by Amy Star
Suzanne enjoyed hearing him talk. He was thoroughly masculine and he was proud—justifiably proud. But he did not seem conceited, nor could she detect any sense of entitlement about him, as if he thought he naturally deserved the best. Actually, any man who looked like him and had accomplished the things that Justin had, did deserve the best.
He did not seem to be saying that with his words or his manner, however. He was honest and plain-spoken, and very intelligent. But he did not strike her as arrogant. Justin knew who he was, what he had accomplished in his life, and what he had to offer. She sensed this man was the genuine article.
Again she came to the plain fact that this was not the kind of man who should have any need for an escort service. And yet, if being in Telegirl had taught her anything, it was that her profession was frequented by men whom one would think should not need it. Life at times did not seem to care one way or the other about the way things “should” be. That was why businesses like Telegirl existed in the first place.
“I started out,” said Justin in the video, “working for my father. He owned a chain of retail department stores. He did very well—until he didn’t. A lot of stores started going under during the 80s and 90s and Dad held on as long as he could. But when he died and I inherited the Gates Department Store chain, I didn’t want to let what my father built just die out. So I decided to change it, instead. I sold off all the brick-and-mortar locations and went all-virtual. Gates became an online store, one of the biggest in the world.
I took what Dad started and made it many times bigger and better. And I kept investing in new things, expanding and diversifying into other areas. We went from the virtual version of the original retail business into pharmaceuticals and biotechnology, all cutting-edge. And we did better. Today Gates is one of the biggest names in online industry and E-commerce. We do business all over the world. Not only did I not let what my father started die out, I made it more than he could have ever imagined when he began it. I’m proud of that. I hope Dad would be too. I think he would be. I think I’ve balanced profit with serving people, which is what my father always wanted. I think I’ve continued his vision. I believe he would have liked that.
Suzanne smiled, mesmerized by Justin’s looks, the sound of his voice, the pride and sincerity with which he expressed himself. The only thing to make this better would be if he were making this speech dressed for the pool. Or the bedroom. But this was the “business” side of Justin she was seeing and hearing now. As for the rest of it… She smiled a little more broadly at the thought of that.
Justin’s video image continued. “I continued my father’s business, and built it into something of my own, with high expectations. You can probably guess I have high expectations about everything. That includes my personal life. And that’s why I’ve come to Telegirl. I should make it clear that while my expectations are as high as I’ve said, they’re also very specific. I’m not a man who likes to ‘date’ in the way that most people think of dating. I don’t like to ‘go out’ with someone.
That’s what interested me in the company that you work with. It’s only for ‘dating’ if the client wants it to be—which I don’t. What I’m most interested in, being who and what you know I am, is the outcome of the date; the end result of personal, one-on-one quality time spent together. When you agree to accept this assignment, as I hope you will, you’ll pack for a long weekend. You’ll spend Friday evening until Monday morning with me in one of my homes here in the LA area.
You’ll pack your best evening dress and your favorite shoes for a dinner at my place on Friday evening, which will be personally prepared for us by a 5-star chef. My personal assistant will come to you and pick you up, and bring you to my home, and you’ll stay with me for the time I mentioned. After dinner, we’ll spend the entire weekend until Monday morning on one thing and one thing only: the quality time enjoying each other’s company that I mentioned. At the end of Monday morning, my assistant will drive you home, with my thanks.
“Your manager has shown me all of the available women who work through Telegirl, and I’ve been impressed with all of them. You’re all beautiful, and I’ve read all your files; I think you’re as intelligent and ambitious as you are very, very attractive. I’d enjoy having this weekend with any of you, and Ginny has her own ideas about which ones I’d enjoy best.
I trust her judgement and look forward to seeing which one of you she’s selected for me. I have…,” and he paused and chuckled a bit, “…a bit of suspense about that. All I can say is that, whichever one you are, I will give you a long weekend you won’t soon forget. I look forward to meeting you. Thank you in advance.”
And with that, the video ended.
Suzanne, staring at her Mac desktop, almost felt like squealing. “ ‘When I agree to accept this assignment, as you hope I will?’ Really? Seriously? Oh my God, I realize you’re not stuck up, but you’re too modest! Like there’s any doubt I want this assignment!”
Her entire body was now a tingling mass of anticipation about the job she had been offered. She loved the way he put it; he was such a gentleman about it. Personal, one-on-one, quality time indeed. Suzanne had no doubt that when she went to spend the weekend at the palatial home of Justin Gates, he would soon show her how much of a gentleman he was not when his clothes came off.
Without question, his “quality time” was a euphemism for what metamorph males loved best: insane, non-stop fucking. A night, two days, and a morning lying under that incredible body, being drilled and plundered by the monster so discreetly but barely hidden in those thongs and jockstraps. Suzanne, like much of the population of southern California, if not the planet, would gladly give Justin for free what he was proposing to pay her for. And he was a billionaire, meaning that not only was he personally all that, but the “ka-ching” of her payday for this would be enough to raise the roof.
Speaking of the roof, the payoff of Suzanne’s weekend with the man-bear would likely be so rich that she might not have to take on another client for the rest of the summer, and just as likely, she could put it towards a relocation out of Silver Lake and to almost anywhere else in Southern California she wanted. Santa Monica might soon be in reach.
Ginny had presented Justin to her, and she was absolutely taking the gig. No one else in the Telegirl fold was getting this one. This one was hers. She grabbed her phone and hit Ginny’s number on the speed dial.
Telegirl prided itself on providing for its straight male clients—who were required to prove their high financial status before Ginny would do business with them—only the most exceptionally beautiful women. Ginny guaranteed them that all of Telegirl’s women were not users of controlled substances, that they were free of STDs and tested regularly, and that they all used birth control religiously. Contractors and clients were stringently checked out before anyone was brought together. And on that, Telegirl had built its reputation.
Suzanne was ready, motivated, and highly eager to give Justin Gates his money’s worth. She contacted Ginny, closed the deal, and thus prepared herself for what she knew would be a long weekend of the best lays of her life.
CHAPTER TWO
Friday afternoon, the buzzer from the lobby rang and Suzanne pressed the button. “Yes?” she called, her heart skipping a bit to know that the hour, so to speak, had struck.
“Hello, Ms. Sutton,” said the male voice from the lobby over the intercom. “My name’s Mack Mitchell. Mr. Gates sent me to pick you up.”
“Come on up, Mack,” Suzanne said, and pressed the buzzer.
Suzanne had put on her violet evening gown, the best thing in her wardrobe, which she had selected because violet was the complement for her long, shiny blonde hair, and painstakingly matched high-heeled party shoes. Her purse was on her shoulder. She was dressed, made up, packed, and ready for a business of sheer pleasure. She stood near the door, her bags in a chair a few steps away, and waited the couple of minutes that it took for the man she’d rung up to reach her door. At the kno
ck, she opened up the door…
…and out in the hall stood someone that she could have sworn was a leading man from a daytime soap opera.
Seriously, he was one of those men. He had that look about him. He, like his employer, was the type that Suzanne would happily do for free. Thick, dark hair crowned a “lay me down and have your way” kind of handsome face. His tailored grey suit covered a body that Suzanne, an expert on male bodies, could tell was all tight muscle and not an ounce of fat. Without question, if she had met this young man under any other circumstances, she would absolutely have him right in bed and would blow things, including but not limited to, his mind.
“Mack…?” she said.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Sutton. Are you packed? Can I take your bags?” He craned his neck to look inside the apartment.
“All set,” said Suzanne, motioning inside. “My bags are right there,” she indicated them on the chair. “We can get right underway. I know Mr. Gates likes things punctual.”
“Yes, he does,” said Mack, going to collect her things.
She watched him gather up her suitcase and her dress bag, and straight away they were out of the apartment and on their way to the parking lot.
Mack took Suzanne and her luggage to a shiny black Lexus. He helped her into the front seat and put her luggage in the trunk, and they were off.
On the road, she ventured to ask, “How long have you worked for Mr. Gates?”
“It’ll be six years now,” said Mack. “I’m his chauffeur, and I take care of his personal errands and whatever else he needs, when he needs it. And I’m his bodyguard.”
“His bodyguard? He needs a bodyguard? Does his business ever get him in trouble?”
“A man in Mr. Gates’s position can’t be too careful,” Mack explained. “He’s one of the richest, most successful businessmen in the world—and he’s a publicly known morph. I’m sure you know that not everyone likes morphs. You see things in the papers sometimes, or online, where humans, prejudiced, crazy humans—no offense—go after two-bodied people the way some racists go after blacks and Latinos and Muslims. You’ve seen things like that: people threatening someone because of what color they are or what language they speak, yelling all kinds of ugly things at them, threatening them. Some people are like that not because of what color your human body is, but because of what other kind of body you have. You’ve probably seen things like that too.”
Suzanne recalled things she had seen on Facebook, phone video captures of people screaming at people known to be metamorphs. Get off my street, you two-bodied piece of trash! Go back to the woods, you dirty wolf! Get your mangy ass out of here! Get out of my city, you no-good bear! This is for HUMANS ONLY; I’m calling the cops! Humans antagonizing shape-shifters could be every bit as bad as bigots antagonizing people of color and Jews. And sometimes they did not only threaten with words. Sometimes they threatened with knives or guns. It was shameful, but it happened.
“I have seen videos of things like that,” said Suzanne. “Yes, people do sometimes pick on shifters just because of who they are, and it doesn’t make any sense. But Mr. Gates is rich and successful and great-looking. Doesn’t that make a difference in the way people treat him? I mean, people respect rich, powerful people better than they do…regular people, I guess is the word. So don’t people treat Mr. Gates better because of that?”
“Mostly, they do,” Mack replied. “But not everybody loves the rich. And sometimes the rich do things to make people not love them that much. Mr. Gates isn’t one of them, I don’t think, but you know there are rich people like that. So being as rich and successful as he is, and being both a man and a bear on top of that…Mr. Gates just likes to be proactive, if you get what I’m saying.”
“So,” Suzanne wondered aloud, “if a situation like that came up, where there was someone who recognized Mr. Gates and threatened him…what would you do?”
“Depends,” replied Mack. “I’m trained to handle anything. I used to work for this security outfit in Ambrosian City up in Canada; maybe you’ve heard of it. I’m from Canada originally. That’s where Mr. Gates found me, on one of his trips up north. I know all kinds of hand-to-hand or armed combat, on top of being a werewolf myself.”
Now Suzanne was startled. She looked over at him in the driver’s seat and blinked, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. Having been to all kinds of places and been in all kinds of situations with a great variety of different men, she still had utterly failed to suspect that there was a metamorph right next to her. The excuse, You don’t look like a werewolf danced briefly through her head, and she dismissed it for the stupid and flimsy thing it was. She used to sleep with a werewolf, for pity’s sake; she knew better than most people that as their human selves they, like all metamorphs, were generally indistinguishable from humans. She felt like a naive little girl and the embarrassment was audible in her voice as she reacted, “You’re…?”
Sensing her discomfiture and wanting to put her at ease, Mack said, “I am, and don’t worry about it. It’s like being gay; I’m sure you know that. Most of us, you wouldn’t know the other thing we are unless we told you.”
Suzanne was tempted at this point to ask Mack if he were gay, but she refrained. And Mack was right; she was a woman of the world and she did know that the majority of morphs could pass for completely human unless they shifted in the presence of a human. It was elementary, common knowledge. It did not, however, stop her from feeling naive and foolish.
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” said Mack, “we lycanthropes have a sense about human emotions, and I can tell you’re feeling a little awkward right now. Can I ask what it’s about?”
With a sigh, Suzanne said, “I don’t know why I’m surprised to be talking to a lycanthrope right now. I guess it’s just unexpected, and I shouldn’t feel that way. It so happens my boyfriend in college was a werewolf.”
“Oh. So you’re really used to us, then. Having a werewolf for an ex-boyfriend, you’ve had some experience with us.” He glanced over at her, knowing how thoroughly “experienced” with his kind she must actually be.
“Yes, I’m really experienced.” She let the layers of meaning in that word go without saying. “I met his family and everything; I know all about them…you.” Recalling something, she knitted her brow, frowning. “But wait…”
“What?”
“You said you knew all kinds of hand-to-hand and armed combat.”
“That’s right. I do.”
“But…,” she began again, this time feeling truly awkward and perplexed.
“Go on.”
There was nothing to do but ask the question directly. “But aren’t you… I mean, aren’t you supposed to be…afraid of guns? Don’t you have some kind of natural phobia about them? I remember, just the idea of guns made my boyfriend look like he wanted to run and hide.”
“We do have that problem, yes. It’s partly an instinctive thing and partly something we learn from our elders. Guns and werewolves don’t really mix; we have a really bad history with them because of the way humans have always treated real wolves, which crosses over to our kind. We don’t like guns, at all, no.”
“Then how can you…?” she began to ask.
“How can I use guns?” Mack anticipated. “How can I carry a licensed revolver on me when I’m working, the way I’m doing right now?”
Suzanne’s eyes bulged a bit at that. “You’re carrying a gun, right this minute?”
“When I’m working, yes, I’m always armed and always ready to use it if I have to. Absolutely,” Mack confirmed.
“But if you’re a lycanthrope…how?” she asked, mystified.
“It’s not easy for us,” Mack explained. “Just to be able to touch a gun without freaking out, I had to have special training and therapy. That’s how bad the lycanthrope’s mental block against guns is; that’s how deep that runs with us. I had to have therapy for that, and I had to have more therapy to get over just
hearing the sound of a gun go off. The kind of therapy that humans have to go through to get over being afraid of spiders and snakes and heights—that’s what I had to go through to handle guns.”
“I had no idea,” Suzanne said, shaking her head, amazed.
“It never comes up for most of us.”
There was a little beat of silence before Suzanne continued. “So now you’re not afraid of guns and you’re a billionaire werebear’s bodyguard.”
“That’s it.”
“Sounds like you’ve done all right for yourself.”
“I have,” said Mack. “Of course being in this line of work isn’t always easy. I make good money, I live in a good place. But it’s not always that easy for me with my own people.”
“Really?” Suzanne wondered. “What could be the problem there?”