by Candice Dow
“I’ll take a box with me and I’ll meet you at the seventh-floor exit in the garage. You can put the other two on a mail cart.”
He grabbed one of the boxes and walked out. I stood up thinking, Damn, this was a pretty good first job. I had realized that not all of corporate America was completely stuck up. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. It could have at least lasted longer than six months, though. I turned the lights down and pulled the door closed for the last time.
I opened the door to Thorne’s Benz S500. I loaded the boxes in the back and pulled the mail cart back into the building. When I sat in the passenger seat, I asked, “So did you fire me so that I could be your mistress?”
“You’re not my mistress.”
“We’re sleeping together. So what am I?”
“We’re two people in business. We are exchanging goods. I thought we settled this the other day.”
We headed to my apartment. When we arrived I invited him in. Without hesitation he dropped the boxes off in the lobby. “I’m going to find a parking space and I’ll be in in a second.”
He knocked on my door within minutes. When he first walked in, Bruno started barking aggressively. He probably sensed Thorne’s authoritative energy and felt he had something to prove. He was locked in his crate and I knew he wanted to get out and sniff Thorne, but he had to wait a moment while I entertained. Thorne walked in a small circle around my one-room apartment and nodded. “Very nice for a first apartment.” He continued scoping. “Someone has OCD.”
“What?”
“Obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
I laughed. “No. I just really like a clean place. And not to mention, this place is only like four hundred square feet, I have to keep it clean or it can get really junky, really fast.”
“Damn. I mean, everything is in order like you’re a serial killer or something.” He laughed. “You hiding something, London Bridge?”
“Whatever, it’s not that bad.”
“You’re crazy, I have a cleaning lady and my house isn’t nearly this clean.”
“But you have kids.”
“Yeah, but it’s like a damn operating room in here.”
“Well, I’m in the job market if you need to replace your housekeeper,” I said, laughing as I hopped up on the countertop in my kitchenette. He walked up and stood in between my legs.
“London, are you really trying to work for me?”
“One part of me says yes, but the other side says no.”
He kissed my neck on each side. “Where’s the no side?”
“It’s just that I don’t know about being a random booty call whenever you feel like it. What happens when you start looking for something else on the side? Am I going to be out here searching for a job?”
“What if I told you that you had a guaranteed weekly salary?”
“Will you give me two weeks’ notice when the job is coming to an end?”
“What makes you think it will end?”
“All good things come to an end.”
“If you learn how to manage good things, they can last forever.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
He unbuttoned my shirt and I twirled his tie in my hand. He leaned in for a wet, sloppy kiss.
“Yeah, London. Walk this dog.”
I yanked his tie harder. He bit softly on my neck. Bruno growled as he watched on. Thorne lifted my skirt over my hips and cupped my vagina, massaging vigorously. He yanked my tights down. “You like it like that, mommy.”
I panted heavily, wanting him to shove himself into me. He unbuckled his pants with the other hand and pulled a condom out of his pocket just before he let his pants fall to the floor. He placed the condom on the counter beside me. With his penis poking proudly through his boxers, my eyes quickly focused on the beautiful structure inside his underwear. He smiled and grabbed my hand, guiding me to stroke him. He said, “Get down.”
I hopped down from the counter and stood close to him, with his penis in my hand. He looked deep in my eyes. “Put it in your mouth.”
The sound of loud screeching brakes rang in my ear. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this with a man that I wasn’t in love with. Sex is reciprocal, but oral sex is a service. Sure we’d discussed this whole exchange of services, but concept is one thing. Reality is another. I didn’t want to come across as immature and unequipped to handle our arrangement. When I felt the pressure of his hands on my shoulders, a piece of me felt like I had no choice. Being that I had already succumbed to him, it was too late to start pleading my morality. Slowly, one knee at a time, I knelt before Thorne. As if my mind were free of all apprehension, I opened wide and let him push back until he was in my throat. Maybe it was my strong attraction to him or maybe it was what I had to convince myself of to get it over, but he smelled almost like a watermelon Jolly Rancher. My tongue slipped and slid up and down his candy stick. His fingers were tangled in my hair as he groaned with pleasure.
He reached for the condom on the counter and ripped the packet open. “Get on the counter,” he demanded.
I wiggled out of my tights and underwear, then jumped on the counter and scooted my hips to the edge. His height put him in a perfect position to just slide right in. My jaw muscles relaxed as his throbbing penis filled me. My neck fell back and my eyes closed as he stroked. My hands rubbed up and down his chiseled back, touching his tight ass.
“Talk dirty to me, mommy.”
At first I didn’t say anything. Then he began instructing me, telling me to repeat after him. I started to repeat after him. Then he would demand, “Say it like you mean it. Say you love this dick.”
And so I did. I said everything like I meant it, even if I didn’t. I performed to the best of my ability while Bruno acted like a fool, barking angrily in his crate. When we were done Thorne was satisfied. He carried me to the bed and we lay across it together.
He rubbed my stomach and said, “You have the perfect body. Do you know that?” After a short pause, he said, “Honestly, you’re definitely the full package.”
“Is that why you picked me to work for you?”
“Not necessarily. Every woman with the perfect body and perfect face isn’t equipped for this type of work.”
“So what about me makes you think that I can handle this type of arrangement?”
“Remember when you first started working in my office and I asked you about your life and your hobbies?” I nodded, and he continued, “Well, I knew then that you were an emotionally detached person and that’s not all women.”
“I don’t think I’m emotionally detached.”
“Let me say this, I think you have the potential to be emotionally detached and that’s a plus. You may never have to work a real job in your life if you master that.”
I looked up at the ceiling, wondering why he’d picked me and how many women he’d picked before and what they were like.
“When I first saw you, I thought to myself, He’s a dream man. I mean, a dream black man. You’re attractive, you’re smart, you’re rich, and every day since Saturday I keep thinking, Why me? Why is sex with me worth so much to you?”
He began to speak and than he stopped. “Let’s say this. You’ll understand me and what I do better after this weekend.”
“What happens this weekend?”
“I want you to go to LA with me.”
“Really? What’s in LA?”
“Number one, the Golden Globe Awards is this weekend. That’s the bulk of my clientele in one place at one time. You have to mix and mingle with the money if you want to stay at the top of your game. It’s not always your reputation that takes you to the top, it’s your representation.”
I squinted and he clarified. “You have to be at all the right events. People gauge if they want to get to know you or if they’re interested in doing business with you based on where they meet you. If you’re at the right events, you’re obviously in the circle. So they want to work with you just because
of what they think you represent.”
He paused for a reaction and then changed the subject. “Do you have a business bank account?”
“No. I just use my personal account.”
He frowned at me. “London, is your business even registered?”
I felt slightly stupid as I shook my head no. I hadn’t worried about that part yet. For me, walking dogs was a hobby that I got paid for. He told me to register my business as soon as possible, as in it should be the first thing I did in the morning. He suggested that I put at least half the money I earned from him into my business account.
He advised, “When you own your own business, only you get to say what you earn.”
“But I don’t make a lot of money walking dogs.”
“Let’s say you continue to work for me. You want to report those earnings as business income, so that you can build your credit and be able to purchase things like houses and cars. What good is making money under the table if you have nowhere to shelter it? Always remember, you are your recorded income, anything that’s not recorded is nothing.”
It was a lot of information to take in, but it made a lot of sense.
“The government doesn’t really care where you get the money from; all that matters is that you pay taxes on it. I’ve been doing this since college.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what this was, but I nodded as if I understood. He continued, “I’ve always had a business, and anything I make on the side from the odds and ends I record as business earnings. You’ll never get caught that way.”
“Get caught?”
He sat up on the bed and leaned over to kiss me. “Yes, get caught. Let me get out of here.”
He stood up and walked toward the kitchenette and I lay on the bed feeling overwhelmed with information and uncertain about what was going on between me and Thorne.
He walked back toward the bed buttoning his shirt. “Yeah, and your plane leaves at seven-thirty Friday morning. I’ll e-mail your itinerary tomorrow.”
“Wait. Am I going to be with you?”
“No. I’ll meet you in LA. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly.
“And make sure you handle your business tomorrow. Register your company. It’ll take about thirty minutes. If your name search is cleared, you’ll have a confirmation right there and you need to go straight to the bank and get an account in your business name.”
“But I don’t have a name.”
He smiled. “The Dog Trainer.”
“But I’m not a trainer.”
“Not yet, but you will be,” he said with a smirk.
I said, “You really think so?”
“Yeah, that’s enough for one day,” he said, tossing his suit jacket over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you in LA.”
“So will I talk to you before then?”
I stood up and walked toward him. He placed his hand on the knob. “Oh, and one last thing, we need to upgrade your apartment.”
I definitely wanted an upgraded place to stay, but I needed to be sure this income was consistent before I agreed to that. I called a few of my clients to let them know that I wouldn’t be available for the upcoming weekend. I explained that I had a last-minute engagement and apologized for any inconvenience. It was almost a definite that I would lose one or two as a result. Dog owners are so temperamental.
While I was out walking Bruno, it dawned on me that Thorne hadn’t given me any money. I wondered if it was an oversight or if it was intentional. Did he think I should ask for it? I didn’t know, but I did know that it concerned me. It was possible that this so-called working-for-him was shady.
When I got back home I immediately turned on my computer and started updating my résumé. I needed a backup plan in case this alternative way of making a living wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Bruno and I stopped over to visit Kari and to ask if she would keep an eye out for my pup over the weekend. She reluctantly agreed. I told a little white lie, claiming that I needed to visit my mother because she wanted to see me after she found out about my job loss.
The next morning I woke up early and headed to the Department of Consumer and Regulatory Affairs to register my company. I was one of the first people in line to fill out my paperwork. While Thorne had schooled me on starting a business, he hadn’t given me full details on the type. So I had to ask one of the customer service representatives. I would be applying for a limited liability corporation. The name search was successful and The Dog Trainer was available. When asked about the description, I basically listed all dog services from kenneling to walking to training. It was Thorne’s suggestion that I look at the bigger picture. And just like that, I owned my own business. I left the building feeling accomplished. Despite the fact that I’d been a dog walker for almost six months, something about having the papers listing me as the owner/founder made me proud. I headed straight to the bank with five hundred dollars of the money that Thorne had given me and opened my business account.
9
I arrived in LA around noon. Assuming Thorne would meet me, I anxiously headed for baggage claim. Instead I was greeted by a man in a black suit carrying a sign that read LONDON REED. For me? But without reservation I walked up to the guy holding the sign and said, “Hi, I’m London.”
He was a middle-aged Hispanic guy. “You have your bags?”
“Not yet.”
We walked to the conveyer belt and I pointed out my bag. After he grabbed it we headed for the car. There was a black Lincoln waiting outside and he opened the door to let me in. Then he tucked his head in with me, showing me the drinks. Soda. Champagne. Wine. He told me that he’d open the champagne if I wanted. Why not live it up? Thorne didn’t know what he was creating, because just from sitting in the limo I was certain this was the type of life I deserved to live. The driver popped the champagne and the bubbles spilled from the bottle as he poured it into the flute. He placed the bottle back on ice and closed the door. I downed what he’d poured. It was a little bitter, but I liked the taste and the mere thought of sipping bubbly in the back of a limo was quite appetizing to me.
I rested my head back and thought, What did I do to deserve this? My phone rang and before I even checked I knew it was Thorne. I answered, “Hey, how are you?”
I heard a lot of giggling in the background, but he said, “Just waiting on you.”
“I guess I’ll be there shortly.”
“See you soon.”
I poured more champagne when I hung up, hoping to be nice and toasty by the time I arrived. When we rode down Sunset Boulevard the driver pointed out the famous shops on the Strip. We then headed to Rodeo Drive and there were more television-popular spots. I couldn’t wait to spend my money. I’d been turning the pages of InStyle magazine since my last year at Georgetown, hoping that one day I’d be able to dress like the girls on them. I’d always liked expensive things. They seemed to fit my shape better. It’s possible it was all in my mind, but I really didn’t think so. I couldn’t wait to get where I was going, settle down, and get back out on the Strip to shop.
We traveled up a mountainous road off of Rodeo Drive; each home was nestled and gated behind beautiful greenery. Finally we turned into one of the driveways and the driver spoke into the intercom. The large steel gates opened and granted us access. A beautiful multi-tier home with a brown stucco exterior awaited us. Large windows enclosed most of the house and a stone walkway led to the entrance on the second tier. The driver pulled my luggage from the car and we headed to the door. He rang the bell and Thorne opened the large French doors with shiny brass accessories. His muscular arms spread, welcoming me to the castle as he stood there looking even more fine in swim trunks and baring his abs of steel. My mouth watered. I liked him a lot and luckily he liked me enough to want to pay me for my goodies.
I stepped into the home, which was decorated in a contemporary style. Nice artwork adorned the walls. There was a sleek crème leather couch in the living room w
ith two accent chairs. A multicolored rug with a geometric pattern was in the middle.
After hugging me tightly for many seconds, Thorne said, “Welcome to my LA home.”
“Thank you. Very nice.”
“I’m glad you like.”
It sounded like someone was in the kitchen mixing drinks and I could hear noise coming from the back patio. I said, “Is there a party here?”
“Something like that. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
I followed him into the kitchen, where an attractive girl with long curly hair, wearing a bikini, was blending margaritas. “This is Jasmine. Jasmine, London.”
I reached out to shake her hand, but she offered a hug. “Hi, London. Welcome aboard.”
Aboard? A strange greeting but I smiled it off. We proceeded out through the sliding glass door into a breathtaking landscape of huge stones, green bushes, and waterfalls surrounding a medium-sized pool. At least six to eight women, each one in tip-top shape, jumped in and out of the water, splashed each other, and appeared to be having a blast. Thorne walked me around, introducing me to each girl.
I didn’t know what the hell I had walked into. Did all these girls work for him? Was he paying us all to sleep with him? There was no way one man could have this much energy. Thorne noticed the perplexed look on my face and told me to follow him into the house.
He first poured me a drink and told me that he was going to take me up to the room I’d be staying in. We walked upstairs into an artfully decorated room with a queen-sized bed and no headboard. Thorne sat on the bed and gestured for me to stand between his legs. He rested his head on my stomach and looked up at me. “Did you have a good flight?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Did you do everything I asked you to do yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because you can potentially make a lot of money this weekend. I mean, it depends what you’re down for.”
I slouched down beside him and looked him straight in the eye. I was tired of his evasiveness. “Why are all these girls here? Are you paying them all?”