Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The way she said my name made my stomach clench. Did everyone here know why I was here? What I was doing?
“Have a seat,” Joann said, gesturing to a row of sleek chairs. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
I perched on the edge of a chair, my hands twisted together in my lap. Around me, people in business attire strode past with purpose. No one looked at me, but I felt exposed anyway, like I was wearing a sign that announced that I had gotten desperate enough to sell my virginity like a whore.
“Ms. Martindale?”
The voice was deep and authoritative. I looked up to find a massive man in spotless blue medical scrubs standing before me. He had to be at least six-two, with a military haircut and the kind of build that suggested he could snap me in half without effort.
“I’m Hank Grovers,” he said. His tone was clipped, professional, but there was something in his eyes when he looked at me—a flicker of judgment that made my tummy lurch. “Follow me.”
I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over my own shoes. He was already walking away, his stride long and purposeful. I hurried after him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
We passed through a security door, down a corridor that seemed to stretch forever. The walls were lined with frosted glass, beyond which I could see shadowy figures moving. Medical equipment. Exam rooms.
Oh, god. This was really happening.
Hank stopped at a door marked Examination Room 4 and pushed it open. The room beyond was sterile and clinical, dominated by a padded exam table in the center. Bright overhead lights made everything harsh and unforgiving. I saw stirrups. Then I noticed something else: a detail so shocking it took me a moment to process it. Restraints, attached to the exam table.
“Wait here,” Hank said, “Nurse Samuels will come in a moment to conduct your exam.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made my knees weak. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, my arms wrapped around myself. The exam table loomed before me, the incongruous restraints dangling like a promise of what was to come.
What was I doing here? What had I been thinking?
But I knew the answer. I’d been thinking about eviction notices. About my parents’ disappointed faces. About having no future, no prospects, nothing.
The door opened again without so much as a knock, and a woman in her mid-forties entered. She wore a tailored medical uniform that somehow managed to look both professional and intimidating in a uniquely corporate way. Her steel-gray eyes swept over me with clinical assessment, and I felt myself shrinking under her gaze.
“I’m Nurse Samuels,” she said, her voice crisp and efficient. She carried a tablet, which she glanced at briefly. “Laura Martindale. Twenty years old. Applied for premium placement.” She looked up at me. “Strip. All of it.”
The command hit me like a slap. “I… what?”
“Your clothes. Take them off. All of them.” She didn’t raise her voice, but something in her tone made it clear this wasn’t a request.
My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my hoodie. My face burned with humiliation as I pulled it over my head, then fumbled with the button of my jeans. Nurse Samuels watched with detached patience, like she was observing a laboratory specimen. I kicked off my sneakers, peeled off my socks, pushed down my jeans. When I stood in just my bra and panties, I hesitated.
“Everything,” she repeated.
I unhooked my bra with shaking fingers, crossing my arms reflexively over my breasts as soon as the fabric fell away, until I realized I would have to use my hands to take off my panties. My forehead creasing, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my sensible gray bikini briefs, and they followed. I stood completely naked in the harsh fluorescent light, trembling and exposed.
“Is there… is there a gown?” I managed to whisper.
“No.”
“But I—”
“You need to remember what kind of program you signed up for, Laura.” Nurse Samuels set down her tablet and stepped closer. “This isn’t a standard medical examination. You’re applying to be an associate member of Selecta Arrangements, which means you’ll be what you might call the junior partner in a sexual relationship—a relationship in which the senior partner is an extremely wealthy man who has the right to expect his money’s worth. To ensure your eligibility for the premium offer you applied for, I have to inspect your body thoroughly, test your responses, and evaluate your potential as an associate member. Modesty is not a consideration here.”
The words made my stomach drop. Junior partner. Associate member. Hearing it stated so baldly made the reality of what I was doing crash over me.
Nurse Samuels picked up her tablet again, scrolling through what I assumed was my file. “The preliminary data from your application is quite revealing. Selecta has developed some extraordinary technology to extrapolate psychosexual patterns from small pieces of biometric data. The application you filled out online captured not only your actual responses, but the way you moved the cursor and the time you took to answer certain questions. Then, of course, our computers scraped your publicly available data, and a very clear picture emerged—which is why you’re here this afternoon.”