Chapter Text
Feyre is all nerves as she walks the last block from the parking lot (free, 5 blocks away) to the hotel where she’s meeting Eris. It’s a place she’s been once or twice before for drinks on a splurge night with Mor. It’s the kind of place people will go for dinner and drinks even if they’re not staying at the hotel—sleek, modern, brand new construction, $17 cocktails. The kind of place where the more interesting people traveling to her city on business choose to stay, a little hipper than some of the older hotels.
The pink neon letters of the sign flicker into view and Feyre asks herself one last time if she’s really going to go through with this.
Her heels click against the pavement, a breeze tousling her hair she wears down around her shoulders, curled just enough to look naturally wavy. She’s wearing her favorite (and tallest) heels—shiny black patent leather—sheer stockings with a little bow on the back of each leg, a short delicate rosy pink dress, a black faux fur jacket. Her eyes are lined, a little extra pink blush on her cheeks, lipgloss, a cute little gold chain around her neck. She’d even remembered to paint her nails a baby pink to match it all.
All cute and girly, just like her online presence.
She hadn’t told anyone what her plan was tonight but, as a precaution, she’d scheduled an email to send to Mor at 10 am the next morning explaining where she’d gone, who she’d met with, including a picture of his ID (which she’d asked him to send her). If all went well, she’d wake up and cancel the email before Mor ever knew a thing. And worst case scenario, at least they’d have a starting point for finding her body.
Ha. Ridiculous. Right?
Feyre shakes her head again, trying to dispel the thoughts. Dinner, drinks, sex. Like a normal date. Just a normal date that would earn her enough money to pay off her car repair, her rent, and then some.
She stops in front of the hotel doors, giving herself one last second to shake off her nerves. She takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, and pushes the doors open, walking in what she hopes is a manner that conveys confidence, sensuality, with just the right amount of innocence to entertain Eris.
The hotel’s front desk is off to the right of the main entrance, some low couches and coffee tables off to the far left. The hotel bar and restaurant are ahead—tables with their own little lamps, low lighting creating a private ambience, a sleek glass bar off to the left of most of the tables. There are couples and small groups at the tables having dinner, a few groups crowded around the bar—the later work crowd getting out of offices nearby.
Feyre is just about to tell the maître d' who she’s here to meet when she hears a voice behind her.
“Feyre?”
Shit.
She spins around and, sure enough, there’s Rhys coming toward her from the bar. He’s wearing a dark gray suit, the jacket discarded on the back of one of the barstools, tie a little loose and shirt sleeves rolled up a bit, looking fine as hell.
“Rhys! What are you doing here?” Oh god, her voice sounds so high pitched.
Rhys gives her a hug before pulling back and looking her over.
“Just grabbing drinks with some people from work. What are you doing here?”
Feyre’s mind is completely blank. She had no idea what to tell Rhys, no idea what to say to extricate herself from this.
“I…uh…” she stammers, certain her face is reddening beyond the light pink blush she’d applied at home.
“Clare?”
Feyre shuts her eyes for a moment.
Jesus, fuck, come on.
She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns her head to see Eris. She recognizes him from the ID she’d asked him to send. He’s taller than she imagined, and a little older, probably in his early or mid 40’s. Still pretty handsome though—reddish hair speckled with a little gray, dressed in a sort of casual business way but clearly in expensive clothing.
“Eris, hi.” She forces a smile onto her face.
“I thought that was you. Friend of yours?” Eris reaches a hand out to Rhys, his other hand still resting on Feyre’s shoulder. “Hi, I’m Eris.”
Rhys looks utterly stunned for the length of a few heartbeats—if Feyre didn’t know him so well she probably wouldn’t even clock it—before recovering himself impressively well and shaking Eris’s hand. “Rhys. Yeah, Clare and I go way back.”
“Nice to meet you. If you’re ready, Clare, out table is just over here.”
She gives him a nod and Eris starts off toward one of the small tables across the room. Before she follows, she looks up at Rhys once more. She can’t register the emotions flickering over his face quickly enough. His jaw clenches, eyes boring into hers like he could pass her a message if he tries hard enough.
“I should go,” she practically whispers.
He nods too many times.
Feyre turns to follow Eris and takes the 20 seconds it takes to walk to the table to let herself freak out. Rhys clearly knows. He at least knows something. He didn’t seem confused, he seemed hurt.
To his credit, Eris doesn’t seem thrown off by the run in. He pulls Feyre’s chair out for her and she slides her faux fur coat off her shoulders and drapes it over the back of the chair before taking her seat.
Eris eyes her appreciatively as she does this, not trying to hide where he’s looking, then takes his own seat across from her. The seat Eris chose for her has her back to the bar so she has know idea where Rhys is, if he left, or if he’s watching them from across the room.
Feyre does her best to shake off the thoughts of Rhys and focus on what she’s doing. She can deal with Rhys later.
“You’re even more beautiful in person, you know,” Eris says to her, handing her a menu across the table. The tiny lamp in the center of their table gives off a warm glow. The darkness of the restaurant gives each table its own private feeling bubble.
Feyre smiles and looks Eris in the eye, the light glinting off his green irises. “Thank you. If I’m being honest, you’re not what I expected.”
Eris laughs a little. “No? What did you expect?”
Feyre makes a little scrunched face. “Ya know, someone…creepier.” She laughs and when the server comes she orders a martini.
Talking to Eris isn’t as difficult as she worried it might be. They have a drink and appetizers, order their mains and have another drink while they’re waiting for those to arrive. They talk about his work, her painting, a little bit about each of their time in college, small talk here and there. It’s all pleasant enough but Feyre can’t quite seem to shake the feeling that she shouldn’t be doing this. That she’s making a mistake.
Feyre is halfway through her second drink and feeling a little looser. “So, I have to ask. Is this something you do often?”
Eris smirks and takes a sip of his wine. “Define often.”
“Monthly?”
“A little less than that. I travel a lot for work so it’s hard to keep a real relationship going. I find this works well for me but I’d say I pay for it maybe…four or so times a year?”
Feyre nods, unsure how to reply to that.
“And you?”
“How often do I pay for it?” she smirks at him and he returns the look.
“Do you go on many…dates?”
She knows what he means. “No, actually, this is my first time.”
At first she’s not sure whether that’s a truth she should share but he looks strangely pleased at her answer.
“Well, don’t I feel honored.” He picks up his glass to have another sip of wine and his napkin slides from his lap to the floor. When he bends down to pick it up, Feyre takes the opportunity to glance behind her. Rhys is standing at the bar with a group of other people dressed in suits—coworkers presumably. He looks relaxed enough but he’s betrayed by his unusually tight grip on his glass, knuckles nearly white with strain.
As if he can feel her gaze, his eyes shift, meeting hers across the room. She has only a moment before Eris is sitting back up and she turns to face him again.
Their entrees come—delicious—along with a third round of drinks. The food is all incredible and far more expensive than Feyre ever treats herself too.
“Well, I believe I promised you dessert too,” Eris says as they finish up their entrees, “and then we can head upstairs.”
He reaches out to where her hand is resting on the table and strokes her forearm, dragging his fingers across her skin. Feyre’s stomach flips.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Want me to order the chocolate cake for us?
“Sure,” she says as brightly as she can muster.
Feyre pushes away from the table and heads for the bathroom, stepping around tables and chair legs carefully in her heels. She reaches the back of the room and is just about to turn into the dark hallway to the bathrooms when she can’t help but look toward the bar. Rhys’s eyes are already on her.
If Feyre’s stomach flipped a moment ago, it feels like a pit has opened up in her now. Her heart hammers in her chest and she puts a hand out against the wall to steady herself. The floor is tilting beneath her. Rhys must see something in her expression because he sets his glass down on the bar and strides toward her. Feyre quickly disappears into the hallway, pushing into one of the single occupancy restrooms, leaving the door unlocked behind her. Like the rest of the hotel and restaurant, it’s impeccably decorated: deep blue tiles, shining gold fixtures, lighting so low in a way only expensive places can pull off.
Feyre braces both hands on the edge of the tiled counter, relishing the cool feeling of it against her hot skin. She takes a deep steadying breath and closes her eyes. The door opens and closes again quickly, lock clicking into place.
“Feyre, are you ok?”
She takes a deep breath in through her nose again and lets it out through her mouth slowly.
“I don’t think I can go through with it.”
She could have. She definitely could have. But then she saw him.
He was silent for a few moments and then she felt his hand on her upper arm—not grabbing, just resting on her.
“Go through with what, exactly?” Rhys asks deliberately, carefully.
She finally opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at him through her lashes.
“I think you already know.” Just above a whisper.
He nods slowly, eyes searching hers. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
They stand there, just looking at each other until Feyre finally sighs and lets go of the counter. She looks in the mirror, shaking her hair out and rubbing at a smudge in her makeup.
“I should go back out there.”
“Come with me,” Rhys insists. “Please. Let’s just get out of here.”
Feyre turns back to look at him. Even in her heels, he towers over her.
“I really need the money, Rhys.”
“I’ll double it. Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it. Just come with me.”
Feyre guffaws, a laugh born of shock more than anything else. “That’s really sweet but I don’t want your pit—”
“It’s not pity,” he interrupts, clearly frustrated with her. “It’s not. I just—ugh.” He drags his hand down his face. “Fuck, Feyre. I want you! Ok? It’s not about pity, it’s not about anything other than the fact that watching you go off with that guy will probably fucking kill me.”
Feyre’s head is spinning again. She has so much she wants to say but can’t seem to force any of the words out of her mouth.
“I’m serious, Feyre. I’ll double it. If this is about the money, I’ll take care of it. If it’s more than that, I’ll let you get on with your night and you can explain it to me later.”
Feyre’s eyes sting and she tries to force back the tears. It’s not just that his offer is touching, or that he just told her for the first time the thing she’s wanted to hear for years. It’s not just the cumulation of stress that’s been building and building the last year trying to make ends meet. It’s a little bit of each of those things but what’s really behind the tears is his understanding. His lack of judgement. She knows he really would let her go off and do this and he would still be at her place tomorrow night to talk it all out.
“Ok,” Feyre nods. “Let’s get out of here.”
Rhys will have plenty of time to think later about how that was not how he wanted to tell Feyre his feelings for her—three drinks in while she’s contemplating going up to a hotel room with a stranger. He can worry about all of that later. Right now he’s focused on the feel of Feyre’s hand in his as he leads her across the restaurant to the table she’s been sharing.
Once they reach the table, he lets her step in front of him. The man looks up, confusion clearly written on his face.
“I’m so sorry but I need to leave,” Feyre says, already grabbing her purse and jacket off the back of the chair.
The man’s eyebrows raise, a dissatisfied expression taking over his face. “Excuse me?”
“I need to go. Like I said, I’m really sorry I just—”
“I paid for you,” he interrupts.
Rhys’s blood boils. He forces a calming breath through his nose but he can feel his fingers circling into his palms.
Feyre stiffens in front of him. “I’ll send you the money back, Eris, I’m really—”
“I paid you two thousand dollars, I think I’m entitled to a little more than an hour of dinner.”
Rhys can’t keep quiet at that. “You aren’t entitled to anything.” Rhys moves Feyre halfway behind him and glances at her to make sure she’s putting her coat on. “She said she’d return your money.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you can understand a whore’s word isn’t worth much to me.” Eris is standing now too. His voice drips with disdain.
“What did you just call her?” Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. His heart was pounding, vision narrowing to the man in front of him.
“She’s at a hotel being paid to fuck me. I don’t think it’s a stretch to call her a who—”
Rhys swung before he could even think about it. One moment his fist was clenched by his side and the next it was connecting with Eris’s face. The thing about punching someone is it hurts you too. Rhys could feel the impact all the way up his arm. But in that moment, he relished the pain, let it bleed off some of the anger.
Feyre screeched and stepped back from them. Rhys turned to look at Feyre, the screech having snapped his attention back to her. She was covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide looking at him, but unharmed.
Unfortunately, that check-in cost him.
As he turned back to Eris, he felt a fist swing hard into his jaw and his head snapped back to the side. Damn, that was a solid hit.
Rhys stumbled back a step, tasting metal in his mouth already. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and it came away bloody. Fuck.
“Rhys!” Feyre exclaimed.
Can’t let that asshole have the high ground though. Rhys shook his head, shook off the throbbing pain in his jaw, and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He couldn’t help but notice all conversation in the restaurant had stopped completely. He pulled a business card from his wallet and tossed it on the table in front of him.
“That’s my card. Call me Monday and I’ll send you whatever she owes you. Actually, on second thought, email me. I don’t want to have to hear your voice again.” Rhys turned and put his arm around Feyre, squeezing her shoulder lightly and leading her to the exit. “Come on, Fey.”