Illustration credit: ameshin on DeviantArt [https://d.wattpad.com/story_parts/752554797/images/15d06fcd82149444955275433470.png]

Illustration credit: ameshin on DeviantArt

Chapter Song: Chris Isaak - Wicked Game

Chapter 11: The Interview

Once inside the suite, Seto ushered Joan into a shower, gingerly removing his trench coat and what remained of her clothes and testing the temperature of the water before granting her privacy. He then paced for a minute while he figured out his next move. He spotted the silvery shell of his laptop and decided that would be a good place to start. He knew her name was Joan now, but he still didn't have a last name. His fingers dumbly typed it into his private internet browser's search bar. He stared at meaningless results until he realized there was a better way to narrow his parameters.

Seto logged into his personal financial management system and typed her first name there. Bingo! Joan Saunders. He went back to the search bar, typing in the full name this time. Again, there were still too many results. He added Michael and hit the search button again. Both names, apparently, were all too common. What if she didn't even take his last name? Seto thought with a shred of hope.

Seto began poking around Facebook. He hadn't navigated Facebook since high school; his social media manager did that for him to keep the gold diggers at bay, but it couldn't be too hard to find her, right? Mokuba's friend list had no Joan, so he went to Marc Aurelio's page. Marc's friends list was private. Laura's friends list was private. He could probably hack into Facebook to figure out what he wanted, but his fingers felt leaden and he couldn't decide which route to attempt first. Seto shut the laptop in frustration and sat with his head in his hands.

"Thanks," Seto looked up to see Joan wrapped in a plush Hyatt bathrobe, her hair damp and dripping, "for what you said about the vultures. That helped a lot."

Seto pushed his chair away from the desk and stood. "Joan . . ." it felt cumbersome on his lips, too formal for someone he'd fucked.

Joan detected the awkwardness and let it hang in the air a moment before saying, "I liked it better when you called me whore."

"Whore." Seto's lips widened as he reclaimed the familiar word. It represented every scrap of gratification he'd had in recent years, something he fervently wanted with her but hadn't quite managed to attain.

Joan stepped forward and slung her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. She savored it for several seconds. The feeling of a warm, honest mouth that had paid for her presence. Then she remembered that she was actually on the clock for Mokuba, not Seto. And Mokuba was outside placating reporters. "This night is so fucked up," she whispered as she rested her head on Seto's shoulder.

"Come to bed," Seto said softly.

"No," she matched his subdued tone, "Mokuba paid for me tonight."

Relief washed over Seto. The sensation of long-held tensions releasing its grip caused him to tremble. What was this?

Joan felt the tremors ripple through him. "Let's sit down."

She led him to an armless couch and they sunk into the light gray upholstered surface. She held him close for several moments before a knock sounded from the door. Seto took in a deep breath and got back up to answer it, peering through the peephole first. He deemed it safe and opened the door.

Mokuba stood there with two Hyatt security guards and a petite woman with olive skin and glossy black hair. She wore a midnight blue blazer and pencil skirt over a crisp white shirt. "Wait outside," Mokuba told the others before stepping inside and closing the door.

"Who the fuck is that?" Seto asked.

Mokuba ignored Seto and walked over to the couch, plopping down beside Joan. He took one of her hands between both of his. "Are you doing OK?"

"Yeah," Joan responded.

Mokuba continued, "I'm sorry all this happened, but there's no way out of the publicity at this point. The best way forward is for you to take control of how the story is told."

Joan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What have you told them so far?"

"Only the truth. I told them that we both contracted you as an escort, but Seto thinks it's funny to call you a whore."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Seto crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "It's not funny. She likes it."

"I do," Joan confirmed.

Mokuba sighed. "All right, but can you stop using that word in public, please? The last thing we need is you two getting arrested for prostitution and solicitation."

"Screw that law," Seto growled.

"If it means that much to you, you can dabble in California politics later," Mokuba said. "Right now we need to focus on damage control."

Seto scowled. "Since when did you become my PR manager?"

Mokuba ignored Seto's rhetorical question. He could only help his older brother as far as Seto accepted the aid. "Are you ready for this?" Mokuba asked Joan.

"I think so," Joan replied.

Mokuba gave Joan's hand a squeeze and got up to let in the reporter. The guards entered as well, maintaining professional silence and standing against the wall. Meanwhile, Seto reclaimed his seat beside Joan.

"Hi! I'm Tricia Varma and I work for the San Francisco Chronicle." Tricia extended her hand and Joan stood briefly to shake it. Tricia struck Joan as young and earnest, excited that Mokuba had picked her out of the crowd as the one to get the full scoop.

Seto remained seated as he glared at the newcomer, ankle on his knee and arms stretched across the back of the couch. Mokuba pulled a chair over for Tricia and then sat on the other side of Joan.

Tricia pulled out a tablet and gave it a few pokes and swipes to initiate her note-taking app. "Joan Saunders, was it?" Tricia asked.

"Yes," Joan agreed.

"And Seto Kaiba?"

"Obviously," Seto stated.

"We have received statements that your bodyguard fired his weapon at an unarmed group of men in an Oakland night club less than two hours ago. Would you please give me your account of the incident?"

Joan and the Kaibas clarified how Roland shot through the ceiling, how vicious the unarmed men in question had been, and how a drunken story based on a rumor had incited it all. Joan let herself re-live the violation and cried in front of Tricia while Mokuba rubbed Joan's back and spoke soothing words.

"Now Seto, for your part in all this, what motivated you to call Joan a whore in front of all those rabid men?" Tricia inquired.

"Not a whore, my whore," Seto clarified.

"What were your exact words?" Tricia pressed.

"Mokuba, what are you doing with my whore," Seto recounted.

Tricia's chocolate eyes bored into his blue ones. "And what motivated you to say those words at that time?"

Seto paused. His heart thudded as the moment flashed back to him. He hadn't expected to see her there. She'd left him wanting, craving more but too weak to do anything about it. He needed her services again, but the way he'd seen Mokuba using her had shaken him. Mokuba was tender, protective. If Mokuba hadn't been paying her in money but rather the way Marc paid her, the way her husband probably paid her . . . the scattered pieces snapped together in Seto's mind.

Tricia watched the color drain from Seto's face with fascination. Joan flicked away tears and took stock of the situation. Something swirled in Seto's oceanic orbs, something she recognized all too well. Joan gasped.

"Seto was being playful," Mokuba covered.

"I want to hear it from him." Tricia pointed her stylus at Seto.

"Because I didn't want to be left out of the fun," Seto managed to say.

"What's your definition of fun?" Tricia persisted.

"I think we're done here," Mokuba stood and showed Tricia to the door. "Thank you for your time."

Tricia glanced back to see Joan and Seto angled towards each other, hands connecting. Then her eyes met the solemn ones of the Hyatt security guards and she hurried out the door before they decided to use force. Once all three were out, Mokuba closed the door.

Mokuba walked back toward the couch, shaking his head. "Maybe that wasn't the best idea aft-" he froze. He saw magic happening in front of him. Not the evil Shadow Realm type of magic but something pure and fresh. "Seto . . ." he searched for fitting words but found none. "I can't help but ask . . . what are you doing with my whore?"

Girlish giggles spilled out of Joan.

Seto's eyes snapped to Mokuba. "You actually bought her tonight." As much as he hated to admit it, Mokuba had done more than that to earn her as well.

"Yep. You can ask Roland," Mokuba replied.

Roland. Joan stopped giggling. Who knew where he was right now. "Let's call the Oakland Police Department," Joan suggested.

Seto rose and strode towards the laptop to look up the number. He needed to think, needed space, needed the one person he could actually admit to loving to handle the one he couldn't. "I'll do it. Mokuba, you go have fun with your whore."

Mokuba stood there like a lost puppy until Joan got up, took his hand, and guided him into the bedroom where she had fucked Seto. Maids had removed all evidence of Sunday night's activities, leaving nothing but a pristine vision of luxury.

Joan shut the bedroom door and looked at the clock. It was far past an acceptable time to disturb Michael, or Marc for that matter. She'd told Michael that she might or might not come home after the club anyway, that it all depended on how long Mokuba wanted to keep her on the clock. She wondered if she should charge more for the violation she endured or cut out the time Mokuba spent smoothing things over with reporters. She decided the simplest answer was to leave the Clockify app running, not that she even had the means to stop it at this point.

"I didn't really plan for this. Not at all, actually," Mokuba said.

Hoping they'd come in handy but not seriously expecting anything, she'd added some of Seto's favorite condoms to her purse just in case. Mokuba didn't need to know that, though. "Relax. I don't have any plans either. We should get some sleep."

Joan walked into the adjoining bathroom to urinate and scrub her teeth with the corner of a washcloth while Mokuba stared blankly at the bed. Once back in the bedroom, she dropped her robe to the floor.

Mokuba gaped at her fully nude figure. "You're just going to . . ."

"Yep." Joan slipped between the sheets. "You're welcome to join me. Either way, could you get the light, please?"

Mokuba flicked the switch and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. City lights from across the bay illuminated enough of the room for him to see his way around. Mokuba made his way to the bathroom and showered, letting the day's events replay in his mind. It was all too much noise, too much everything. Exhaustion set in. Mokuba toweled off and, before he could think too hard about it, climbed into bed with Joan.

Detecting a warm male body in bed, Joan instinctively cuddled up to it. It responded with a hesitant caress as its arm encircled her. This was a man, not a vulture.