by J. C. Reed
Maybe it’s because I don’t fall in love.
The only two things I’ve ever loved are my work and the way my dick always seems to know what to do.
I just don’t like the drama, the pleading, having to stifle a woman’s hope that someday we’ll be in a relationship. For the life of me, I cannot see myself depending on someone to make me happy, to let someone so close to me that I would have to trust her.
Which is why I’m always being upfront with every woman I meet before I invite her back to my place:
The only relationship I have is with my cock.
That’s another reason why I started the calendar in the first place.
The way I see it, I’m doing women a favor. They learn from me. I live to please them and treat them well. That’s one of the most important rules I set up.
I even love going down on them if I know they’re clean.
I’m not doing men though. I’m as straight as a cannon and love to dive into deep places that are warm, moist, and welcoming, like a hot apple pie fresh from the oven.
“I can assure you she had fun. And she never asked for money,” I say.
“Yet.” Chase sighs. “She hasn’t asked for money yet. But once she learns that you take photographs of all your conquests, she’ll want a payout. In the meantime, she’ll go to every rag magazine that wants her and can earn her media coverage.”
“She won’t.” I let out a chuckle because I know Brenda. I know what she really wants.
Remember the kinds of women you should never go for? Yeah, she falls into one of those categories.
“You can’t know that.” Chase interlinks his fingers as he stares me down. “Did you get her written permission to take photographs?”
I exhale. “No, but it’s not like I’m publishing and selling the snapshot of a face on the Internet.”
“Does she know that?”
I groan.
What’s the big deal? The snapshots I take are there to help me remember the women I’ve bedded. They aren’t even dirty, unless the woman in question wants them to be.
I always make sure I never photograph below the waist unless I’m asked to.
“For now,” Chase keeps saying. “But the moment your other conquests come forward, that’s the moment your entire life will go downhill.”
I drape my arm over the chair and lean back, thinking. Brenda was into me a bit too much. I gave in and slept with her in a moment of weak judgment. Once she realized we’d never walk down the aisle, the claws came out.
At last, I draw a deep breath as I realize that maybe that makes her unpredictable. “All right, little brother. What do you recommend we do?”
“You mean what we recommend you do?” Another board member, Vince, chimes in. He’s the oldest in the room. His hair is streaked with gleaming silver. I’ve seen him around a few times, but I’ve no idea what he actually does in the company. Investors and shareholders shouldn’t have the kind of power he has.
“There was a meeting yesterday.” Ben ignores the glances I throw at my brother and continues, “It’s been decided that you’ll attend the LAA Center. It’s the only place that will help save your reputation which, as I’m sure you know, is our reputation, too.”
The LAA Center?
I snort.
“I’m not a sex addict.”
Ben sighs. “We’ve already discussed all other options. You have no choice. You either check yourself in or you retire. It’s that simple.”
With that he gets up. “Your choice, Kaiden,” he throws at me in the kind of voice I’d like to punch right out of him. “Your therapy starts tomorrow. If you’re not there, you can kiss your seat goodbye. For the sake of our friendship, we recommend you do as we say.”
I stare at him, my anger flaring up. “May I remind you that I built this company from scratch?” I point my finger to each of the six board members, including my brother. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for me.”
Ben nods his head as if he saw that coming. “We’re all aware of your hard work, Kaiden. But your company wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for our shares, connections, and support. Right now, you’re risking our investment and reputations for a bit of a good ol’ roll in the hay, so to speak.” He stares me down, which doesn’t have quite the threatening effect I’m sure he’s going for.
“It’s still my private life,” I mumble, irritated.
“That may be true, but we won’t let you ruin the very company you and your brother worked so hard to build.” His expression softens. “Your father and I were friends long before you were born. Remember our agreement before we agreed to invest in your business?” He pauses, but not long enough to give me a chance to reply. “We want you to get better.”
Better?
I snort.
Frankly, I’ve never felt better. The sex is ah-mazing. Like rip-your-clothes-off-amazing. Imagine you could have all the food you wanted. Now imagine that what you got is so deliciously and mouthwateringly melty you’d instantly lick your fingers—that’s sex to me. Just give me a woman with hips and something to grab onto so that it doesn’t feel like I’m fucking a blowup doll. Give me a pair of tits—any size, any shape—I can push my face, or cock, in between, and I’m happy and ready to go.
“I’m doing very well, thanks for asking,” I say.
He shoots me a hard stare before he gets up, followed by the other board members. Only my brother remains seated.
As soon as the door closes behind them, I stand and walk to the bar.
“It’s not even ten a.m., Kade,” Chase says.
“It probably is…in Australia.”
I grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before I return to the table.
My hand’s slightly shaking as I pour the golden liquid into two tumblers, spilling a drop.
My anger flares up again. “It’s a fucking mess. I’m far too young and sexy to retire. Besides, they need me because I’m the only one who knows how to run my company the way it should be run. It’s not my fault they’re thick-skulled brutes, with their only interest being fluffing up their savings accounts rather than expanding this business. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to ask for investors…that I’d never sold the shares to start up.”
“But you did,” Chase says. “Nothing you can do about that now.”
“Obviously, I have to have some patience and understanding, what with most of them being past sixty and counting,” I say, ignoring him.
His lips twitch in understanding. “You can’t expect people who have no idea what Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and the likes are, to get you.”
“Obviously,” I mutter. I turn around in a dramatic manner. “I’ll tell you a secret. I do actually know what’s going on.”
“Please enlighten me.”
“They’re bored with their lives because nothing ever happens, which makes them jealous of me.”
That’s right.
They’re jealous of me.
Jealous because they’re married and stuck in their boring routine.
Jealous because they think they have left their best years behind and miss their old, carefree days.
Divorce is always an option, but not when it’s already their second and third marriage.
“They love their mansions, their Botoxed wives, but they still think the grass is greener on the other side,” I continue. “That’s because the grass is greener on my side. Not my fault though. You can’t have it all. Even I know it, which is why I do have a set of rules.”
“Rules?” Chase’s brows shoot up. “What rules?”
I smile at him knowingly. As much as I love my brother, some things aren’t meant for his prude ears.
Some of my rules:
* * *
I never do repeats. Ever. I’m fairly proud of that. If you’re a prude, don’t ask me what my magic number is because it’s only a number. To you, anyway.
I don’t hire prostitutes or sex workers or strippers. And I don’t do marri
ed women or religious fanatics or virgins—not because they’re not hot, but because I have my own standards. These types of women get too invested in the idea of marrying, and I have no time for healing their broken hearts. I’m not a lifeboat, either. I don’t save anyone from their mundane lives.
I don’t do love…or commitment. As such, I avoid women who are looking for the white picket fence, or a rock on their ring finger. I’m a business strategist and marketing expert who always keeps things uncomplicated, because commitment = mess, which equals drama, which equals trouble.
* * *
My point is: don’t ask me for my phone number. Don’t tell me you’re married, or want kids. Don’t ask me how many women I fucked before you, just like I won’t ask you how many breaths you’ve taken in this little thing called life.
To me, it doesn’t matter.
You may think I’m a manwhore.
I assure you, I’m not.
“Let’s just say,” I respond in response to his inquiring look. “I just like to give back the enjoyment and learn from experience the same way you would read a book and savor each and every nuance of it.”
“Just do it, Kade,” Chase says quietly. “It’s only for six weeks.”
Smiling coldly, I push a glass across the table toward him. “What about my game plan?”
“What about it?”
I wave my hand. “Don’t tell me it’s all been in vain. I only have a few women left.”
He stares at me with no sense of humor. “How many are we talking about?”
I lift my hand. He stares at my three fingers. “Jesus, dude. I’m surprised you haven’t caught an STD yet.”
“I’m not stupid. You know how careful I am.” I lean back, lifting the glass to my lips, but I don’t take a sip yet.
“You know what? Forget I even said that. I don’t want to know.” He shakes his head and releases a sigh. “Look, I’m not judging you, all right? You’re my brother and no matter what you do, it’s your business and I’ll always have your back. But…” He wets his lips, hesitating, probably choosing his words. “Please, just do the six-week program. After that… resume whatever you were doing before, just be more discreet about it. Fuck, I’ll even be your wingman. Anything, as long as I can keep you out of trouble.”
I give a little snort.
Chase being my wingman would be the worst thing that could happen to me. He’s married and ready to be a father.
“Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I ask.
“I…”
“No, answer the question, Chase. Do you know what you’re expecting of me?” I ask sharply. “You request that my dick go on hiatus. That’s not human. It’s fucking immoral. Fucking torture. I wouldn’t expect that from my worst enemy.”
“Look, if monks can do it, you can do it.”
“I’m not a monk. I’m an adult with a healthy appetite for sex.”
Chase holds out his hand, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “I get it. You need it.”
I cringe at his choice of words.
He makes me sound like I need sex in a bad way.
“I’m not a sex addict, all right,” I say. “I just enjoy it. That’s all it is. A hobby, if you have to define it. Like I said to the board before, I like the workout, the challenge, and the chase because I’m a man of many aspirations. As long as I have a goal in sight, I like to sweep right in and finish it in one fast ride. See things through, so to say. I said that to the company board. My honesty didn’t help my case. They had little understanding for my “sex escapades” as they called my little encounters. This ultimatum is not fair.”
“I think it might be understandable,” Chase says. “You didn’t go a day without sex in the past year.”
“That’s because I want to reach my goal.”
Chase shakes his head. “You are at the top of the world right now, Kade. The company has never done so well and you want to throw it all away. For what? For some fun? Why don’t you give it a break for a few weeks?” His eyes narrow at my viperous glance. “Days, then?”
“Are you asking me to break a promise?”
“A pointless promise you made to yourself? Yes, I am.” He regards me for a few seconds, his anger visible in the way his fingers clutch at the glass. “Just do it, bro. How you do it, when you do it, with whom, it’s none of my business. Lie your way through. I don’t care. Honestly, I just want to see your ass at the rehab center tomorrow.”
The door opens.
We both look up at my new assistant, Miranda, striding in, a folder tucked beneath her arm. Her hair is piled high on her head, and she’s wearing a sexy dress.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I thought the conference room was empty.”
Chase gives her a short nod of his head. “That’s fine. We were about to finish up anyway.”
She drops an easygoing smile. Her entire posture is nervous, as if it was her first day, even though Miranda has been working for me for three months now. I understand her nervousness, but I also think she has a bit of a crush on me.
I wink at her, which earns me a strange glance from Chase.
“Can I bring you anything?” she asks.
“We’re fine,” Chase says.
“Actually, I’d love some coffee.”
Chase shoots me a warning glance, which I shrug off.
“Coming right up.” Miranda leaves, closing the door behind her.
“Seriously?” Chase mumbles.
“What?”
“You haven’t even started therapy yet.”
“I never said I would.” I shrug my shoulders. “Jesus. It’s just coffee. I wasn’t planning on fucking her while sipping it.”
He shakes his head again then gets up, grabbing his jacket in the progress. He lifts his briefcase, hesitating. “Tomorrow, Kade. You’re taking the private jet tonight.”
With that, he storms out, leaving me alone.
I pour myself another glass of whisky, nursing it slowly.
Why can’t the damn therapy start in three days so I get to finish what I’ve been working so hard to complete for a full year?
Would it count if I fucked three ladies today rather than one a day?
I grab my glass and walk over to the window. Below me, people are swarming like ants. I don’t turn around as the door behind me opens, the click clack of high heels following the enticing scent of fresh coffee.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Miranda asks.
I turn around and regard her with the kind of smile I know will melt her panties in a heartbeat. “As a matter of fact, there is. Would you care to join me for lunch?”
Chapter Two
Vicky
* * *
Three months earlier
* * *
AN OPEN LETTER TO JANE AUSTEN
* * *
January 1st
* * *
Dear Jane,
* * *
For the last two hundred years or so, your delightful words have etched their way into every young woman’s buoyant heart hoping for a bit of romance in her life. Your books have given us hope. They’ve made us dream, but after spending years of my life looking for my Mr. Darcy, I’ve come to realize you were a romantic, just like the rest of us, and the path ahead isn’t as fluffy as you made it out to be. For all I know, Mr. Darcy may always remain a beautiful dream (preferably one with lots of sex in it, because I’m not getting very much of that lately.) However, I will never give up dreaming because, even if Mr. Darcy doesn’t exist, maybe some day Mr. Darcy’s poorer and less sexy brother will trudge along. I’m definitely game for giving him a try.
* * *
Yours affectionately,
Vicky Sullivan
Two months earlier
* * *
AN OPEN LETTER TO JANE AUSTEN
* * *
March 12th
* * *
Dear Jane,
* * *
I think I’ve found him—my own Mr.
Darcy. Actually, I’m quite sure of it. While we haven’t met at some uptight ball, like Elizabeth, Starbucks isn’t so bad a place either. He spilled hot coffee on me (I’m sporting a small scar, but who am I to complain when we’re talking about true love here) and then he asked me to have a cup of coffee with him the next day. So far, we’ve only gone on two dates, and no se*…uhm, lovemaking, but my heart’s already confident. He’s the one. We might not be Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in the sense that we don’t talk much, but in the silence surrounding us, we say everything.
* * *
Yours affectionately,
Vicky Sullivan
PRESENT DAY
VICKY
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I mutter under my breath as soon as the bus pulls onto a potholed road. Looking out of the window, the only thing I can make out is a vast space of trees, sand, and water, and yet more water. It feels as if I’m part of another world even though that is impossible. We are as deep in North Carolina as one can get.
Throughout our drive, I spied a few shops, the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, and even caught a glimpse of the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site. It sure feels like we’re far away from civilization, fumes, and traffic, but the driver keeps assuring me we’re only “a stone’s throw” away from the buzzing nightlife.
I should have clarified his interpretation of the term “buzzing nightlife.”
Roanoke Island is beautiful. I’ve read tourists are all over this place, but right now it feels more like a death sentence than a blissful oasis. On top of the seclusion, the clouds are as dark and ominous as the feelings inside me and the dread of losing myself.