Virgin Dot Com

Her POV: I was just a music assistant trying to survive, crushed by debt, haunted by my brother’s mistakes, and drowning in secrets 😞. Then came the Blackwood brothers, Liam, Asher, and Finn. Billionaire bosses. Cold, magnetic, and completely off-limits 🔥. I thought I was invisible to them… until I wasn’t. Until I auctioned my virginity to save my brother. And they saw it. All of it 😳. Now, I’m stuck between desire and shame, power and submission, and the terrifying truth: I might not survive this without losing everything, including my heart ❤️‍🔥. Chapter 1: Jasmine’s POV ""Harlow!"" My manager’s voice cracked through the hallway like a gunshot, silencing every conversation within earshot. Heads turned. No one wanted to miss the show. He stormed toward me, his eyes blazing, and jabbed his phone inches from my face. On the screen: the email I’d sent barely twenty minutes ago. “Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke.” My throat tightened as I scanned the message. There it was, the mistake. I’d written 10:30 AM instead of 10:00. A thirty-minute error. Fuck. “It’s just a small–” I began. “A small what?” he snapped, cutting me off. “A small fuck-up with a C-level exec involved? Do you have any idea what you just did to the schedule? Jesus, Jasmine, are you even capable of doing this job without tripping over your own incompetence?” The words hit like a physical blow. Fury coiled tight in my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm. This wasn't about a typo, this was about reminding me of my place. ""I understand your concern,"" I replied, voice professionally neutral despite the storm inside me. ""I take full responsibility and will ensure it doesn't happen again."" He pulled out a thick stack of contracts, shoving them into my hands. ""Take these to Conference Room A. The Blackwoods are waiting!"" I gave a stiff nod and walked away, cheeks burning. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to put me in my place at Cadence Records. The thing is, I'm good at what I do. Exceptional, even. I navigate this chaos like I was born for it, juggling schedules, managing producers, keeping everything organized. I have a sharp ear for music and contribute to more projects than anyone realizes, but I'm invisible in the ways that matter. Just the girl who keeps the machine running.The moment I stepped into Conference Room A, the atmosphere shifted. Three men sat around that stupidly expensive table, and I immediately understood why my manager had been sweating bullets when he handed me these contracts. Liam Blackwood commanded the head of the table like he owned the building, which he actually did. Sleeves rolled up over forearms that belonged in a fucking gym advertisement, perpetual five-o'clock shadow that suggested he'd rather be anywhere but in a boardroom. When he glanced up, his green eyes held the kind of stare that made you wonder if he could see straight through your bullshit corporate smile to every dirty thought you'd never admit out loud. ""Good afternoon,"" I managed, sounding way more professional than I felt. ""I have the contracts you requested."" ""Thank you,"" Liam replied, his voice deep and smooth. ""Just set them down here."" Moving around the table felt like walking through quicksand. Every step is hyperaware, every breath calculated. I placed the copies in front of each man, and when Liam's fingers brushed mine—my brain short-circuited: Holy shit, he's gorgeous. Asher Blackwood sat to his right, and where Liam was a barely contained chaos, his younger brother was a polished control. Head of A&R, power radiated from his perfectly tailored suit, dark hair dark hair tousled in that ‘I woke up like this but actually spent twenty minutes with pomade’ way, and a jawline so sharp it could slice through my carefully constructed professional composure. His mouth lived in a permanent state of almost-scowling, like he was constantly annoyed by everyone's existence. ""Anything else we need to know?"" His voice was rougher than Liam's, gravel and smoke with an edge that sent shivers cascading down my spine like dominoes. ""Standard terms are highlighted on page three,"" I replied, fighting to ignore how his stare made me feel completely fucking exposed. Like he could see every fantasy I'd never voice.Then there was Finn Blackwood, sprawled back in his chair with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he'd never encountered a situation he couldn't charm, manipulate, or fuck his way through. Their cousin, but he fit into their power dynamic like he'd been molded for it. Tousled hair that begged for fingers, shirt unbuttoned just enough to be borderline inappropriate, and that trademark smile—the kind that could talk nuns into strip clubs. No instruction to leave, so I stood there like an idiot, trapped in professional purgatory while they reviewed documents. But my eyes had developed a mind of their own, cataloging every detail despite every rational neuron screaming to look anywhere else. These weren't just my bosses—they were legends walking around in human suits. Powerful, successful, completely out of my twenty-five-years-old-virgin league in every conceivable way. Yet that didn't stop my brain from diving headfirst into dangerous, completely inappropriate territory. What would it feel like to run my fingers through Asher's hair? Mess up that controlled perfection? Would he lose that calculated composure if I pushed the right buttons? That man Liam—fuck, would that raw intensity translate into other areas? Those hands on my skin, that barely contained energy focused entirely on making me fall apart? And Finn... Jesus Christ. With that lazy smile and those knowing eyes, I could practically hear him whispering things that would make my toes curl. I was so lost in mental gymnastics that bordered on pornographic that I didn't realize how long I'd been staring, basically eye-fucking all three of them simultaneously, until Finn glanced up. He caught my gaze with laser precision, and that knowing glint in his eyes suggested he could read every single filthy thought racing through my head. ""See something you like?"" he asked, voice dropping to a register that bypassed my brain entirely and went straight to my nervous system. That trademark grin spread across his face like spilled sin while mortification crashed over me like a cold wave. My face flamed red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something incoherent about needing to get back to work.""I should... the other contracts..."" I stammered, backing toward the door like a deer caught in headlights. I fled the room as fast as my heels would carry me, my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. Damn it, I was supposed to be professional, not fantasizing about my bosses like some schoolgirl with a crush. My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me back to reality. The caller ID showed my baby-brother’s name. ""Leo?"" I answered, stepping into an empty office for privacy. ""Jas..."" His voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. ""I messed up. I messed up really bad."" The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once. ""What do you mean? What happened?"" ""I thought I could fix it myself, but they wanted the money immediately. They're not waiting anymore."" ""Leo, slow down,"" I said, gripping the edge of a filing cabinet for support. ""What money? Who wants money?"" ""I borrowed it,"" he said, his voice cracking. ""I thought... I thought I could help… But now these people—"" ""How much?"" I whispered, dreading the answer. ""Thirty-seven thousand dollars."" The number hit me like a physical blow and I slumped against the wall, my knees suddenly weak. ""Leo, listen to me—"" ""Harlow!"" A sharp voice cut through the office, making me jump. One of the senior assistants was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and an impatient expression on her face. ""I need those media contact sheets for the Morrison project. Where the fuck are they?"" Looking from the phone to the woman, I felt panic rising in my throat. I closed my eyes, torn between my professional responsibilities and my brother's terrified voice on the other end of the line. In the end, survival instinct won.I need this job more than ever now. ""Leo,"" I whispered urgently into the phone, ""I have to go. We'll talk about this at home tonight, okay?"" ""But Jas—"" ""Tonight,"" I said firmly, then hung up before I could change my mind. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up at the assistant with a forced smile. ""The Morrison materials are on my desk. I'll get them for you right now."" As I walked back to my workstation, my legs felt unsteady. Everything around me looked the same, the familiar chaos of the office, the stacks of paperwork, the framed photos of Grammy winners on the walls, but it all felt suddenly fragile, like it could disappear at any moment. My hands were shaking as I reached for the contracts, and for the first time in my life, I understood what true desperation felt like. Where the hell am I going to find thirty-fucking-seven damned thousand dollars? What will hapen next? 🫣 Read Virgin dot com now! 🔥 my-passion.com

His POV: She thought she was just an assistant. But I saw everything—the brilliance she hid, the fire she tried to tame… and the secret she was about to sell. I’ve closed billion-dollar deals without blinking. But when I found her Virtue Exchange profile, I couldn’t breathe 😤. Jasmine Harlow—our assistant—was about to auction her virginity to strangers just to save her brother 🔥. I don’t share emotions. I don’t get involved. But this? This wasn’t business. This was personal 😡. If she was going to give herself to anyone… it was going to be us ❤️‍🔥.Chapter 1 [Jasmine’s POV] "Harlow!" My manager’s voice cracked through the hallway like a gunshot, silencing every conversation within earshot. Heads turned. No one wanted to miss the show. He stormed toward me, his eyes blazing, and jabbed his phone inches from my face. On the screen: the email I’d sent barely twenty minutes ago. “Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke.” My throat tightened as I scanned the message. There it was, the mistake. I’d written 10:30 AM instead of 10:00. A thirty-minute error. Fuck. “It’s just a small–” I began. “A small what?” he snapped, cutting me off. “A small fuck-up with a C-level exec involved? Do you have any idea what you just did to the schedule? Jesus, Jasmine, are you even capable of doing this job without tripping over your own incompetence?” The words hit like a physical blow. Fury coiled tight in my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm. This wasn't about a typo, this was about reminding me of my place. "I understand your concern," I replied, voice professionally neutral despite the storm inside me. "I take full responsibility and will ensure it doesn't happen again." He pulled out a thick stack of contracts, shoving them into my hands. "Take these to Conference Room A. The Blackwoods are waiting!" I gave a stiff nod and walked away, cheeks burning. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to put me in my place at Cadence Records. The thing is, I'm good at what I do. Exceptional, even. I navigate this chaos like I was born for it, juggling schedules, managing producers, keeping everything organized. I have a sharp ear for music and contribute to more projects than anyone realizes, but I'm invisible in the ways that matter. Just the girl who keeps the machine running. The moment I stepped into Conference Room A, the atmosphere shifted. Three men sat around that stupidly expensive table, and I immediately understood why my manager had been sweating bullets when he handed me these contracts. Liam Blackwood commanded the head of the table like he owned the building, which he actually did. Sleeves rolled up over forearms that belonged in a fucking gym advertisement, perpetual five-o'clock shadow that suggested he'd rather be anywhere but in a boardroom. When he glanced up, his green eyes held the kind of stare that made you wonder if he could see straight through your bullshit corporate smile to every dirty thought you'd never admit out loud. "Good afternoon," I managed, sounding way more professional than I felt. "I have the contracts you requested." "Thank you," Liam replied, his voice deep and smooth. "Just set them down here." Moving around the table felt like walking through quicksand. Every step is hyperaware, every breath calculated. I placed the copies in front of each man, and when Liam's fingers brushed mine—my brain short-circuited: Holy shit, he's gorgeous. Asher Blackwood sat to his right, and where Liam was a barely contained chaos, his younger brother was a polished control. Head of A&R, power radiated from his perfectly tailored suit, dark hair dark hair tousled in that ‘I woke up like this but actually spent twenty minutes with pomade’ way, and a jawline so sharp it could slice through my carefully constructed professional composure. His mouth lived in a permanent state of almost-scowling, like he was constantly annoyed by everyone's existence. "Anything else we need to know?" His voice was rougher than Liam's, gravel and smoke with an edge that sent shivers cascading down my spine like dominoes. "Standard terms are highlighted on page three," I replied, fighting to ignore how his stare made me feel completely fucking exposed. Like he could see every fantasy I'd never voice. Then there was Finn Blackwood, sprawled back in his chair with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he'd never encountered a situation he couldn't charm, manipulate, or fuck his way through. Their cousin, but he fit into their power dynamic like he'd been molded for it. Tousled hair that begged for fingers, shirt unbuttoned just enough to be borderline inappropriate, and that trademark smile—the kind that could talk nuns into strip clubs. No instruction to leave, so I stood there like an idiot, trapped in professional purgatory while they reviewed documents. But my eyes had developed a mind of their own, cataloging every detail despite every rational neuron screaming to look anywhere else. These weren't just my bosses—they were legends walking around in human suits. Powerful, successful, completely out of my twenty-five-years-old-virgin league in every conceivable way. Yet that didn't stop my brain from diving headfirst into dangerous, completely inappropriate territory. What would it feel like to run my fingers through Asher's hair? Mess up that controlled perfection? Would he lose that calculated composure if I pushed the right buttons? That man Liam—fuck, would that raw intensity translate into other areas? Those hands on my skin, that barely contained energy focused entirely on making me fall apart? And Finn... Jesus Christ. With that lazy smile and those knowing eyes, I could practically hear him whispering things that would make my toes curl. I was so lost in mental gymnastics that bordered on pornographic that I didn't realize how long I'd been staring, basically eye-fucking all three of them simultaneously, until Finn glanced up. He caught my gaze with laser precision, and that knowing glint in his eyes suggested he could read every single filthy thought racing through my head. "See something you like?" he asked, voice dropping to a register that bypassed my brain entirely and went straight to my nervous system. That trademark grin spread across his face like spilled sin while mortification crashed over me like a cold wave. My face flamed red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something incoherent about needing to get back to work. "I should... the other contracts..." I stammered, backing toward the door like a deer caught in headlights. I fled the room as fast as my heels would carry me, my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. Damn it, I was supposed to be professional, not fantasizing about my bosses like some schoolgirl with a crush. My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me back to reality. The caller ID showed my baby-brother’s name. "Leo?" I answered, stepping into an empty office for privacy. "Jas..." His voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. "I messed up. I messed up really bad." The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once. "What do you mean? What happened?" "I thought I could fix it myself, but they wanted the money immediately. They're not waiting anymore." "Leo, slow down," I said, gripping the edge of a filing cabinet for support. "What money? Who wants money?" "I borrowed it," he said, his voice cracking. "I thought... I thought I could help… But now these people—" "How much?" I whispered, dreading the answer. "Thirty-seven thousand dollars." The number hit me like a physical blow and I slumped against the wall, my knees suddenly weak. "Leo, listen to me—" "Harlow!" A sharp voice cut through the office, making me jump. One of the senior assistants was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and an impatient expression on her face. "I need those media contact sheets for the Morrison project. Where the fuck are they?" Looking from the phone to the woman, I felt panic rising in my throat. I closed my eyes, torn between my professional responsibilities and my brother's terrified voice on the other end of the line. In the end, survival instinct won. I need this job more than ever now. "Leo," I whispered urgently into the phone, "I have to go. We'll talk about this at home tonight, okay?" "But Jas—" "Tonight," I said firmly, then hung up before I could change my mind. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up at the assistant with a forced smile. "The Morrison materials are on my desk. I'll get them for you right now." As I walked back to my workstation, my legs felt unsteady. Everything around me looked the same, the familiar chaos of the office, the stacks of paperwork, the framed photos of Grammy winners on the walls, but it all felt suddenly fragile, like it could disappear at any moment. My hands were shaking as I reached for the contracts, and for the first time in my life, I understood what true desperation felt like. Where the hell am I going to find thirty-fucking-seven damned thousand dollars? Chapter 2 Walking into our apartment felt like stepping into a crime scene where the victim was my peace of mind and the murder weapon was whatever fresh hell Leo had unleashed this time. Leo was planted on our piece-of-shit couch like he'd grown roots, staring at some mindless sitcom with the volume muted. His hands were doing this weird compulsive thing—rubbing together, then wiping on his jeans, then back to rubbing like he was trying to scrub off invisible guilt. Classic Leo stress response. I'd seen it enough times to know we were about to have a conversation that would age me approximately six years. He didn't even look up when I walked in. Red flag number two. "Leo." I used my no-bullshit voice, the one that usually got results. When he finally looked up, I wanted to travel back in time and hug eleven-year-old me for thinking we'd escaped the worst of our childhood drama. His eyes were red-rimmed, his usually decent hair looking like he'd been stress-grooming for hours. He looked younger than his twenty-one years, more like the scared kid I remembered from our worst foster placement. "You want to tell me what's really going on?" I stayed standing, arms crossed. "Because thirty-seven thousand dollars doesn't just materialize from thin air, and you've been acting like someone's holding a gun to your head." Leo's Adam's apple did this nervous bobbing thing. "I borrowed it for Mom and Dad." I froze, the water glass halfway to my lips and nearly slipped from my hands. "I'm sorry, what now?" "They needed help, Jas. Medical bills. Mom's been sick and—" "Stop." The word came out sharp enough to cut glass. I set my water down harder than necessary. "Just fucking stop right there. Are you seriously telling me you borrowed thirty-seven thousand dollars for those people?" "They're our parents—" "No." I was pacing now, because sitting still would've meant accepting this insanity. "No, they're not. Parents don't abandon their kids. Parents don't choose heroin over making sure their children don't starve. Parents don't—" "They said they were clean!" Leo's voice cracked like he was twelve again. "They said they needed help getting back on their feet, that Mom had medical issues and they just needed—" "How long?" I spun around to face him. "How long have you been talking to them behind my back?" His silence was loud enough to wake the dead. "Leo. How fucking long?" "A year and a half," he whispered. I swear I felt something break inside my chest. "A year and a half? You've been in contact with those people for over a year and you never told me?" “See! ‘Cause I knew you'd lose your shit!" "Lose my shit? You mean react like someone with a fucking functioning memory? Like someone who remembers what they put us through?" "They said they changed!" Leo was on his feet now, matching my energy. "They said they were sober, that they wanted to make things right—" "And you actually believed them?" I was shouting now, all pretense of calm shattered. "After everything? After they left us alone for days? After the evictions and the fights and the nights we went to bed hungry because they spent grocery money on their next fix?" "Jasmine—" "No, you listen!" Tears burned my eyes, but I pushed through. "Do you even remember being five years old and I was the only one taking care of you when you had the flu because they were too high to notice? Do you remember when CPS found us? We were eleven and seven, Leo. Eleven and seven!" Leo's face was crumpling, but I couldn't stop. "Do you remember the foster homes? The Hendersons who locked us in the basement when we 'misbehaved'? The Garcias who made us compete for meals? Mrs. Chen, who seemed nice until her boyfriend decided he liked teenage girls much more?" "Stop," Leo whispered, sinking back onto the couch. "Why?" My voice was breaking now. "You want to remember the good times? What fucking good times, Leo? When exactly were they good parents? When they missed every birthday? Every school event? Every single moment that actually mattered?" "They're still our parents!" Leo shouted through his tears. "I can't just erase them like you did! I can't just pretend they don't exist!" I stared at him like he'd grown a second head "I thought maybe they really changed," he said, his voice completely broken now. "I thought maybe... just maybe, we could have a real family. That they could actually be the parents we deserved." And there it was. The truth that gutted me more than any amount of debt ever could. Looking at my little brother, my baby brother who I'd raised and protected and loved more than my own life, I saw it written all over his face. He'd been hoping. All this time, he'd been hoping for something I'd buried years ago. "Oh, Leo." I sat down beside him, my anger dissolving into something deeper and infinitely more painful. "Baby, they don't change. People like them... they just don't." "I know that now," he whispered. "God, Jas, I know that now. The money I sent wasn't for medical bills, was it? It was for drugs. It was always for fucking drugs..." I pulled him into my arms as he broke down completely, his shoulders shaking with sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep and wounded inside him. "I fucked up," he cried against my shoulder. "I fucked up so bad, and now these people want their money and I don't have it and I don't know what to do." "How much did you send them?" I asked quietly. "Over the year and a half? Maybe fifteen thousand. They always had emergencies, always needed just a little more to get back on their feet." His laugh was bitter and broken. "But the thirty-seven thousand was different. They said Mom needed surgery, that it was life or death, and I panicked. I went to these loan sharks downtown because the banks wouldn't give me anything." I closed my eyes, trying to process the magnitude of this disaster. "What exactly did these loan sharks tell you?" "Interest compounds daily. They want forty-five thousand now, and if I don't have it by the end of next week..." He shuddered. "They made it clear what happens to people who don't pay." "We'll figure this out," I said, the words coming out automatically. "I don't know how yet, but we will. Whatever it takes." "What does 'whatever it takes' mean?" I looked at my brother, my responsibility since I was eleven, the only family I had left that actually mattered, and felt something fundamental shift inside me. "I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I'll figure something out. I promise you, Leo. We're not going to let them hurt you." He leaned against me, and we sat in silence for a long moment, both of us emotionally drained. "I'm sorry," Leo whispered. "I'm so sorry, Jas. I know you've already sacrificed everything for me, and now I've made it worse." "Hey." I tilted his chin up. "We're family, okay? Real family. The kind that shows up and doesn't bail when shit gets hard. You made a mistake, but we'll fix it together." Leo nodded, wiping his eyes. I stared out at the city lights, each one representing lives that weren't falling apart, people who weren't facing impossible choices. Forty-five thousand dollars. In fourteen days. I wonder how much you can sell a kidney for these days. Chapter 3 Three days had passed since Leo's breakdown, and I could feel the weight of it crushing us both. I sat at my desk staring at the numbers I'd scribbled on a napkin. My savings: $5,000. Leo's contribution from tips and his small emergency fund: $2,000. Total: $7,000. We were still thirty-eight thousand dollars short. Lunchtime at work used to mean scrolling through Instagram and pretending my desk salad was actually satisfying. Today, it meant diving headfirst into the seventh circle of internet hell, hunting for ways to make forty-five grand appear out of thin air. I'd already burned through the obvious shit—side jobs that would take three years to pay off Leo's debt, gig economy apps that required cars I didn't own, and freelance opportunities that demanded skills I'd never developed because I'd been too busy raising my brother to learn how to code or become a social media influencer. Selling everything I owned might get me another few thousand, but it wouldn't even make a dent. "Come on," I muttered, scrolling through job boards. "There has to be something." Every search led to the same dead ends: scams promising easy money, pyramid schemes disguised as "business opportunities," and offers that were either too good to be true or required me to sell my soul to some multi-level marketing cult. Conclusion: there was no legitimate way to make that kind of money in a week. My browser history was becoming a monument to desperation. Quick cash jobs. Emergency loans no credit check. Ways to make money fast without skills. Each search is more pathetic than the last. That's when I stumbled across something that made my stomach drop straight through the office floor. A forum thread titled "Selling virginity for millions: real or myth?" My cursor hovered over the link for a full thirty seconds. Part of me wanted to close the laptop and pretend I'd never seen it. The rational part of my brain was screaming to scroll past, find a normal solution, be a normal person with normal problems. But forty-five thousand dollars wasn't a normal problem. I clicked. The thread was surprisingly detailed, with links to news articles about women who'd made headlines for auctioning their virginity. A model who'd supposedly received over a million dollars, a college student who'd paid off her entire education. The amounts were staggering. One comment caught my attention: "It's not just a myth. There are legitimate sites for this. High-end, discrete, safe. Virtue Exchange is the most reputable." My hands shook as I typed the name into a new browser window. The website that loaded was nothing like what I'd expected. Sleek, professional, and disturbingly legitimate. Like someone had taken the concept of human trafficking and given it a Silicon Valley makeover. Women auctioning their virginity for jaw-dropping sums, all under the guise of "empowerment" and "luxury experiences." My hands were shaking as I scrolled through profiles of women who looked nothing like me—polished, confident, the kind of people who probably had trust funds and backup plans. But the numbers... fuck, the numbers were real. Starting bids in the tens of thousands. Completed auctions reaching six figures. "This is insane," I whispered to myself, but I kept scrolling. It was terrifying. Degrading. Absolutely fucking insane and dangerously tempting. Because here's the thing nobody tells you about desperation: it makes the impossible seem reasonable. It takes your moral boundaries and relocates them to more convenient zip codes. All my life, I'd been too busy playing mom to Leo to have relationships. Too focused on survival to waste time on boyfriends or one-night stands. I'd always thought my virginity and inexperience was just another thing that made me different, another way I'd missed out on normal teenage experiences. Turns out, some rich assholes were willing to pay a premium for that exact thing. The irony was so twisted it almost made me laugh. My "purity", which was really just years of having zero time for romance, apparently had market value. Who knew? As I read through the site, calculating figures in my head, a knot formed in my stomach. Nothing I'd found so far offered this kind of solution. Nothing else could solve Leo's problem this quickly, this completely. And that fact alone made it impossible to look away. I was so deep in the rabbit hole, so lost in conflicted thoughts about whether I could actually go through with something like this, that I didn't sense someone behind me until I felt it—a soft breath on my neck, a warm, low voice brushing my ear. "Having fun at the workplace, Harlow?" I nearly launched myself into orbit, slamming the laptop shut so hard I probably cracked the screen, spinning around to find Finn Blackwood standing right behind me. Way too close. That trademark smirk playing across his lips and a dangerously amused gleam in his eyes. My heart was doing some kind of arrhythmic death dance. Had he seen what was on my screen? How long had he been standing there? "Jesus Christ," I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. "Do you have some kind of ninja training, or do you just enjoy giving people heart attacks?" The words were out before my brain caught up with my mouth. Shit. I just swore at my boss. My extremely powerful, could-fire-me-with-a-snap-of-his-fingers boss. "I mean— Sorry, Mr. Blackwood. You startled me. That was unprofessional from my side." "Relax," Finn said with amusement in his eyes. "I just came to ask if you had those numbers for the Drake account." Right. Work. Normal, professional work things that didn't involve researching how to auction off my virginity to pay my brother's debt to loan sharks. "The Drake numbers," I repeated, trying to get my brain to function. "Right. Yes. I have those." But Finn wasn't moving. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying my flustered state way too much. "You seem... distracted today," he said, his voice taking on that playful tone that made my pulse stutter. "Everything okay?" "Fine," I said too quickly. "Everything's totally fine. Just, you know, working. Doing work things. Very professional work things." His smirk widened. "Uh-huh." I turned back to my computer, pulling up the Drake files with hands that were definitely not shaking. Definitely not. I could feel him behind me, still standing too close, his presence like a live wire against my back. "Here," I said, printing out the reports and handing them over without looking at him. "Everything you need should be in there." Finn accepted the papers with a lazy smile, but his eyes lingered on my face. "You know, Harlow, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been a bad girl, getting distracted at work." The words hit me like a physical blow. Heat shot straight down my spine, and my thoughts spiraled into parts of my body they absolutely shouldn't go. Especially not here. Especially not with my astronomically hot boss. My cheeks flushed crimson, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "Just focused on getting you what you need." "Mm-hmm." His gaze swept over me once more, that sly smirk lingering as he stepped back. "Thanks for these. Try not to work too hard." And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my racing pulse and the lingering scent of his cologne. For a breathless second—okay, maybe more than a second—I considered it. Considered doing something reckless, something career-ending, just to see what it would feel like to have that man against me, on the desk, near the wall. On me, in me. But the moment passed. Reality crashed back like ice water. This was Finn Blackwood. Heir to a music empire, probably had a different supermodel in his bed every night, definitely out of my league in every conceivable way. What would someone like him want with someone like me anyway? Totally inexperienced, totally ordinary, totally drowning in problems he couldn't even imagine. And besides, I had actual problems to solve. Dangerous ones. The kind that involved broken legs and concrete shoes if I didn't figure out a solution fast. Leo's crisis was still looming and the loan sharks' deadline was still ticking down. Lusting after my boss was a luxury I couldn't afford. I reopened my laptop, staring at the Virtue Exchange website still glowing on my screen. Forty-five thousand dollars. Eleven days. Sometimes the impossible was the only option left. Chapter 4 Meeting Nora for lunch is usually the highlight of my week—my best friend's chaotic energy and zero-filter commentary serving as the perfect antidote to whatever corporate bullshit I've been drowning in. We were sitting in our usual spot at the little café across from Cadence Records, taking advantage of our lunch break to catch up. Today, though, I'm carrying Leo's debt like a lead weight in my chest, and even Nora's trademark snark isn't quite hitting the same. She's already two mimosas deep, her dark hair perfectly tousled in that effortless way that takes her forty-five minutes to achieve. Legal department pays better than the administrative, apparently. "You look like death," she announces, not bothering with pleasantries. "What fresh hell has life delivered to your doorstep this time?" "Good to see you too," I mutter, flagging down the server. "And I'm fine." "Girl, you've literally got that haunted Victorian orphan thing going on." She leans forward, studying my face with the intensity of someone who's made a career out of reading people. "Spill." I order a drink, something strong enough to numb the edges of my panic, and deflect. "Tell me about your weekend first. I need to live vicariously through someone who actually has a sex life." Nora's eyes light up like Christmas morning. "Oh, honey. Buckle up." What follows is a graphic, enthusiastic play-by-play of her latest conquest—some investment banker she met at a rooftop bar who apparently had both stamina and creativity. She describes positions I'm not sure are anatomically possible and techniques that would make a porn star blush. "And then he did this thing with his tongue that literally made me see God," she finishes, taking another sip of her mimosa. "I'm talking about a full-body religious experience. I might convert to whatever religion he practices." I can't help but laugh despite the weight crushing my chest. "You're insane." I envied her confidence. Nora moved through the world like she owned it, taking what she wanted and leaving the rest behind. She'd been trying to set me up with someone for years, but I always found excuses. "Speaking of men," she said, leaning forward with that mischievous glint in her eye, "how are things with the holy trinity of hotness and masculine perfection upstairs?" My drink pauses halfway to my lips. "The what now?" "Don't play dumb. The Blackwood brothers. Please tell me you've at least noticed that you work for three of the most fuckable men in the music industry." Heat crept up my neck. "Nora, they're my bosses." "So? That makes it hotter, not illegal." She leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Liam's got that whole golden retriever energy, right? All sweet eyes and gentle smiles until you realize he's probably the type who'd absolutely wreck you in bed and then bring you breakfast after." "Jesus Christ, Nora!" "What? I'm just being honest. And don't even get me started on Asher. That man got that whole controlled dominance thing going on. Like he'd fuck you on his desk and still expect you to take notes afterward." I tried to focus on my food, but images flashed through my mind. My face is on fire now. "Can we not—" "And Finn," Nora continued, completely ignoring my discomfort, "is basically a walking sex. All that lazy confidence and that smile which could talk a nun out of her vows. I bet he's the type who'd make you laugh right before he made you come." "Oh my God, stop." I buried my face in my hands, but I could feel myself blushing furiously. "You're thinking about it now, aren't you?" Nora's voice was pure delight. "Finally! I was beginning to think you were made of stone." "I am not thinking about anything," I lied. "Bullshit. You're thinking about what it would be like to have one of them pin you against a wall and—" "Nora, please stop." But even as I protested, my mind was already there. I especially think about yesterday, about Finn's voice in my ear, about the way my body responded to something as simple as proximity. About fantasies I can't seem to turn off. "Why? You're practically squirming in your seat right now." Nora's grin is wicked. "When's the last time you felt this turned on just from talking about someone?" Never. The honest answer is never, but I'm not giving her that ammunition. "They're completely out of my league," I say instead. "I'm just a regular assistant in their label. They probably don't even see me as female." "Cut the shit." Nora's voice turns serious. "Jas, you're gorgeous and you have no fucking clue. You walk around in those conservative little outfits, thinking you're invisible, but trust me—they notice. I've seen how they look at you." "How would you even know?" "Because I have functioning eyeballs and I pay attention. Last company mixer? Finn couldn't stop staring at you. And don't get me started on the way Liam watches you during meetings like you're the most interesting thing in the room." My stomach does this weird fluttery thing that I absolutely hate. "You're imagining things." "I'm observant. There's a difference." She points her fork at me accusingly. "Your problem is you're so busy taking care of everyone else that you've forgotten you're allowed to want things." The words hit like a slap. "It's not that simple." "It could be. You're already working with them every day. You're smart, beautiful, and you're the only woman in that office who doesn't throw herself at them like they're some kind of k-pop boysband." "Because I have professionalism." "Because you're scared." Her voice gentles slightly. "Look, I'm not saying you have to sleep with all three of them—though honestly, that would be the power move of the century. I'm just saying maybe it's time you stopped acting like wanting someone is a crime." "Even if you were right, which you're not, I wouldn't know what to do. I don't have your... extensive field experience." "Experience is overrated. Enthusiasm counts for way more." That wicked grin returns. "Besides, with men like that? They'd probably enjoy being your teacher." "I can't just walk up to one of them and say, 'Hey, want to take my virginity?'" I protested. "Why not? I bet they'd fight over the privilege." "You're insane." "I'm practical. Look, I've seen the way they look at you. All three of them. It's not a professional interest, honey. It's hunger." "That's not... they don't..." But even as I tried to deny it, I remembered moments. Lingering glances, casual touches that lasted a beat longer than necessary, the way conversations seemed to carry undercurrents I didn't understand. The conversation shifts after that, but her words stick with me like thorns under my skin. As we part ways, she grabs my arm. "Seriously, Jas. Life's too short to spend it wondering 'what if.' And virginity isn't some precious gift you have to save for marriage. It's just another experience to have." Nora's words stayed with me long after I'd returned to work and home after that. That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. I pulled out my laptop, telling myself I'd look for legitimate opportunities one more time. But every job board led to the same dead ends. That's when I found myself typing those words again: virginity auction. The Virtue Exchange website loaded just as pristine and professional as before. The whole thing looked more like a luxury concierge service than anything sordid. "What the hell am I even doing?" Shame coiled in my stomach, but so did something else. Hope? Desperation? I couldn't tell anymore. I closed the laptop without making any decisions, but I didn't clear my browser history either. The next morning, I was in the kitchen making coffee when Leo stumbled through the door, still wearing his work clothes from the club. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he pulled a crumpled envelope from his jacket pocket. "They left this for me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "On my car windshield when I got off work." I took the envelope with trembling fingers, tearing it open to find a single piece of paper with a message scrawled in red ink: ‘Eight days. No more delays.’ My blood turned to ice. "Eight days? I thought we had longer than that." "So did I." Leo's voice cracked. "Jas, what are we going to do? I'm scared." 🤔 Read Virgin Dot Com now! ❤️‍🔥 my-passion.com