Free The Glamorous Life 2 by Nikki Turner Page B

purposes.”
    A hyper-developed body made it easy to transform from sixteen-year-old jailbait to the appearance of a twenty-five-year-old seductress.
    And the perverted routine that she participated in once a month had gotten a lot easier to be a part of than it had been the first time.
    She reflected on that experience over seven months ago. “I don’t know about this.” Calliope had cringed within herself.
    Rusty was a long ways off from the upstanding officer he pretended to be. He was one decorated cop with a hell of a dark side. He was as crooked and sneaky as a coiled cobra.
    With a venomous smile that many mistook for comforting, Rusty said, “Think of it as role-playing. That’s all you have to do. Didn’t you always want to be an actress, in movies?” He kept trying to give her a pep talk. “Be like your favorite actress in a sexy movie.” He wore his uniform, badge, and gun … the whole shebang. But he sounded nothing like a police officer—he sounded more like one of the street swindlers that he was trained to lock up.
    And nothing Rusty said made any of this any less crazy.
    “So what part of the ‘movie’ do you play, Rusty?” Intentionally forgetting to address him as officer, shoot he was the furthest from one. She wondered how long it had been since he’d forgotten that he’d been sworn in to protect people.
    There was that smile again—the one laced with poison.
    “Producer,” he said. “Showtime is in fifteen minutes.” Then he slithered toward the door of the motel room he’d bought. Before he opened the door to leave, he turned back around, and said, “Just remember your scene, lines, and most importantly … your role.” Then he left the room, for the moment leaving her alone to stew in her fears
    Shit! What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. I should have just taken my chances and went to jail, and tried my hand with the judge. Then she thought again, No the hell I shouldn’t. This is going to be okay. You gotta do what you do. It’s just that simple.
    The knock at the door startled the bejeezus out of her, even though she was expecting … company felt like the wrong word to describe what was about to take place in the room.
    She was a virgin, not only sexually but to this whole new way of living and means of employment.
    The virtual elephant sitting on her chest made it impossible to breathe. She panicked. Asked God to get her through this. Then another knock at the door. This time harder. “Just a second, I’m coming.”
    Breathe, Calliope.
    Silently pleading for the walls to stop caving in on her, she cracked the door.
    “Pumpkin?”
    That was the name Rusty said he wanted her to go by. She wanted to scream, “Get me outta here!” Then she felt like saying to the client, “Fuck no! My name ain’t no damn Pumpkin, it’s Calliope. Now go away, pervert.” She said, “Come in,” instead.
    The pervert didn’t look at all like what she expected a pervert to look like. He’d probably celebrated at least about forty-five birthdays. Italian—most likely his nationality, and the type of designer suit that neatly hung from a muscular six-foot body.
    “Nice to meet you, Pumpkin.” He seemed to like what he saw, marching around her in a full 360-degree turn. He licked his lips. “You are so beautiful.” Yet he still sensed her uneasiness. “My name’s Roberto.” When he smiled, his teeth were ridiculously even, the whitest she’d ever seen in person.
    Roberto’s eyes, black as coal, roved up and down the red dress Rusty had picked out for her. Then she saw it. It was just a flash, but it was there in those black eyes of his. A perverted lust, it was the same look Joey gave her when he was coming out of the bathroom and she was going in. It made her sick to her stomach.
    “Do you want me to take it off?” She said it in a tone just a little above a whisper, and batted her eyelashes, just like Rusty asked her to say it.
    Roberto bit down on his bottom lip.