Played

by Colleen Charles

  “I’m fine, thanks, but you look a little down. Anything I can do to help?”

  “You sound like my friend who just left,” I answered with a long exhale. I must look like I’d been run over by a truck for strangers to be commenting on it. “I guess I didn’t realize that I looked like the boy who just lost his puppy. Thanks, but I think I’m beyond help.”

  Seems I still had the ability to crank up the Reed Matheson charm dial with my signature smile. Old habits died hard.

  “Oh, what makes you say that?” she asked, sliding her slim hand over mine as I rested it flat on the bar. Suddenly, I knew this was no ordinary chance meeting. Fuck. Did she recognize me from the news or from the rink? If she did, she’d know that a call girl was barking up the wrong tree looking for a paid gig with me.

  “Just going through some personal shit. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”

  A sly grin formed on her perfectly made-up face. “How about you let me worry about your head, handsome? I’m good at that.”

  I nearly laughed straight out. As good as a blow job sounded right now, I couldn’t muster the energy. I had to let her down gently without pissing her off. I wondered how a classy-looking woman like her got into this line of work. Everything from her Michael Kors dress to her Gucci bag reeked of money and class. I smiled politely and kept sipping my drink.

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said. “Perhaps another time.”

  She nodded with equal politeness and withdrew her hand. Clearly a professional working girl. “That would be my pleasure. Do you come in here often?”

  I shook my head. “First time. How about you?”

  “It’s fast becoming one of my favorites,” she said. “It’s new, but it’s been very good for business so far.”

  “Really?” I said, curious. “Your business is doing well?”

  “Very.” She twisted an expensive Tiffany bracelet encircling her wrist to draw attention to it. Shit. It looked like it had twenty or thirty diamonds encrusted in it. Then she reached into a tiny little purse at her hip. “You should try us some time,” she said, drawing a card from it and handing it to me. “Ask for Jewel.”

  With a wink, Jewel slipped off the stool as gracefully and discreetly as she’d arrived. I stared at her for a minute. The front neckline of her slinky black frock was nothing compared to the plunging back side. I watched her shapely rump wiggle side to side as she walked away, the alluring shadow of her ass crack nearly revealed by the provocative dress. My cock jerked at the sight, independent of my disinterest in the woman herself. Some things never changed, but I realized my life had to if I had any chance of saving my little girl.

  I glanced at the card she’d left in my hand. The imprint showed a stylized silhouette of an evening dress and a tux alongside the company name: Irene Sutton Formals. Someone was really clever, dressing up a high-class escort service as a formal wear shop. It occurred to me that tragic circumstances and economic downturns never fazed the world’s oldest profession. And fuck if it didn’t give me an idea. A crazy one. The answer to my problems could be right in front of my face.

  Maybe my still chiseled face, gym honed body, and stellar set of bedroom skills might be a moneymaker, even if my blown-out knee wasn’t.

  ***

  “Irene Sutton, please?”

  “This is Irene,” a dark, sumptuous voice said, speaking in long, leisurely tones. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  It was ten in the morning, and it had taken me the better part of two hours to work up the nerve to make this call. I rubbed my sweaty palm on my jeans.

  “Uh, before I say anything, are you… hiring… right now?”

  Irene drew a long breath in. “We are always interested in recruiting new talent, Mr…?”

  Shit. Should I give her a fake name? No. If I ended up interviewing or whatever they did for this line of work, she’d find out my identity. And my face… well, it was well-known enough that I couldn’t get away with faking it.

  “Matheson. Reed Matheson. I got your card from a… an employee of yours, and well, she gave your establishment a great testimonial. Told me her job is quite… lucrative.” I cringed at my choice of words. Fuck, I sounded like a moron.

  “Are you seeking employment, Mr. Matheson?” she said after a long pause. If I weren’t so nervous, I would have sworn I heard a hiss of recognition when I revealed my name. I couldn’t hear much over the throbbing in my ears by my racing heart. “We engage private contractors, and we are very selective. Would you like to schedule an interview?”

  She sounded professional enough, old-hat, like she did interviews for sex workers all damn day long, but I still felt awkward. Was there training involved? I couldn’t imagine what that would consist of. All I knew were hockey drills and core workouts. And fucking. That I didn’t require any training in, according to all the women who had shrieked my name on the wings of their orgasm ever since high school.

  “Yeah, sure. Great. But I’d like to start… contracting… as soon as possible. Even tonight, if you have any openings.”

  “Well, Mr. Matheson. I give you top marks for enthusiasm,” Irene chuckled. “Why don’t you come to our studio for a fitting around six o’clock? If you’re suitable, there may be an opportunity for you. Please dress business professional so I have an idea of your style and how to best… flatter you.”

  “A fitting?” I asked, then clued in, slapping a hand to my forehead while the other clutched the phone in a death grip. “Ah, right. Formals. Thank you. Yes. I’ll be there.”

  I disconnected the call and shoved my thudding heart back into my chest from where it felt lodged in my esophagus. Not even game seven of a playoff series made me this nervous. I rummaged through my closet to dig out a suit. One of the few that my ex hadn’t auctioned off at a charity fundraiser and pocketed the proceeds. I used to love my custom Armani and had a stable full of them.

  Heartless bitch.

  She didn’t know the extent of Jessica’s condition, and I wasn’t about to tell her. The last thing my daughter needed was another dose of her mother’s poison to cause even more harm, ripping the scabs off wounds that I’d worked hard to heal.

  Which made me all the more determined to meet with Ms. Irene Sutton. I showered, shaved, and dressed, and was on my way across town when Milo’s number flashed on my Bluetooth screen. I’d even indulged in a rare dose of expensive cologne. Couldn’t hurt to smell good before a meeting with a woman. One who didn’t yet know that she held my very life in the palm of her hand.

  “S’up, you brainless bohunk?” I had many terms of endearment for my best friend. He embraced every one of them, regardless of how idiotic or borderline racist they might be. Milo knew everything that came out of my mouth was said with love.

  “My mutual funds and my poker winnings. Where are you? We saved you your usual spot at the table—the pigeon stool.”

  Damn, I’d forgotten about our weekly poker night. Had too much else on my mind. Not that I could afford to gamble—with my money nor my daughter’s health.

  “Ah, shit. Sorry, Milo. I made other plans. I should have called you. You’ll have to find some other pigeon because this one’s had his wings clipped.”

  “Too bad. I was looking forward to another dress-down of the Five Hole Stud.” I heard the shuffling of chips in the background. “Oh, wait a sec. You’re not on course for the Motel 6, are you? You were just kidding, right?”

  Does he have some kind of freakish sixth sense?

  “Yeah. Just kidding,” I said, wincing. Christ. The man had some kind of warped ESP where my extracurricular activities were concerned. “I gotta go. Enjoy fleecing your other suckers.”

  “I will, but… listen, Grunt. You know I don’t have to win the pot to help you out. Help Jessica. Are you on your way to the hospital?”

  I swallowed hard, knowing I should spend every spare minute I had with my little girl. Milo would cut a check in a heartbeat if I let him, and
for a second, I felt I should. Just give in, trash this crazy plan, and not lose another precious moment to begin Jess’s new treatment. But only a second, and it passed more quickly than it should have.

  “Just came from there,” I lied. “I’m on my way to a business meeting, and uh, if it goes well I’ll have some big money coming in. Golden opportunity. Honestly, Meathead. I won’t need your help. You can stop worrying.”

  Begrudgingly, he let me off the call, just as I pulled up in front of the address Irene gave me for some high-rise executive condo. The kind that corporations rent for visiting CEOs and majority shareholders brimming with chrome, opulence, and Benjamins. I parked and walked in, taking the scenic elevator to the top floor. Me and heights were not friends. All my teammates on the Caribou had ridden my ass whenever the team flew to a game. My face would turn as white as ash while I spent the entire flight white knuckling it and trying not to puke while the rest of the guys played cards or slept. I faced the control panel the whole time to stay my writhing guts. With my knee, the stairs were rarely a viable option.

  The suite housing Irene Sutton Formals featured a showcase next to the entrance with a designer tux and evening gown displayed on headless mannequins. It made a convincing front for what really went on inside, but I hoped it wasn’t a reflection of my future. Before even meeting her, I had to give the woman props for her business acumen and creativity. I inhaled a ragged breath to steady my racing heart. I needed to keep my head for better things.

  Irene Sutton greeted me with the charm and aplomb of Princess Grace. I guessed her to be in her fifties, a bona fide cougar, but she looked stunning in a classic cocktail dress with her brunette hair styled into a sleek French knot. Gorgeous, really, with money dripping from every pore. And completely out of my league.

  “Mr. Matheson, I presume?” she asked, holding out her hand palm-down as though inviting me to dance.

  I was used to a more traditional handshake but clasped her outstretched hand in what I supposed was the appropriate way, hoping some knowledge of the fox-trot would not be required. Robin had loved watching that Dancing With The Stars bullshit. Every time she had it on, I’d retreat into my man cave to watch ESPN. “Miss Sutton.”

  “Call me Irene,” she cooed, squeezing my hand gently then releasing it. “A pleasure to meet you.” She looked me up and down, and I didn’t miss her lingering stare at my crotch. Seemed we were going to get right down to business. Monkey business. “I see you keep yourself very fit. That’s a plus. How old are you, if you don’t mind?”

  “Thirty-two,” I said, worrying my lower lip with my teeth. I hadn’t thought to ask about that. Maybe there was a short shelf life in this industry like in modeling. “Is there an age restriction?” I flashed the winning smile that toppled many a female tower revealing the spoils beneath the designer facade.

  “Not at all. I just need to know if you’re comfortable meeting and talking with people of differing ages. Our contractors are expected to be highly skilled in social graces.”

  “Of course.” I flashed another grin. “I’m no Miss Manners, but I’ve had experience dealing with the media and doing interviews across all modalities. Pretty good at thinking on my feet, I’d say.”

  If she only knew how cold and sweaty my feet are right now, she’d tell me to turn the fuck around and find another occupation.

  Irene nodded in satisfaction, a smile carving her botoxed face. She looked like she’d had some excellent work done and was able to afford it. This gig could be more lucrative than I thought. A jolt of excitement shot through me at the thought of being able to write out a check for Jess’s treatments without help from anyone else.

  “I like your attire,” she said, her eyes taking another stroll down my length. “Although we do offer a high-end selection of jackets, tuxes, and slacks for every occasion, I think what you have on will do just fine. Turn around, please.”

  I pirouetted like a wooden marionette and stifled a laugh. I might be exactly that if I got the job—a puppet with strings for Irene Sutton to pull. I just hoped she wasn’t pulling my chain about the pay.

  “Thank you,” Irene said, a note of finality in her voice. I faced her as I completed my three-sixty. She crossed her arms and looked me in the eyes. Her perfect makeup enhanced her luminous browns, and they were trained on me like a long-range rifle. “I don’t normally do this, Mr. Matheson, but I’m going to make you an offer right now if you’re available. I have a client coming in tomorrow evening that I think you’ll be perfect for. I’ll need you to complete an online profile, review our guidelines, and sign an NDA, but otherwise, I think you’ll be able to handle it. Are you interested?”

  Holy fuck. I told her I wanted to start as soon as possible but didn’t expect this. Even though my heart spasmed by the implications of heading down this road, I needed the money, and I needed it yesterday.

  “Call me Reed. I don’t mean to be crass, Irene, but what’s the compensation for this type of… engagement?”

  Irene beckoned me to follow her into her office. The wraparound windows provided a spectacular view, and any doubts I had about the escort business being profitable evaporated as I eyed the expensive accessories and artwork in the room. The walls in my apartment featured bank calendars and movie trailer posters to cover up the holes and cracks in the drywall.

  Irene seated herself behind a sleek wood and chrome desk and donned a pair of designer eyeglasses that were lying on the desktop. She pulled some papers from a drawer.

  “It varies by client, but you’re very lucky, Reed. Your date tomorrow night is very high profile, and since she’s asked for a very specific outcome, it is reflected in the fee. It’s ten thousand dollars, of which you will receive seventy-five percent. The normal rate is anywhere from two to five per engagement. You’ll be paid in cash at the end of each contract.” She looked up at me and slid the papers across the glossy surface of her desk. “I assume that will be satisfactory?”

  My throat tightened at the thought of more paperwork, and the reminder of the evil stack of documents waiting for me at home, incomplete.

  “Very,” I said, doing the math in my head. I could almost pay for the first round of drugs with this one appointment. Date. Whatever. “What exactly is the specific outcome?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t a threesome with another dude or heavy BDSM. My tastes were pretty vanilla in the grand scheme of things. It was hard enough to figure out the buttons to push on one woman without throwing another into the mix.

  Irene smiled and placed a pen in front of me. “Please read through the guidelines and sign the TOA and NDA where indicated. You have until tomorrow to review our policies, the dos and don’ts while on an assignment. I think you’ll find this an easy one, judging by your…” Irene scanned me up and down one more time, her smile a bit more lascivious than before. I felt like a giant human lollipop about to be devoured in one bite, “Assets.”

  She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together in a businesslike knot. “Like many of my clients, she wishes to have a sexual encounter. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Chapter Three

  Harper

  “You’re leaving early? You never leave early. What’s up?” my assistant asked, her brow wrinkled in suspicion.

  Julie Brown knew me only too well. I’d spent many a late night at my desk earning my workaholic reputation; apparently enough that my leaving early constituted an anomaly. What had my life been reduced to? Work, work, and a side of work. I shrugged on my new butter-soft leather coat and decided it was high time I changed that perception.

  “Yes,” I said with a patronizing tilt of my head. “Contrary to popular opinion, I do have a life outside this office.”

  Not.

  “I thought this office was your life,” Julie said, flashing a grin that said she meant no disrespect as she collected my empty coffee cup from my desk. “Oh wait, I meant your empire.”

  I winced. I deserved that. Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears
had gone into building MediGo. I’d given it every ounce of my focus, and worn my hard work and dedication like a suit of armor. One that had conveniently shielded both my youthful insecurities and my painful, lonely life. Now I hid behind the result… the walls of my business empire.

  “Yes,” I replied with an upward tilt of my nose. “Too true. I really should have a solid gold throne installed in here, and a crown encrusted with priceless jewels. Every queen needs a crown, right. Get on that tomorrow, will you?”

  “As you command, Queen Payne,” Julie said, bowing her head in mock deference. For a moment, I thought she might genuflect. “Something exciting planned for this evening?”

  “Just business,” I said as I wrapped a chiffon scarf around my neck and collected my purse. As in none of yours. I wasn’t about to let on what I truly had planned, not even to my most trusted associate. I felt embarrassed enough having engaged an escort service without making it public knowledge. “Have a good night, Jules.”

  I left my ivory tower in downtown Rochester with a spring in my step that belied my trepidation over the evening ahead. No one would ever guess that Harper Payne, CEO and founder of MediGo, the first and most successful online medical database and social networking site in the world, was about to hire a gigolo. Man whore. Lothario. Libertine. If I stopped to think about it long enough, I felt like I might pass out.

  Of course, those weren’t the politically correct terms. A ‘professional escort’ sounded much more acceptable. But the fact remained that at age thirty-two, despite all my education and accomplishments, I was still a virgin.

  And I hated it. No, that wasn’t even close to being strong enough. I despised it so bad it consumed too many of my thoughts each day. Too much of my precious energy that could be focused on my business instead of my moldy vagina.

  Most of my life, I’d been so self-conscious about my weight I never felt confident or natural around men. I’d dated some, even had a steady boyfriend in college up in Duluth. But it didn’t last. After several tries at intercourse, he finally said he ‘couldn’t get it up’ with a fat chick, and dumped me. I was heartbroken. If I had collected all the tears I cried over my lifetime, I was sure they’d have filled Lake Superior.