my stomach would go away soon enough. But if they didn't, I had my drink. I grabbed a handful of my satiny skirts and tottered up the stairs, wincing at my stilted walk. Stupid heels. I never wore heels.

  Lawrence led me down a long corridor lined with mirrors, and I got a quick look at my hair and makeup. I'd been out on the terrace for at least an hour, and my hair was slightly windblown, wisps escaping Leona's careful creation. My cheeks were flushed and most of my lipstick was gone, but I looked pretty damn good. With an approving nod at my reflection, I turned back toward Lawrence, who was holding a door at the end of the hall open for me.

  "Please enter," he said. "You'll get to meet our billionaire bachelor and get your name tag."

  Goody. I entered the room and glanced around, curious despite myself. The new room was empty of people, even the mysterious bachelor. I wandered around, looking at the decor and holding my sweating champagne glass away from my dress, lest it drip on the white fabric. Several ornate mirrors covered the walls, and I bet there were cameras behind each one. A vase of roses sat atop a pillar, and the vase looked mighty familiar to me. I peered at the fluted glass, noting the colored patterns, the decorative swirls clinging to the neck, the delicate lugs on the body. It looked like one of my works. Huh. A flare of excitement rippled through me, the first one I'd had since I'd arrived. Oh my God. My work was here? In this place? On television?

  "Please be seated," said a voice over the intercom. "The bachelor will be with you shortly."

  I pointed at the vase. "I made that. Where'd you get it?"

  "Please be seated," the voice said again. "We're still filming."

  "But--"

  "Please be seated."

  "Fine, fine. We'll talk about vases later." I glanced around. Sure enough, there was a big decorative screen on one side of the room I hadn't noticed before. One side was completely walled off with a curtain, and the other side was a small decorative Queen Anne chair next to another small table. I sat and set my drink on the table next to me. Nothing happened. I twiddled my thumbs, then peered over at the table. There was a list of name badges on corsages, and I pulled mine out and tried to attach it to my silky dress. It wasn't all that easy to do, considering my dress was more gossamer wisps than actual sleeves and things.

  "Let me help you with that," a voice said, and when I looked up, there he was.

  The bachelor. The billionaire bachelor.

  Heathcliff Forester, the man who'd broken my heart in college.

  "Fuck me," I whispered, recoiling. The badge went flying across the room.

  "Not on the first date," he said, glancing where the badge landed and then back to me, devouring me with his gaze. "This first show's just about getting to know the contestants."

  I stared at him. Stared, and stared, and stared. And then I reached over and chugged my champagne. Liquid courage, come to me.

  5

  Chapter Three

  "Something tells me she didn't take our reunion very well." -- Heathcliff Forester, the Billionaire Bachelor, Episode 1 Interview

  When I (greedily, oh so greedily) agreed to go on the Pleasures of Eden game show, I admit I didn't think too hard about who the bachelor was. If I had, maybe I'd have listened a bit harder to the speeches they were giving us about him being young, handsome, pulling the family's business back into shape, and all the filler crap they fed us at orientation. I would have pondered why I'd been chosen to be the ugly duckling amongst the swans. I would have questioned more as to why we weren't told the bachelor's name.

  But that was my problem - I didn't question enough.

  And look where that left me. Staring up, horrified, into the eyes of the man that had left me shattered all those years ago, my possessions strewn on his front lawn.

  And the fucking asshole looked good. Damn it. I hated that. I glared at him even as I drank in his appearance, because Heathcliff Forester was always a feast for the eyes. Jet black hair, rakishly perfect in every way, was swept back from a perfect, unlined brow with just enough of a tan that told me he probably vacationed outdoors but didn't do much else outside. Pale gray eyes were framed by dark lashes above dramatic, slashing brows that should have been too heavy for his perfect, aristocratic features but somehow managed to look devilish instead of ghoulish. His mouth was a full, sarcastic bow that curved into a smile as he gazed at me, tugging up on one side in the most heartbreaking way.

  I remembered that smile. I wanted to punch it off his face.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, my words small and wounded. Seeing him still hurt after all these years.

  He quirked an eyebrow at me and took my hand in his, raising it to his lips. "I'm meeting my bachelorettes."

  I pulled my hand free from his before he could kiss it. "I don't want you to be the bachelor."

  "I don't recall asking if you had a choice." He shrugged, and I watched his shoulders move perfectly in his tuxedo jacket. He was always so graceful, like a dancer. Eight years hadn't changed that. "You signed up for the show not knowing who would be the bachelor in question. And since it's been a while, I believe this is a good opportunity for us to get to know each other again."

  "Like hell it is," I blurted. I gathered my skirts and started to head for the door.

  "So you're just going to forfeit?" he called back, his voice ever so cool. Heathcliff had only lost his temper the one time ever - when we'd broken up.

  Me, on the other hand, I lost my temper all the damn time, and I was close to losing it now. I turned on him. "Forfeit?" I hissed.

  "Forfeit," he repeated. "If you leave before the Decision Ceremony, you won't get your contestant compensation package."

  I hesitated. Part of me wanted to throw it in his face and tell him where he could shove his contestant compensation package. I didn't need him, and I didn't need his smug, laughing expression that seemed to anger me down to my very soul.

  But the small, practical part of me couldn't stop thinking about the fifty grand and how much it'd help. It'd let me catch up on my bills. It'd let me buy a new furnace and set up a new shop at a festival that was actually making money. It'd let me revamp my website, and maybe get a car that wasn't falling apart.

  Fifty grand would make such a difference in my life. It was the difference between living in a cardboard box and improving my life all around.

  All I had to do was put up with a jerk of an ex.

  So I swallowed my pride, pul
led my skirts out of my fists, and turned and gave him my sweetest smile.

  "Shall we try this again?" Heathcliff asked in that silky voice of his. He held his hand out to take mine. "Hello. I'm Heathcliff Forester, and I'm the billionaire bachelor for this season's Pleasures of Eden. It's lovely to meet you."

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to put my hand in his. "Hi. I'm Juno Ashmore." Eat shit and die.

  "That's a lovely name," he murmured, lifting my hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it with a press of those fabulous lips. I ignored how my nipples tightened in response, because nipples were assholes and didn't care how I felt about him.

  "Isn't it a great name?" I tried to pull my hand out of his, only to find he had it clasped firmly. Damn him.

  "You're very beautiful, Juno," he told me. His gaze moved over my face, almost caressing in its tenderness, which just infuriated me more. It was like he was eating me up with his gaze. And my body was reacting even though my brain was getting pretty damn pissed off. Eventually, his gaze went to my hair, the wealth of braids so carefully arranged by Leona. "That's an unusual choice for a hair style."

  "Yeah, well, it was either this or a beehive, so I went with door number two and had a friend fix it after your stylists destroyed it."

  That arrogant brow arched. "I'm humbled you worked so hard to look good for me."

  Ugh, that wasn't the impression I wanted to give at all. "You just go on thinking that."

  He didn't rise to the bait. "So what is it you do, Juno?"

  I sighed. "Are we really going to do this shit, Heathcliff? Seriously?"

  He shrugged and glanced at the door behind him. "You're welcome to leave at any time."

  Damn him. I forced a smile to my face. "All right, let's play, then." I turned my voice sickly sweet. "Why, I'm a glass artisan, Mr. Forester. Are you a connoisseur?" The Heathcliff I remembered was more into sports and the business pages than art and beauty. It was a loaded question, provided he remembered what we used to fight about.

  "Sadly, no." His thumb skimmed over my hand, rubbing it in a too familiar way that unsettled me. "I'm not a connoisseur, though I do love to surround myself with beautiful things." He gazed at me, then his smile crooked up even higher on the one side. "Which is why I think we're going to get along fabulously. You're very beautiful."

  "Oh, no, I'm not," I told him. "There's a redhead out there that's gorgeous. Canary yellow dress. Tits like cannons. You'll like her much better."

  His mouth twitched with amusement. "That so?"

  "Absolutely. You want me to go get her for you?" I tried tugging my hand free again.

  "No, I'm quite fine with the company I have right now."

  "Really, I don't mind getting her. I'm sure she's more pleasant than I am. Plus, I bet she's something impressive like a lawyer or a model." I gave my hand another jerk. "It'd be no problem at all."

  He kept holding my hand. "You need your name badge before you can go."

  "Let go of my hand and I can put it on my dress." Right after I found it again.

  "You must allow me," he murmured. "It's the polite thing to do."

  Since when was Heathcliff interested in politeness? The man I knew could ruthlessly cut someone down when they were at their most vulnerable. Like he'd done to me. But I didn't throw that into his face. Right now? I just wanted to escape. I wanted to tear off my stupid white trailing gown. I wanted to free my hair from its wealth of artful braids.

  Mostly, I wanted to run out the door screaming. "Fine."

  He smiled at me like he'd won some sort of battle. "Wait right here, Juno."

  Like I could leave? I was trapped by the temptation of the fifty grand. So I crossed my arms over my chest and waited, fuming.

  Heathcliff picked up the corsage from the ground and dusted it off. He reapproached me and gestured that I should move closer so he could pin it back on. Reluctantly, I moved toward him and he began to work the pin onto one of my goofy shoulder straps.

  "I look forward to seeing you more in the future, Juno," Heathcliff said in a low voice.

  "Let's not play this game, all right?" I asked desperately. "We both know that we know each other. We can't pretend the past didn't happen. Just put me out of my misery early, okay? Pick Leona. She's a great girl and she's actually interested in you, unlike me."

  But he only smiled enigmatically. "I shall see you again soon, Juno."

  Ugh. "I really despise you." I turned and stormed away, hitching my heavy name badge onto my shoulder. This evening was going from bad to worse.

  He chuckled as I slammed the door behind me. Infuriated, I stormed down the hall, back toward the host.

  "Ready to return to the terrace?"

  "Whatever," I snapped.

  The host gave me a confused look, as if to say, huh, not madly in love with our prized bachelor, how very odd. But he went to my side anyhow and led me through the maze of hallways back to the waiting area. The moment the doors opened, I pushed my way through, somehow relieved to be lost in the sea of women again. I felt the twenty-four pairs of eyes of the other contestants on me, watching my reactions. Seeing how I felt after meeting 'our new man'. God, I wanted to vomit.

  Instead, I went straight for a drink tray and grabbed two. Now? Now was the time to drink.

  * * *

  "Ladies and gentleman," Lawrence said, moving to the center of the room and clapping his hands. "It's almost time for our Decision Ceremony. Please move to the marked spots as designated on the floor. Your spot will be the same color as your dress."

  Like a bunch of drunk birds, the women fluttered over to the center of the room, laughing and talking, all giddy with excitement.

  All except me. I grabbed another drink, now tipsy as hell, and chugged it.

  "Juno, please," Leona said, concerned. "You really need to slow it down. You're going to be toasted."

  "Good," I said, and hid a burp behind my hand. Because right now? I really wanted to be toasted. Maybe if I was, this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe if I was completely lit, I would stop seething about being here. Maybe I'd stop wanting to claw everyone's eyes out.

  Starting with Heathcliff.

  After the introductions were done and we were all badged, Heathcliff had joined the women in the room. I'd tensed up, expecting him to make a beeline over to me so he could continue his harassment. Instead?

  He ignored me.

  Which made me even crazier. I watched as he moved about the room, mingling with people and talking politely. The women threw themselves at him, naturally, fawning over his every comment and touching his sleeve so often that I expected it to fall off his arm from overuse. He'd make a comment about the weather and they'd giggle as if he'd said something magical.

  And I constantly wanted to throw down my drink and scream, You don't know him like I do. You really don't. He may be handsome and charming and sexy, but that's part of the trap. He reels you in, gets your defenses down, and then utterly destroys you.

  But I didn't say that, because it was personal, and the memory was a knot in my throat. So I sat in the corner and stewed, chugging glass after delicious glass of champagne and wishing I was anyplace but here.

  Because every time I saw one of the women flirt with him? Every time I saw his eyes light up from a comment or his crooked smile play across his handsome face?

  It made my heart squeeze painfully, and it made me jealous as hell. Which was stupid, because we'd broken up eight years ago. I had no reason to be jealous. We both should have moved on a dozen times by now.

  So why was I so hurt that he was ignoring me? I must be insane.

  "Please move to your designated spot," an assistant told me, plucking my empty champagne glass out of my hand. "We need to get the Decision Ceremony moving."

  I sighed and grabbed my now-slightly-wrinkled skirts, heading for my spot. My head was swimming as the assistant led me over and pointed at my spot. I was on the front row, right next to the canary yellow viper. Dammit. I wrinkled my nose at her as sh
e gave me a haughty look. I sincerely hoped she and her rack did not get picked.

  Actually, that was wrong, I told myself. I wanted her to get picked and me to not get picked, because I still hated Heathcliff. Right. I gave my head a little shake to clear it, and then leaned forward, peering around for Leona. She was on the back row, off to one side. Oh dear. I wanted her to get picked. Sort of. Kinda. She really deserved someone better than Heathcliff, now that I thought about it. Frowning, I rubbed my forehead. So many conflicting thoughts. I was getting confused.

  Leona gestured at me from the back row and made a motion to the front of her dress.

  "Hmm?" I called out, leaning forward as if that would help me hear Leona better.

  Her gestures grew more frantic, and she kept waving a hand at her front. She was clearly trying to tell me something, but my head was so muddy with champagne that I couldn't tell what she wanted. I just waved instead. "Hi, Leona! I see you!"

  "Shhh," Canary Yellow Viper hissed at me.

  I made a face at her and straightened.

  "All right, everyone remain in place," a voice called over the intercom. "If you are chosen, our billionaire bachelor will give you a flower showing that he claims you. If you are claimed, an assistant will walk you to the side of the room. Those not claimed, please remain in place. Does anyone have any questions?"

  "Um," someone said, and raised their hand like they were in class.

  Lawrence gave her a stern look. Light blue, didn't remember her name. "What is it?"

  She looked over at me, concerned. "I just want to point out that Juno's boob is hanging out."

  I looked down. Sure enough, my name badge had tugged down one of the filmy shoulder caps that doubled as sleeves and my boob was hanging out for all the world to see.

  "She's drunk," someone else hissed. "She started drinking after she met him."

  "It's because he doesn't like her," another said. "She's just trying to get attention."