“Summarize it, please,” she asked, feeling disgusted.
“Well, he offers her five thousand, and that turns her little frown upside down and then she proceeds to tell him that she just had a big ole dinner,” Keegan said, stifling her chuckle and putting on a deadpan expression when Jessa eyed her. “So they head upstairs to a room, and I guess that’s when—”
Jessa pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare,” she stressed, knowing Keegan’s sense of dry humor.
“The shit really hit the fan,” Keegan finished.
“Really?” Jessa asked.
“No shit,” she continued.
“Keegan.”
“I guess he had a shit-eating grin the whole time,” she said, biting her bottom lip and wiggling her eyebrows.
“Fuck you,” Jessa sang, turning to walk toward her office.
“Okay, Jessa, I’m sorry,” Keegan said, rushing over to grab Jessa’s shoulder and turn her around. “I don’t mean to be a shit stirrer.”
Jessa brushed Keegan’s hands away and grimaced as she swatted at Keegan’s thigh as if to scold her friend and business partner.
“Okay, I’m done,” Keegan promised.
“Where did that video come from?” Jessa asked, opening the file to look at a picture of Mrs. Sachs smiling at a friend over lunch at Barneys. Just completely lost in the sauce about her perverted husband.
“Tyler,” Keegan offered.
Their agent Tyler Infill was tall, dark, tanned, and handsome. When he wasn’t going on casting calls for acting jobs or handling assignments for Mistress, Inc., he was in the gym, and it showed in every hard contour of his body. They used him as bait for Mrs. Sachs—at her daughter’s school, the grocery store, her weekly lunch dates with friends. Even church. Not once had she given him anything more than a passing glance.
“We had Tyler baiting another client and he recognized Warrington,” Keegan said. “He emailed the video to us.”
“Forward me a copy,” Jessa told Felisha, who did so with a nod.
Keegan eyed her for a little while before she shook her head. “No. She is not our client, he is.”
“He was,” Jessa corrected.
“Stay out of it,” Keegan insisted. “I just wanted you to see it for shits and giggles.”
“Really?” Jessa said again.
“That one wasn’t on purpose,” she said, before clearing her throat.
Felisha raised her hand. “I have a question?” she said.
Jessa and Keegan both eyed her.
“Do you think it messed it up for him if she had corn for dinner?” Felisha asked innocently, pushing her spectacles up on her nose with her thumb.
Jessa chuckled, seeing that Felisha was earnestly awaiting an answer.
“Now that’s funny to you?” Keegan asked. “I’m insulted. This is a problem.”
“Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit,” Jessa slid in before playfully sticking out her tongue.
All three women howled with laughter.
* * *
It’s easier being bad.
Jessa’s eyes shifted from her rose gold iPhone to her computer, where the video of Warrington Sachs walking into the hotel room with his beautiful prostitute was paused on the screen. There was a time, not long ago, where she would have felt no remorse or given a second thought to the plight of Mrs. Sachs or her marriage. It would have amused her had she allowed it to break through her bubble of self-interest.
Another damn dilemma.
Jessa shivered in revulsion at the thought of Warrington Sachs’s perversion. Like, what the hell does he get out of that shit—no pun intended.
Her eyes shifted to her computer and her mouth twisted in disgust at the list of sexual perversions. Her curiosity had led her to Google and Wikipedia’s pages on paraphilia now leaving her with far too much info on just what turned some people on.
Vomit. Blood. Shit. Death.
The hell?
Jessa closed the internet page, positive she would have nightmares about it all.
Bzzzzzz.
She pressed the intercom button. “Yes, Felisha,” she said.
“Renee Thorne is here to see you. Are you available?” her receptionist asked.
Renee?
Jessa drummed her crimson nails against the top of her desk. She was surprised, thinking she’d seen the last of her last month when all three women berated her and sent her on her way.
Fucking embarrassing.
“Ms. Bell?” Felisha said.
It was the oddest moment to remember when she reverted back to her married name. Her agent and book editor had put the kibosh to her show of independence, thinking her notoriety was attached to the name Jessa Bell. You do realize when you say your name quickly it sounds like jezebel. Try it. JessaBell. JessaBell. JessaBell. Jessa frowned as her agent’s whiny voice echoed around her.
“Ms. Bell? Are you available?” Felisha nudged again via the intercom.
Jessa reached into the bottom side drawer of her desk. In it were the monthly reports about Jaime, Aria, and Renee. She extracted a blue one and set it in the center of her desk. “Send her in,” Jessa said, smoothing her hand over her hair as she stood.
She put on a cool façade as Felisha escorted Renee into her office. “Hello, Renee. Care for a refreshment?” she asked, as she waved a hand toward one of the chairs before her desk.
“No,” Renee replied, her tone stiff as she took a seat and set her tote on the floor beside it.
Jessa paused in reclaiming her seat, feeling annoyance at Renee’s sullen attitude. She looked back at Felisha. “A Bellini for me, please,” she requested.
Renee scratched her eyebrow. “Alcohol on the job, huh?” she asked.
Jessa arched a brow. This bullshit is running out. “What can I help you with, Renee?” she asked, forcing a fake smile.
Renee eyed her across the desk. “This isn’t easy for me,” she began.
Knock-knock.
Felisha entered carrying two champagne flutes. She set one on the desk before Renee and handed Jessa the other. “I brought you one in case you changed your mind, Mrs. Thorne,” she said, eyeing her over the rim of the glasses.
“I won’t,” Renee insisted.
“Ms. Thorne doesn’t drink . . . any longer,” Jessa explained, waving her hand for Renee to remove it.
“Wait,” Renee called out.
“And what will that help, Renee?” Jessa asked in a quiet voice. “You’ve been down that road before, and I believe it led to a DUI charge.”
Renee’s eyes hardened in anger.
Felisha hurried from the room with the flute in her hand.
Jessa took a sip of her drink, savoring the taste of it before she swallowed. She pointedly checked her diamond watch before leveling her eyes on Renee. “You wish you weren’t here. You’re uncomfortable. You’re embarrassed. You wish I would die—even though it was that white woman he married that was his mistress and not me. Still, you hate me. Blah, blah, blah. I get it,” Jessa said, having another sip of her drink. “What do you want?”
“Who is my husband’s mistress?” Renee asked.
She arched a brow. “You didn’t ask him?”
Renee looked annoyed. “He doesn’t know I know,” she finally answered.
Ah. Now it all makes sense.
Jessa glanced down at the file on her desk, but she didn’t need it. “His new secretary,” she said.
Renee snorted in derision. “How fucking cliché,” she muttered.
Jessa eyed her, remaining silent, as she tapped one finger atop the file. “Spouses pay me good money for this type of intel,” she said.
Renee rolled her eyes heavenward as she picked up her tote. “Fucking figures something was in this for you,” she said, pulling out a checkbook with a Gucci cover. “How much?”
Jessa shook her head. “Renee, all I ask is your forgiveness,” she said.
Renee looked surprised, and then doubtful. “I’d rather write you the
check,” she said.
Lord, this bitch is really trying me. I hope you see that.
“You are far too angry for a wife that told me she attempted to cheat on her first husband with her assistant who didn’t close the deal because he’s gay,” Jessa began. “And for the last two weeks, you’ve been punishing your second husband for cheating by fucking your ex-husband, who is now married, thus making you a mistress. Welcome to the club.”
She enjoyed how each word from her mouth seemed to widen Renee’s eyes in shock.
“I was a wife who let my grief turn me into a mistress,” Jessa said, tilting her head to the side as she eyed her former friend. “It happens, right?”
Renee shifted her eyes away from her and looked uncomfortable.
Jessa recognized her guilt. “I’m not looking for friendship, Renee. Not at all,” she stressed as she pushed the folder toward her. “Consider my debt to you for sending that silly message paid. That’s all I ask.”
Renee jumped to her feet and snatched up the file to shove into her tote. She roughly nodded as she moved to the door. “Stop having me followed, Jessa,” she ordered, her voice tight.
“Fine,” Jessa said with honesty, picking up her flute to finish her drink.
Renee left her office without another word.
* * *
The bathroom door eased open and she shifted her eyes in the mirror to see one of her new hires, Lacey Adams, enter. Jessa smoothed her hands down the sides of the short and fitted gold silk halter dress with a plunging neckline she wore. She turned, giving the beautiful woman a polite smile. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lacey?” she asked, quickly sizing her up.
Once every other month, she and Keegan took the entire staff out for dinner. Tonight was that night.
“Yes, the food is so good,” Lacy said, licking her lips nervously as she moved past Jessa to set her purse atop the counter.
“Good,” Jessa said, picking up her iPhone and clutch from the counter before she moved past the younger woman to the door.
“Ms. Bell, how am I doing?”
Jessa paused with her hand on the door handle and looked back at Lacey over her shoulder. “Just fine, Lacey,” she said with truth. “If you weren’t, you would have been fired.”
And that was the truth. She didn’t have the charisma of Charli Cole, but she got the job done. She had the type of innocent, introvert sexy that some men loved, and Jessa used her as a mark for them. No, Charli Cole and other agents snagged men quicker with their confidence and their sex appeal, but Lacey Adams really fucked them up with that “let me take care of you and only you” vibe.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Lacey asked, snapping her own heart-shaped gold clutch closed.
Jessa eyed her before she reached in her clutch and withdrew a platinum cigarette case, pressing the latch with her thumb. It opened in her hand as she extended it to her. “How did you know?” she asked.
Lacey took one. “I smelled it in your office one day,” she admitted.
“Something about exhaling the smoke and seeing the small cloud it makes dissipate in the wind soothes me when I’m aggravated,” she said, snapping the cigarette case closed and dropping it back inside her clutch.
Lacey nodded. “I’ll smoke it outside,” she said, before turning to enter one of the stalls.
Jessa paused at the door. “Lacey, just like many other things in life, like it but don’t love it,” she advised, before leaving the restroom with one last comforting smile.
The door closed behind her and her steps faltered as she spotted Hammer leaning against the wall next to the door to the men’s restroom. The dark gray blazer, shirt, and slacks he wore suited him well.
She shook her head at the look he gave her, holding a slender finger to her lips, as she passed by him. The eyes of many men were on her, openly or covertly, as she moved through the dimly lit restaurant to the private dining room in the rear. There was a time she got her inner strength and her esteem from the attention of men. That was in the past.
Soft music was the backdrop to the chatter of the employees of Mistress, Inc,. as she reclaimed her seat at the round table next to Keegan. “Beautiful bunch of people,” she whispered to her.
Keegan tossed her hair back as she eyed the three women, sans Lacey, and two men, not including Hammer as the lone detective of the agency. “I still can’t believe this idea of yours is working,” she said, picking up her flute to sip her champagne.
“Supply and demand, Keegan,” Jessa said. “Supply and motherfucking demand.”
They toasted to that.
“Oh, and the Lord’s work and all that shit, right?” Keegan drawled, her Texas twang thick and the sarcasm present.
Jessa arched a brow and moved her flute away to avoid another toast. “You’re going to hell,” she said.
Keegan shrugged. “I’ll gladly go if he’s waiting for me there with a hard-on,” she said, lifting her chin toward Hammer entering the room and reclaiming his seat between Charli Cole and her very first agent, Yoni Lee.
Jessa’s grip on her glass tightened. “I thought we agreed he was off-limits,” she gently reminded her.
“All bets are off in the afterlife, honey,” Keegan said, shaking her head in disappointment.
Humph. All bets been off for me.
Jessa remained silent, her eyes locked on Hammer’s head bent toward Charli as they talked.
“Looks like we might need a reminder about not fraternizing at work,” Keegan said, her eyes on Charli and Hammer as well.
“He’s old enough to be her father,” Jessa whispered harshly, hating the jealousy that punched her gut and squeezed her heart.
“Honey, all men are daddy when they laying the pipe right,” Keegan said, chuckling at her own play on words.
Jessa tapped her butter knife against her glass as she rose to her feet. Hammer turned his attention from Charli, and she gave him a long stare that made the smile fade from his face. “Just want to thank you all for your hard work in making Mistress, Inc,. a success. Thank you for your beauty, your smarts, and your loyalty to our vision for this company. I appreciate you all,” she said, eyeing each one and finally locking eyes with Hammer as she raised her glass in a toast.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
She smiled, giving him a nod, as she felt her heart swell in her chest and seem to burst like fireworks with happiness.
Chapter 5
Two months later
There was a noticeable shift.
Jessa lowered her head into her hands and massaged her temples with her thumbs.
“Are you okay, Mama?”
The sound of her daughter’s caring voice tightened her throat with emotion and brought tears to her eyes. With one last shaky breath, she cleared her throat, raised her head, and plastered a fake smile on her face as she looked at the computer screen filled with Delaney’s face. “Mama’s just fine,” she lied.
Delaney’s leaned in to press her lips to the screen, leaving a peanut butter and jelly–smeared print that evoked a genuine smile from Jessa.
A smile that broke through the guilt that had plagued her of late.
She would never share the same bond with Georgia that she had with Delaney.
Georgia was on her mind again.
Shit.
If only it could be as simple as a lyric in a song.
Memories came to her more and more over the last few days. Questions. Assumptions. Wishes for the life she wanted for her daughter. For her daughter. And Georgia was hers. Nothing could change that fact.
And, of late, as Delaney got older, Jessa was unable to deny the truth herself. I have two daughters. One I know and love. One I will never know but still love, because she is mine.
Jessa twirled in her chair, giving the screen her back as she bent over and released a long, shaky breath as a pain that felt visceral raced across her chest. She felt her tears wet her knees. A cry she couldn’t contain escaped her lips, and she was barely able to mute the
sound.
It seemed every moment she fought so hard to be a good mother to Delaney reminded her that she never fought for the chance to do that for Georgia. Long after she outgrew the pain of having her taken away and went numb about the violation—the rape—by her father, she had changed her life. Became successful in spite of it all.
And still, I never searched for her. There were many weeks and months I never even thought of her. I told no one. I treated her as shameful.
“Peek-a-boo, Mama.”
Jessa winced at her daughter’s voice, realizing she innocently thought they were playing a game. Quickly she swiped away her tears before swiveling again in the chair to face the screen. “I see you,” she finished softly, reaching out with a shaking hand to stroke the screen.
Winifrid lifted Delaney onto her hip. “It’s time for her nap, Ms. Bell,” she said politely.
Jessa was grateful, and not just because she stressed that Winifrid needed to maintain Delaney’s schedule. She nodded and waved before lowering her hand to end the Skype session.
“Jessa.”
She was startled and sat back when her mother’s face suddenly filled the screen. “Yes,” she said, rubbing her fingertips against her palm as she fought to beat off her anxiety.
“What’s wrong? And don’t lie to me. I could see it in your eyes when you were talking to Delaney,” Darla said, her tone no-nonsense.
The points of her stiletto nails dug into her flesh as she tightened her grip. “Just a little tired,” she lied.
The time had come and gone for her mother to show concern. Jessa had long since learned to live without it, especially after she stood at the window of her grandmother’s house and watched her mother walk away and never return.
Men, drugs, and her mental illness had claimed all Darla’s attention, leaving her with no time for a little girl who wanted nothing but her mother’s love.
The same love Georgia might have wanted from you, hypocrite.
“I should be home before dinner,” she said.
“Jessa—”
“Good-bye.” She hit the button to end the connection and felt relief when the screen went black.
“Maybe it’s PMS,” she muttered, hating how her emotions were all over the place. Varied. Scattered. Overwhelming.
Mistress for Hire Page 6