by Kira Barker
Shaking my head, I stalked down the driveway, through the open gate and to the curb, where a taxi was already waiting for me. Perfect. And really, who cared about the rude butler, anyway?
At home, I took my time showering, then double checked that I hadn’t misremembered my schedule for today. Sunday was usually not overbooked, but I still had two appointments, one in the afternoon, the other late at night, both in their own way chasers for the weekend. Both regulars, too, so it would be easy for me to slip into the right persona to give my clients exactly what they asked for. Or begged, in the afternoon’s case.
Once that was taken care of, I called Brigitte.
“Why, isn’t it my favorite of all the blooming flowers in my garden?” she purred into my ear as soon as the call went through.
“Of course I am, considering I earned you half your cut by just sleeping,” I let her know—and Hunter hadn’t been stingy; the money in the envelope easily covered my time until noon.
“I don’t care how you do it, as long as the customer is satisfied. And judging from that languid drawl of yours, I’d say he’s not the only one.”
“Quite,” I agreed, then laughed in spite of myself. “Can you tell me now why you made me go through with that line-up spiel? He was mine from the moment he walked in.”
“His choice, not mine. You know that I don’t waste your time with stupid games when you can spend it on your back, actually making money,” she replied, only half joking. Back in the earlier days, when I’d relied on her filling my schedule as much as possible to support myself, she’d pretty much worked me to the bone. With my student loans paid in full long before I hit thirty and four days’ work enough to cover my rent, I could be more choosy now.
“Speaking of him, how was your night?”
I considered my first assessment for a moment.
“He called me insatiable, but that’s definitely a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Oh, nice,” Brigitte replied. “A keeper, then?”
“Saturday afternoon until Sunday morning, and random occasions as they come up. It sounds as if he wants to show me off, or is at least not bothered about being seen with me.”
“He wouldn’t be. You’re not the first working girl on his arm,” she reminded me.
“I know. Who has he been seeing before me? Any names I might recognize?”
Not that it was vital information, but it was hard not to get curious with a client who clearly didn’t care what others might think about him. Most still kept it hush-hush, and not just because of possible legal ramifications.
“No names, but he called citing two references that would open him not just our doors.”
In Brigitte-speak that meant two very influential clients. If she valued something more than generous clients, it was well-connected ones.
Then again, for someone of Hunter’s caliber, it wasn’t a surprise that he knew people.
“Any hints or extra information you might find yourself willing to share with me?”
She gave a noncommittal grunt that could have meant anything.
“Nothing you won’t find out yourself easily enough. He left no specific instructions, besides the usual. With someone like him, I wouldn’t get chatty, though.”
All of our clients got confidentiality agreements from us that would hold up short of a criminal investigation.
“You mean because he’s a lawyer himself?”
“That, too,” she offered, but didn’t explain. That remark made me a little wary, reminding me of Adam’s comment about possible mob connections, but then she would have warned me if it had been anything I should have been aware of.
“Any idea when he’ll take you out on the town?” she wanted to know, changing topics.
Briefly checking my phone, I repeated the dates he’d emailed me an hour ago back to her. I heard her rifling through her huge calendar, smiling at the idea that in this day and age keeping paper records was likely safer than electronic ones. Except maybe my own—Adam had tweaked a thing or two for me to protect my privacy, and, more importantly, that of my clients.
“Nice, but be careful at the senator’s soirée. His wife might be around, and you know that she’s aware of your previous dalliance when he wasn’t quite that dependent on her family’s money yet?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assured her. “But I doubt that she’ll make a play at me with Hunter at my side.”
“Still, be careful,” Brigitte warned. “Anything else?”
“I’ll keep you in the loop,” I promised and hung up. I still had time, but it never hurt to get ready early.
Chapter 7
My next two appointments with Hunter went flawlessly, and the soirée turned out boring but uneventful. Before each social function, Hunter took a moment to explain to me why he was there and what his reasons for bringing me along were. He seemed to trust me enough not to need extra coaching, and after the first evening he remarked offhandedly that he enjoyed my witty banter—perfectly tailored to his needs, yet still-genuine-sounding arguments—a lot. He did so while I was splayed across his desk in the study, the oiled wood pressing against my cheek and shoulder as he plowed me good from behind. I let my uncensored moan be the only answer he needed.
While I had a good time being both the eye candy on his arm and his plaything in private, I was well aware that those first few outings had been a test. That became more apparent when, after a week’s pause that made me almost anxious about having failed, he asked me to accompany him to a two-day event, spanning Friday to Saturday and ending with my customary stay until Sunday morning. The first night was a gala, some charity event his firm was actively engaged in, which went over seamlessly into a day at the country club to further plow the attendees for their well-ensured money.
I had to admit, I couldn’t help but look forward to spending so much time with him, and not just because of how much dough that weekend would rake in. Over the past weeks, we had gotten to know each other better, and I started missing that charming smile of his when the gaps between appointments got too long.
Before, I’d simply met Hunter in the foyer of whatever location we were going to, usually waiting at the bar for him to pick me up, but this time the length of the appointment, combined with the different venues, warranted me packing a whole suitcase to be ready for everything. One of the by-now-familiar black limousines picked me up and delivered me to Hunter’s doorstep, where I had the great joy of being scrutinized by his butler once again. James hadn’t warmed up to me one bit, but I was doing my very best not to let that get to me. After all, I wasn’t fucking him, and technically, he was paid just as I was, if for different services rendered.
As Darren had requested, I’d brought several outfits with me. While I waited for him to get home from work, I draped the formal evening options over the bed and got a head start on my makeup. By the time he stepped into the bedroom, he found me lounging on his desk in lingerie and high heels, smiling invitingly at him.
“And there you ask me why I book you for the whole weekend?” he joked as he set down his briefcase, then came over to me, like a hunter stalking his prey.
Leaning back, I let my knees fall open so he could step in between them, his lips finding mine in a hungry kiss. A warm hand touched down low on my back, then slid even lower so he could pull me against him, lace and skin meeting wool.
“I wish we had more time for this, but we really need to get going,” he murmured against my lips, every line of his body screaming of his reluctance.
“You know that I can be quick,” I replied, already reaching for his fly, but his hand immediately stilled mine. The look he gave me was gently chastising, likely the most firm he could get in his protestation, opposed to it as he clearly was.
“We’re already late. And I need you to look immaculate tonight. I can’t even jeopardize that by ravishing you in the car on the way over.”
“Ravishing, huh?” I teased, but obediently kept my hands to
myself as I slid from between him and the desk and walked over to the bed. “Which outfit would you like me to wear?”
He pursed his lips, considering, and to help him, I held up the first dress, your stereotypical little black affair.
“Too generic.” He dismissed it quickly with a shake of his head.
I chose the next one—long, deep red silk that complimented just enough but underlined everything I had to offer.
“Too obvious,” he observed, then offered me a small smile at my raised brows. “I’d love to take you out wearing that, and later peel you out of it, but it screams sex, and tonight I need you a little less escort and a little more sophisticated associate. I know you’re both, but I can’t have half the men in the room slobbering all over you.”
Nodding, I skipped over the next two options—pretty much the same theme in green and blue—and settled on the last dress, a slate gray sheath that was just demure enough to tide over the fact that it would fit me like a glove.
“What about this one?” I offered, holding it in front of my body to let him get a good idea of how it would look. “It’s classy, understated but still feminine, without being overtly sexual or frilly. Senator’s wife chic, if you will.”
From the pleased look on his face, I already knew that we had a winner.
“Keep the shoes, but lose the underwear. Unless you need it for the dress to sit perfectly?”
His request made me grin and quickly drop the dress so I could unfasten my bra and slide my panties down my legs. Nature had gifted me just enough in the upstairs department to make wearing the dress without support feasible, and I loved how the satin lining slithered down my naked body as I put it on. As I turned to the mirror for a last critical check, I saw his reflection step up to me, his lips hot on my neck as he bent his head to kiss me.
“Perfect,” he purred, and reached up to free my hair from the tight updo I’d styled it in. The dark golden waves cascaded freely over my other shoulder, and I chuckled under my breath as he licked the shell of my ear before stepping away. “Even better now. And I can’t wait for later in the evening when I get the chance to take advantage of your utter lack of underwear.”
Somehow I got the feeling that he meant that to happen before we’d leave the premises.
With the question of my attire now out of the way, I only needed to grab my clutch while Hunter quickly shrugged into a fresh shirt and suit, and after letting me unleash the perfect Oxford on his tie, we were off. Unlike before, he didn’t lead me out the door but instead down into the basement, where I got a first glimpse at his considerable collection of cars. That was all I got, as he was quick to hold the passenger door of a sleek, charcoal roadster for me, and off we went, roaring into the night. Now I also understood what he’d meant about not molesting me in the car. All things considered, he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d value a quick fix with a possible full-on collision.
I expected him to chat about this and that as we usually did when we were on our own and not occupied with more carnal matters, but for the first few turns his attention was fully on the road before he cast me a side-long glance and reached into the pocket of his jacket, handing me two index cards.
“These are topics I need you to avoid and bring up in conversations, respectively. I’ve supplied the keywords and names in question. I expect you can memorize them quickly enough?”
It wasn’t the most unusual request I’d ever received, but some warning ahead might have been nice. The list wasn’t too extensive, though, if a little erratic at times. Most of the names were known to me, even though I’d only personally met three of them. None of them were clients.
“Do you also want me to offer arguments accordingly?”
A wry twist brought up his lips on one side.
“Are you asking me to give you a full script next?”
I shook my head, switching to the second card.
“You know that I sell my body, not necessarily my opinions, but I’m happy to answer accordingly if my own convictions would mess up your plans.”
“No need for that, but good to know,” he noted, then laughed when I shot him a pointed look. “I don’t need you to lie. In fact, I would prefer if you didn’t. I love your bright mind as much as your delectable body, and on this occasion intend to make use of both in equal amounts. It is easier to steer conversations in the right directions when I have support getting where I need to go, and sometimes a little controversy can help the unwitting target of our game reach the right conclusions, wouldn’t you say?”
“Quite so,” I agreed and went back to studying the cards.
The gala was held in the ballroom of one of the big hotels downtown, lavish luxury aplenty on display. The valet took the keys from Hunter after he’d held the door for me, and I didn’t miss the stern if quiet lecture he gave the boy to ascertain that not a scratch would mar his perfect car. As he offered me his arm and steered me inside, I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that I’d seamlessly become just another accessory—nice to look at, functional to his very specifications, and intended to be used hard. Only the private smile he gave me before he led me inside made me feel a lot more valued than the excessively expensive car he’d just handed off.
Before we got the chance to take our seats, there was some mingling to do, and within minutes I was actually grateful for the list Darren had supplied me with beforehand. I was used to dazzling smiles and simpering small-talk at such occasions, but Darren Hunter clearly meant business, not wasting more than a breath or two on niceties. While at the previous social gatherings he’d seemed to be mostly just present, he actively engaged several people in quick succession, delivering comfort, assurance, and, in one case, intimidated the other party, if not outright. He was quick to pass the ball to me, acting as if he hadn’t just dropped another hint for me to jump at. By the time we took our seats to enjoy what I expected to be first-class cuisine, my mind was reeling from the effort.
“Do you often do this?” I asked under my breath as he leaned in, adjusting his chair.
“Only with women I find capable of keeping up with me,” he admitted, his tone critical.
“I hope my performance was satisfactory so far?”
Now that lopsided smile of his resurfaced, making his soft, brown eyes sparkle.
“With you? Always.”
I was hindered from saying anything further by the seats around us being taken as the other guests on our table arrived, but then the quick squeeze he gave my thigh underneath the table cloth didn’t warrant outright acknowledgement.
I hadn’t met any of the other eight people now seated with us, but knew all but two by name. The only explicitly interesting were the woman to my left—Alison Moss—and her husband on her other side.
Alison Moss was, as befitting a woman of her age—late fifties—dressed to the nines in a dark green gown that looked one-of-a-kind, her black hair in a French twist at the back of her head. Flawless makeup and just enough padding under her radiant skin made her look a decade younger than I knew her to be, but really, it was her piercing, light blue eyes that caught my attention from the beginning. A Harvard Law graduate, she’d been one of the youngest female litigators to ever make partner in a law firm where she hadn’t been a prodigy, and took the helm five years later. Unlike ninety-five percent of the other guests, it was her husband Raymond who was the eye candy, while she was the money, name, and fame.
As Hunter introduced us, Alison gave me a long look that let me know that she knew exactly who and what I was—paired with surprising approval, I might add—while her husband was quick to ooze what he likely thought of as his irresistible charm all over me. Admittedly, with those teeth and the full head of brown hair, he could have easily been a model in a commercial targeting the pre- and post-menopausal female audience, but the effect was mostly lost on me. Darren’s list included not a single item regarding him, if three lines for his wife, and I doubted that I would get to exchange more than a word or two w
ith him. Not a great loss, if you asked me.
In short order, the food arrived, and with it the expected slew of meaningless small-talk. I let myself relax for a moment, but couldn’t help myself when the wife of the man Darren was in deep conversation with on his other side made a simpering remark about the weather. Just—no.
“You’d think that with all the creme de la creme gathered here, the temperature wouldn’t dare drop below what is average, just this very evening. The gall, really!”
My scathing retort had the woman stare at me cross-eyed, but Alison’s delighted laugh made me feel less like I’d just tripped over my own feet. I still tried to tone it down a little, instead steering the conversation to what I presumed was a safe topic—books—but Alison was quick to unroot me this time. As her less than favorable opinion of the latest movie-star-gone-politician’s memoir triggered my memory of Hunter’s keywords, I seamlessly picked up that thread, and by the time dessert was served, I felt like I could read Alison like an open book. And judging from her amused smile, the feeling was mutual.
A quick stretch of silence followed as the organizers of the gala held their mandatory speeches, including statements from Alison and Darren alike, both of them acting as if they were a professional team of presenters—which, I figured, wasn’t that far from the truth. Raymond Moss remained seated and took the time to check something on his phone, the contents of which I didn’t even want to think about.
Then we were back to mingling and hounding prospective clients new and old alike, with me plastered to Darren’s side. He was a pro at working the crowds, but so was I, and I could tell from his tentative touches and momentary intimate caresses whenever he could hide them in the press of the crowd that he found me still sufficiently proficient as his sidekick.
The crowd was already thinning by the time I thought about taking a quick break to “powder my nose” when Darren’s hand on my arm suddenly morphed from an easy touch to a demanding grasp, and in short order I found myself dragged up the steps of the stage and behind the curtains, a mere three feet away from the podium he had been speaking behind earlier. It was dark here, the space cast into even more shadows by the spotlights centered on the logo of the committee the gala was for blazoned in the very center of the stage. Beyond, the softer light of the ballroom still set the sea of people in stark relief to the clean-cut light-and-shadows up here.