Ceasefire

by Black, Scarlett

  Did they sit them down with a three-ring binder and have them flip through a stack of headshots like they were choosing from a menu? And what would that be like? Did it have tabbed sections for things like Blondes, Brunettes, or Ethnic? And maybe Young, Mature, or Something in Between? Fake Boobs? Real Boobs?

  What category would I fall under?

  Shaky, probably. The caption under my headshot would read something like, “Pick this one—she vibrates!”

  I checked the door, saw that Alice had her attention elsewhere, and then discretely sniffed my armpits.

  He could smell me if we do it in here, I thought. God, this is a mistake. What am I doing? Should I go? Yeah, I should leave before this goes too far. I’ll just thank Alice and tell her something came up.

  I grabbed a marbled coaster, scooted it closer to me on the table, and put the scotch down. By the time I wiggled out of the deep couch—the dress made getting up difficult—it was too late. Alice opened the door, poked her head in, and motioned for me to come with her.

  “He’s ready for you.”

  “Oh, um, well I was thinking—maybe I should just—”

  Alice sensed my apprehension. She stepped closer and took my hand. “Cold feet?”

  “Freezing.”

  “Want a pep talk?”

  “Yeah…maybe.”

  She reached for my other hand, and I let her take it. The gesture comforted me and I stopped shaking for a moment.

  “It’s not my job to convince you, sweetie, but he’s going to love you. I know he will. This…it’s not for everyone. It’s up to you to decide how you’re willing to handle it. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve seen more girls come through here than I could count. Some last, some don’t. But the ones that do? The ones that handle it the right way? You’ve never seen a more confident woman. You have power. You have control. It’s your life, honey. You do what you want with it, okay? But my advice—not that you asked, really—is to stay safe and stay smart. If you do that, pretty soon you’ll have more money than you know what to do with. It takes a special kind of woman to handle this, and I can see that in you.”

  “You can?”

  She giggled and pinched my cheek. “No, I’m just an old lady that’s full of shit.”

  We laughed together, hard enough to push away my nervousness and doubt. She’d done her job properly. How often had she given the same speech?

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay, I think I can do this. But—”

  “But what?”

  “Is any of that true? About the control and—and the money?”

  “Every word of it. At least from what I’ve seen over the past ten years. Are you ready?” she said, pointing toward a closed door down the hallway. “He’s right in there.”

  “I think so. No, wait. Yes. I am. I’m ready.”

  “Wonderful.” She patted my backside. “Go get ‘em.” She reminded me of Lois on the days she’d take me to volleyball camp in the summers. The subtle encouragement, the confidence boost—anything and everything to take my mind off the performance anxiety.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Whew, okay. Any last minute advice?”

  “Chin up, shoulders back, breasts forward, and when you walk in there, remember, you own that room. Be respectful, because that’s how Roman likes it, but that room is yours, understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I did as she said. I lifted my chin, threw back my shoulders, and marched down the hallway like I belonged there.

  The confidence lasted until I lifted my hand to knock on Roman’s office door. I froze and absolutely could not force my hand to move. I didn’t look back at Alice. I didn’t want her to know I’d lost my nerve.

  Godddamn it, Kim. Suck it up. You can’t really take this job, remember? No pressure. It’s just for fun.

  Right? Wasn’t it?

  I knocked three quick raps and waited.

  I waited so long that I thought he hadn’t heard me, but as I reached to knock again, the latch clicked and the door swung inward.

  Roman wore a pristine suit, metallic gray with a baby-blue scarf poking out of the left side pocket. His tie matched the scarf and both matched his eyes, just like Finn’s that day back in the coffee shop. It was nothing more than a masterstroke of coincidence, but it made me pause and think again about where I was and why. What would Finn think of me if he knew?

  Yet I wasn’t sure any of that would matter, because Roman was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Maybe in his mid-forties, brown skin, beautiful dark hair, cut short in a Caesar-style. Whether it was intentional or not—and I was sure it wasn’t—I couldn’t help but notice the connection. Roman with a Caesar cut. I might’ve pointed it out under different circumstances.

  He had a thin, five o’clock shadow—the kind that’s trimmed that way on purpose.

  Roman was simply…damn hot. No words would do him justice.

  I could only describe the look he gave me as “penetrating.” And it wasn’t just my eyes. No, he surveyed every inch of me from head to toe. Long, slow looks so intense that I could feel them on my skin. The hair on my arms stood up, but not from fear. It was from the idea of being ravished without being touched.

  My nipples hardened and pressed against the dress.

  Could he see them? Could he tell how turned on I was?

  Maybe. Maybe he could feel my heat.

  Finally, he said, “You…are…incredible.” His voice was deep, sexy, genuine, and coated with a mixture of truth and amazement.

  I’d never had anyone speak to me that way, with such sincerity and lust wrapped up into three simple words. I wished I could’ve captured that moment in time so I could show it to Dreama and say, “See? You’re wrong, and you always have been.”

  “Well?” Roman said. “Most people say ‘thank you.’”

  I snapped out of my reverie and managed a nervous laugh. Flustered and fumbling my words, I said, “Oh, oh right. You caught me off surprise, um, by surprise—thank you. So nice of you. Really. That’s…flattering.”

  “It’s not flattery if it’s true. Come in, have a seat.” He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk and guided me inside with a hand on my lower back. I melted with the touch and could feel him gazing at me from behind.

  I heard the door close, followed by the thick clunk of the lock.

  Maybe I should’ve been frightened because how often is someone comfortably locked in a room with a strange man? But no, I wasn’t afraid. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth. The room was mine.

  When I sat down, my dress rode up high on my thighs.

  I didn’t bother with pulling it down.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Roman moved slowly around his desk like a panther stalking his prey. Underneath his suit, I imagined his muscles rippling and flexing with every step, every motion. His fingers lightly traced across the dark mahogany and then he slipped into his high-backed leather chair. “Give me a second,” he said, picking up a sheet of paper. “I haven’t had a chance to look at this yet.”

  “Is that my resume? I think you’ll find that I’m—”

  He put a finger to his lips and softly said, “Ssshhh. One second.”

  I wanted to retake control. I wanted to say something, but I let it go.

  Be respectful, I thought, just like Alice said.

  So, I waited, looking around the room while Roman read and muttered the occasional, “Hmm.”

  There was the giant desk in front of me, as spotless and well groomed as his appearance. The kind of perfection that comes from a personal touch, not from a hired cleaning lady. Want something done right, do it yourself.

  All of the papers were neatly organized. His laptop hummed quietly and I noticed one framed photograph, angled sideways, of Roman shaking hands with an older, white-haired gentleman. Not that I follow politics, but I immediately recognized our fine governor. Was he a client or had Roman donated a
huge pile of cash for the opportunity?

  To my right was a bookshelf, absolutely stuffed with novels and business guides.

  You were right about one thing, Dreama. A reading man is a sexy man.

  Behind Roman, mounted on the wall, was a massive painting of a nude woman, lounging on a divan. She was plump, with full breasts and a mischievous smile. Curly red hair. It had to be an original by some famous painter. I couldn’t know for certain, but from the impression I’d gotten of Roman, I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  And then, to my left, was a wall of windows overlooking the river. Lush, green trees and a couple of geese lazily swimming upstream. A gorgeous view, and I could see myself kicking back in his office chair with my feet up on the desk, watching the water flow by, getting lost in my daydreams. It would’ve been the perfect place to hide, shut out the world and just relax.

  Roman cleared his throat, sat up in his chair, and using a single finger, he slid my resume across the desk, as if it were something offensive.

  He said, “Convince me you belong here, Kim, because I’m not sure you do.”

  Again, I wasn’t sure I wanted the job, nor could remain a responsible mother and work the odd hours, but something came over me—maybe it was the need to prove myself to somebody, to prove my mother wrong—but it happened. I got caught up in the moment.

  Take control. This is your room.

  I offered a smug, confident smile and replied, “May I call you Roman?”

  “Of course.”

  I leaned forward in my chair and lowered my voice. Poised and calm, self-assured, I said, “Roman, that’s no way to speak to your future star employee.”

  He grinned. “Good answer.”

  “I know it was.” My heartbeat hammered inside my chest. I wasn’t used to being so…forward.

  His smile widened. “I admire your confidence, but there’s something missing. Something doesn’t add up in your background. At least, not from what I read.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “You’ve got an MBA from Stanford while a lot of young women your age are trying to decide which fraternity house they’ll pass out in this weekend. I mean, for God’s sake, you were the valedictorian of your class at one of the most prestigious schools in the nation.”

  “And?”

  “And…you’re brilliant, apparently, so why in the hell are you an unemployed customer service rep? Why aren’t you out securing a few million dollars in venture capital for some Silicon Valley startup? Basically, what I really want to know is,” he said, as his voice grew more demanding, tapping the desk with each word, “why are you here?”

  I thought about lying. I thought about making something up about how the business world bored me and I wanted something more adventurous, but it still didn’t explain how I wound up in that dead-end job in the first place. Since I had nothing to lose, I decided that honesty would be the best option. Someone would find out eventually—better to get it out of the way.

  “You really want to know the answer?”

  “Make it a good one.”

  I almost stuck my highly intelligent nose in the air. Instead, I settled for a lot of five-cent words. “Being intelligent doesn’t preclude someone from unfortunate oversights. I’m fallible, like everyone else. And when those mistakes occur, especially when you’re at the top of the mountain, it simply means you have a longer way to fall.”

  “I see.” Roman leaned back in his chair, studying me. “What kind of mistakes are we talking about?”

  “Mistake. Singular,” I said, then regretted my choice of words. Joey wasn’t the issue. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I rationalized it by thinking that his father, Marcus, was the mistake.

  I turned my eyes away and stared out the window. The geese had moved on. The lust that had been a raging storm inside me evaporated into a tiny droplet of water. It was still there, but there was integrity and business to deal with. “The truth—the truth is, I have a son. He’s almost eighteen months, and, well, I chose responsibility over glory, over that Silicon Valley startup.”

  Which wasn’t exactly true. A number of companies had been in the process of recruiting me before that fateful night with Marcus. I’d already been promised high-level positions and annual salaries well into the six figures. I’d been promised unbelievable perks—company BMWs and tremendous expense accounts—perks that would’ve made anyone my age drool over the possibilities, the freedom.

  But it wasn’t meant to be. The bidding wars for my skills dried up once word spread that I was pregnant. I’d heard excuses like, “Shows a lack of judgment that we’re concerned about,” and, “We’re concerned you won’t have time to fulfill your duties with a newborn child.”

  Concerned, concerned, concerned. Everybody had been concerned. I hated that word. Not to mention how discriminatory it had been. But, when offers are pulled, no matter how much you try to convince someone otherwise, what do you do?

  Dreama had suggested that I sue and I’d refused. I didn’t want to work for a place where I had to stamp my foot and throw a tantrum to be accepted. I wouldn’t want to be there, and they wouldn’t want me there. The environment would’ve been too toxic to be productive.

  What Roman said next surprised me more than can be imagined. I expected rejection. I expected him to be “concerned.”

  He said, “A child is never a mistake. Keep that in mind.”

  “Right. No, I know. That’s not what I meant. It’s his…father.”

  “Not in the picture?”

  “He never has been.”

  “And you take care of your son by yourself?”

  “My mother helps, but mostly it’s just me.”

  “Let me guess—you’re here because you need the money.”

  I looked down at my lap, nodding. I felt my cheeks go red. Admitting to the fact embarrassed me.

  “Can you manage the schedule? Lots of nights and weekends, often hours at a time, and every once in a while someone with more money than he knows how to spend might request a long weekend. Can you do that? Honestly? Of course it would be a shift in priorities, but as you mentioned, it all goes back to responsibility. You’ll have extended periods away from your son—what’s his name?”

  “Joey.”

  Roman continued, “You’ll have long hours away from Joey—there’s no way around it, but you’ll be able to provide for him like never before.”

  “That…that sounds wonderful.” And it did. It truly did. Yet I couldn’t believe that I sat there actually wanting a chance at such a torrid future. “I’d have to make arrangements though, and I could only fool my mother for so long.”

  “Supposing I give you the opportunity, I don’t think it would be a problem. A small number of my employees are mothers, and they’re usually the most successful ones.”

  I was dumbfounded. When I was able to close my gaping mouth and make words come out of it, I said, “Really? Why?”

  “Three reasons that I can see. They’re smart, guarded, and highly motivated. Is that you, Kim? Can you be all those things?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

  He nodded, held up a finger. “First rule. Don’t say ‘yeah.’ It’s unbecoming.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “We have a lot of high profile clients, some you’d be extremely surprised by, I imagine, and they expect a certain level of sophistication.”

  “I can do that, I promise. I can be sophisticated.” I can’t express the level of internal conflict I felt. There I was, practically begging for a job as an escort, desperately clinging to any sense of morality and good judgment that I might have left.

  And then they disappeared—flew out the window really—the moment Roman said, “If that’s the case, then I can offer you something like a…call it a signing bonus. An advance, actually. You’ll have to pay it back before you start earning anything for your time, but with what I think I can charge for an hour with someone like you, that shouldn’t tak
e long at all.”

  Someone like me? That was a compliment, right?

  He added, “Ten thousand dollars up front to help you get started.”

  I gulped, and if I had been a cartoon, my eyes would’ve sprung out of my head.

  “Buy a couple of evening gowns, hire a babysitter, whatever you want to do with it. Let me see your hands.”

  “What?”

  “Give me your hands.”

  I scooted up to the edge of the chair as Roman reached across his desk. When his fingers touched mine, I felt a shimmer of excitement race all over my skin.

  “Decent,” he said, examining my fingertips one by one. “But get yourself a manicure, too. Maybe some color in your hair. I’ll tell you what, I’ll send you to Lana, she’ll get you where I want you to be.” Roman teased my palm with his middle finger, smiling. “Would you like that?”

  I felt warm. I wanted to be touched. I wanted that finger somewhere else.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes. I’d love that.”

  “I thought you might.” He let go and leaned back into his chair. In my head, I begged him to come back, to put those warm, soft hands on my body. Every inch of it.

  “Roman, I—I don’t know what to say. That’s not—”

  I almost said, “That’s not necessary,” but it would’ve been a lie. With that kind of money, I could afford so many things I’d neglected for so long.

  “Not what?”

  “Not what I expected. Thank you.”

  He crossed his legs and tented his fingertips. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. There’s still the matter of your situation.”

  “Okay,” I said, hesitantly, worried he would take it all away, wondering what he meant.

  “Do you really want this job?”

  I didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  “And you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it?”

  I took a deep breath. I’d been sucked in by the promises—I’d come too far—to say no. “I am.”

  “Good. Stand up for me.”

  I pushed myself out of the chair and crossed my hands at my waist.

  Roman tilted his head, pinched his lips together, and then motioned for me to twirl around. When my back was facing him, he said, “Stop.” I waited patiently, feeling his eyes on my ass, admiring it. “Okay, face me.”