by Maggie Cole
"You think I had you go to the spa because I wanted your appearance changed?"
She clenches her jaw. Her eyes are full of fire. "Didn't you?"
"No. You didn't enjoy it?"
"I had to keep my phone in my locker."
"So? It's good to turn it off every now and then. Forget about life and whatever the hell is going on."
Her lip quivers harder as well as her voice. "I don't have the luxury of forgetting about what is going on in life. If you would please let me know in the future what is a requirement and what is not, I would appreciate it." She turns her head, and a tear falls down her cheek.
I don't understand how I hurt her by sending her for a day at the spa. But something is tearing at her, and my protective instincts kick in. I pick her up and start walking toward the bedroom.
"What are you doing?"
"Shh." I sit on the bed.
She tries to get away from me, but I don't release her.
"Stay still for a minute."
She finally stops moving and keeps her head on my chest. I stroke her hair. "I sent you to the spa to relax. You were stressed out last night. I didn't mean to upset or insult you. I apologize. You don't have to go again if you don't want to."
She lifts her head. "That's why you sent me?"
"Yes. I told you, you're perfect as you are. I'm sorry if I insulted you."
She squeezes her eyes shut then looks down. "I'm sorry. I ummm..." She puts her hand over her face. Then she completely breaks down.
I sit up straighter and tighten my arms around her. "Shhh." I hardly know this woman. But my heart's cracking for her. Her entire body shakes, and her sobs become loud. My chest hair dampens with her tears.
I don't know what to do, so I keep holding her and saying, "It'll be okay," and, "Shhh."
From time to time, she says, "I'm sorry," and then more wails come out of her. When she finally slows to a whimper, she looks up. Shame and anguish are in her eyes. "I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry. Please don't fire me."
"Shhh." I lean down and kiss her. It's quick and meant to comfort her, but damn if her lips aren't the sweetest things I've ever tasted.
She freezes, breathing harder, locking her gaze to mine.
The tension in the air builds. I don't move. If I do, I'm going to have her in all ways, and I don't want to take advantage of her.
Then she moves toward me. It's only an inch, but it might as well be a mile. All resolve I have to hold back dissolves in an instant.
I weave my hand through her hair. Our lips and tongues collide. Her lips barely part before my tongue slides against hers, flicking and stroking, needing anything she's willing to give me.
I'm a greedy bastard for it. I don't know what's wrong and why she broke down. She's in a situation where I should be giving to her, whatever that situation is. But I take. And I take. And I take from her some more until she can hardly breathe, and I'm on top of her with my raging hard-on.
"If you don't tell me to stop, I'm not going to," I warn her. My dick aches and pushes out of my boxers against her heat.
She scrunches her forehead and whispers, "I don't want to be your whore."
"You aren't," I sternly reply.
She turns away.
The realization of what I've done hits me like a brick to the face. In all my years of doing underhanded things, this is my most significant offense. The world I live in is full of ruthless businessmen who will screw you over in a minute. At times, you have to be the first one to make a move, or you'll get eaten alive. But my obsession to make her mine and keep her away from the other men in the club drove me to do something so stupid, I'm not sure how to recover from it.
I degraded her.
I made her feel like my whore.
Fuck.
"Jasmine."
"Hmmm?" She continues to avoid my eyes.
I stroke her jaw with my thumb. "Is this why you were crying?"
Her voice comes out scratchy. "No."
"Tell me why."
"I can't."
A new thought occurs. "Is someone harming you?"
"No." She slides away from me and sits on the edge of the bed with her back to me. "I need to get ready. My makeup is probably a mess."
"Jasmine, we don't need to go." I do need to be there, but she's so upset.
"Can we forget this happened and return to our agreement? I'm sorry I added drama. It won't happen again. Please... I... I need this job. I can't go into the long-term arrangement yet." Her voice is desperate. Her shoulders and arms shake.
"Jas—"
"Please." It comes out broken, and she grips the edge of the comforter, as if to steady herself.
"Okay. You don't need to worry about our arrangement," I tell her.
What exactly is our arrangement?
How am I getting out of this with her?
I don't want her as my prostitute. I've never wanted any woman as such. I'm trapped within the gravity of my actions and the agreement I've made with her.
"Why don't you just tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. Then we can—"
"I don't have a lot. And I may have reached the bottom, but I'm not looking for handouts. As long as I do my job, and you stick to your part of our arrangement, I will earn what I need." She rises, walks into the bathroom, and shuts the door.
Self-loathing consumes me. I've never hated myself before. At this moment, I understand what it feels like. And I think I've done the unforgivable.
8
Jasmine
The woman staring back at me is unrecognizable. I go into the closet and put the gown on, then go back to the mirror. I'm wearing thousands of dollars of material. The lingerie under my dress is for a man I barely know. A man I wish I could succumb to, even if for only one night.
His kisses were full of fire. They sent so much warmth through my body, I was humming. For a split second, I forgot about hospitals, debt collectors, and our arrangement.
Then reality slapped me in the face.
No matter what I do or don't do with him, I'm his escort. There isn't any way to get around it. We'll go to the event tonight then I'll be his to command. He's paying me to do so. Will it be at his house or the club or somewhere else? I don't know what he has planned, but all his kisses did was show me how much power he has to hurt me.
I don't want to be a blip on his radar or his fuck toy to pass the time. But I'm some sort of challenge to him, and I need to keep feelings out of this.
No more kissing. No more falling apart or under his spell. From here on out, I do my job and go home to Abby as soon as I can.
I straighten my shoulders, clutching my phone. I curse myself for not letting Bree show me accessories. But I won't go without my phone, so I guess I'm holding it all night since my ten-dollar purse isn't going to match.
When I step out of the bathroom, all the pep talks in the world can't stop me from holding my breath. My heart pitter-patters.
Colton's in a black tux. His bowtie and handkerchief match the red color of my dress. Like his suits, this tuxedo appears to be made especially for him.
"You look beautiful," he says. His eyes are full of fire. It's the same lust I saw last night at the club. But something else is there, too. I'm not sure what, but I see it.
I wish I didn't feel excitement when he shows his attraction toward me. Nothing good can come of it. But every look, compliment, and touch lights me up. I smile. "You look nice, too."
He suddenly shifts on his feet, as if nervous.
I raise my eyebrows in question.
He turns and picks something up off the bed. "Bree said you didn't pick a bag. Do you want this for tonight?" He holds out a matching red clutch with a tiny bit of bling on it.
"Yes. Please! Thank you!"
His lips turn up. "Glad I got it right." He winks.
I freeze. "Colton."
"Yeah?"
"I got things wrong. Your gift was nice. If things were different...well..."
"It's okay. You know, if you
ever want to tell me what's going on, I've been told by a select few people I'm a good listener."
I softly laugh. "Only a select few?"
Something passes in his eyes. Is it grief? As soon as it comes, it goes. "Yeah. I'm normally giving orders."
I bite my lip. "I can see that about you."
He runs his hand through his hair. "I have something else for you. But if you don't want them, it's okay."
"What is it?"
He steps aside. Three boxes are on the bed, filled with diamond jewelry. Each piece is expensive and real but not over the top, which is what I would have expected him to choose. Everything from the private club and spa, to the stores he sent me to shop at today, represent a world I don't live in. A world that screams "flash your money," and I expected him to only select jewelry in the same way.
Maybe I'm wrong about him?
"Wow. Those are gorgeous."
"You like them?"
"Yes. They're exquisite," I admit.
"They reminded me of you." His eyes are full of sincerity and show no sign of his typical cocky expression.
Earlier in the day, I didn't want anything to do with jewelry. But something about the fact he picked them out for me, and the glaring ugly scene I made about the spa, makes me push my thoughts about how expensive they are out of my mind. I reach up and put my hand over his heart. "Thank you. Will you help me put them on?"
"Sure."
I hand him the necklace box and put the earrings on. He stands behind me, moves my hair to the side, then secures the cool metal around my neck. "Hand me the bracelet."
I obey.
He circles his arms around me, and I lean back into his hard frame. Everything about him feels safe and good. I hold my wrist up, and he snaps the bracelet in place.
He leans into my ear. "Mission accomplished."
I inhale his sexy scent and spin. "What is this event for tonight?"
His face hardens. "It's a fundraiser my company put together. Are you ready to go?"
"Yes."
He leads me out of the bedroom and through the penthouse.
"Your home is lovely, by the way. The views are fantastic." Modern grays, whites, and blacks coordinate through the house.
"Thanks."
"Have you lived here long?"
"Few years."
"It's just you?"
His lips twitch. He leans down to my ear. "I'm not hiding a wife and five kids in the pantry."
I laugh. "Would they fit in your pantry?"
He winces. "Possibly."
"Wow. Do you like to cook?"
"I don't know how. Janelle's usually shoving food at me between meetings, or I'm dealing with some dickhead at dinner."
"You don't like what you do?"
"I do. It's the people I have to sometimes deal with I don't care too much for."
I let his words sink in then ask, "Who's Janelle?"
"The world's best assistant."
"Guess I won't be getting that title, then," I tease.
He glances at the ceiling.
"Sorry. Just a joke."
The elevator opens, and he guides me inside. "I wasn't sure what to put on the paperwork." He pushes the button.
"I'm glad you wrote 'personal assistant' over 'beck-and-call stripper,'" I admit.
He cringes. "Jasmine, I don't—"
The elevator opens, and an older couple steps inside. I step closer to Colton. He places his hand on the side of my hip.
I try to ignore the zings rushing to my pulsing insides.
We get out of the elevator and go directly to his car. A different driver opens the door. We slide in. Colton's phone rings.
He glances at it and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I need to take this."
"It's okay."
"Bernie, what're the stats?"
I pull my phone out of my clutch and text Cee Cee.
Me: Everything okay?
Cee Cee: Yes. Temperature normal. She adds three party emojis.
I breathe a sigh of relief then send her three fist bumps.
Cee Cee: She wants to talk to you. Is that okay?
I glance at Colton. He's looking out the window and aggressively speaking.
Me: Yes, but tell her I need to be super quiet and can't talk long.
My phone rings, and I put it to my ear. I, too, turn toward my window. In a quiet voice, I say, "Hi, sweetie."
"Mommy, Auntie Cee Cee and I made cupcakes. I saved you a pink one."
"Thank you. What are you doing now?"
"Maribel and I are going to have a tea party with my cupcakes."
I smile. "That sounds fun."
"Are you coming home soon?"
Guilt eats at me. "No, sweetie. I'll be home late. But tomorrow we'll have breakfast together, okay?"
"Again?"
"Yes."
"Yay." She claps.
"I have to go, sweetie. Be good for Auntie Cee Cee."
"Love you, Mommy."
"Love you, too."
We hang up, and I put my phone in my purse. When I look up, Colton is staring at me.
Great. Did he hear my call?
"Was that your daughter?"
My pulse increases. "How do you know I have a daughter?"
Guilt crosses his face. "HR paperwork."
"Do you look at everyone's HR file?"
"No. Are you going to be mad at me all night?" He raises his eyebrows.
I pause but then reply, "No."
He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. "Good. So your daughter is six?"
"Yes."
What else does he know?
"Her name is Abby?"
"Yes."
He opens his mouth then snaps it shut.
He knows.
I take a deep breath. "What were you going to ask me?"
His eyes drill into mine. "Where is her father? Is he in New York?"
For some reason, I let out a small laugh. "No idea. After two years of marriage, and while I was eight months pregnant, he told me he wouldn't leave me if I got an abortion. Haven't seen or heard from him since the night he left the signed divorce papers on the table."
Colton's eyes widen. "At eight months?"
"Yes."
"What a fucking idiot," he blurts out.
Maybe it's the stress of the day or how I lost it in Colton's room, but I lose it again. Only this time, laughter brings my tears.
Colton chuckles, too. "Why are we laughing?"
"I don't know. Just the way you said it. Plus, he is a huge idiot, isn't he?"
"Yes. Total loser."
When we finally stop, he hands me his handkerchief, and I dab my eyes, fold it to hide my tear and makeup stains, then put it back in his chest pocket.
"So, what else do you know about my life?"
"Thirty-two, manager of the credit union, and you have a daughter. Oh, no offense, and I can say this because I'm from there, but you live in a shitty area of Queens."
I should be insulted, but it just makes me smile. Everyone who lives in my neighborhood knows it's a rundown dump with hardly any taxpayer money to support it.
"You're from Queens?"
He nods.
"You didn't grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth?"
"No."
"Wow. That's impressive."
He ignores my compliment. "Did I miss anything about you?"
"Sounds like you got the full picture."
He rolls his head toward me. "I forgot about your degree. Why are you working in a credit union if you have an art degree?"
"Oh. You want all the fun details tonight."
"Bring it on."
I've already told him more than I ever planned on. But the words continue to roll out of my mouth. "Ok. My husband was a musician in a band. I took the job at the credit union and a second one to support his career. Albums, equipment, and costumes all cost money. And then when he left, I was pregnant. So..." I shrug my shoulders.
"He's never seen Abby, then?"
"No."
"He doesn't pay you child support?"
"I don't know where he's at. There's no way to collect it."
"Do you have family who helps you?"
"My mom died—she hated him, by the way. Every chance she had to tell me to run from him, she did. But I didn't listen. When he left, Cee Cee helped me. I don't have any other family."
"Cee Cee is your cousin?"
Enough about me.
"Yes. Are you close to your family?"
The same expression he had when he told me about the charity event tonight fills his face. "My mom is in New York."
"Are you an only child?"
He stares out the window. "Depends on how you determine that."
"What do you mean?"
He turns back. "You didn't ask me how I made my money."
"Isn't it rude to ask?"
He smiles. "I don't think you're a rude person."
"No?"
"No."
I wince. "Even when I mistake a nice gesture like a spa day?"
He smiles. "Even then."
"Hmmm. Okay, I'll bite. How did you make your money?"
He licks his lips and swallows. "Do you remember the issues a few years ago about water contamination in Queens?"
I turn in my seat. "Yes. They linked it to the chemical plant, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"What about it?"
He glances at his feet then back at me. "We were one of the families affected. My father got prostate cancer and died when I was ten. My younger sister was eight when she passed from leukemia. My mother had breast cancer but survived."
I put my hand over my mouth, too stunned to speak. My eyes fill with tears. "I'm so sorry."
He focuses on the divider window. "We were poor. There weren't a lot of options, especially with both my parents out of work. I'm still unsure why I didn't get sick."
I put my hand on his.
His blue eyes darken. "Anyway, shortly after I graduated high school, my mom received the proceeds from the lawsuit. She gave me money to go to college, but instead, I took it and invested in properties. Then I started buying companies with it."
"Wow."
"The fundraiser tonight is for a nonprofit children's ward. It'll be a state-of-the-art cancer center in my sister's name. While it won't turn away any child, the purpose is to help those children who can't afford treatment. My mom will be there. She's heading it up and has been working on it for years."