And it will occur. I know it will. And it will probably be kinky, because otherwise why would a handsome successful man like him have to pay for a date? I know plenty of girls at school who would go on the date and then conclude the evening with a blow job, all for free.
Whatever the reason, he’s paying... and I have to make the full meal deal happen, because sex is where the big money is.
Not to mention, Miss Black expects me to deliver. I want to make her happy. This job is my ticket to a better life, not a forever job, but a way to get ahead, to lift my mom and I out of the hell hole our lives have become.
It’s not the easy way out, though I’m sure some would say so—but I’ve had to sweat just to get into college, had to fight for every scholarship dollar that could mean the difference between eating or not. Coming from the Green Acres trailer park in upstate New York mean that it’s nearly impossible to get ahead, and thanks to my mom’s latest stunt, I’m so far behind that I think I’m winning.
I intend to milk this opportunity for all that it’s worth, then get the hell out. Cause I want to be a hooker when I grow up?
Yeah. Said no one, ever.
Engrossed in my thoughts as I pull my outfit for the evening from my bag, I’m unduly startled by the sound of the office door opening, and the footsteps that follow.
“I told you not to come back here.”
It might have taken me a moment, but the sound of Miss Black’s voice combined with footsteps clues me in. I look up at the intruder—and into a pair of ridiculously gorgeous hazel eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes that any woman would kill for—I can’t quite stifle the curse that rolls out of my mouth.
“Shit!” I clutch my arms in front of my breasts, which, clad in the very low cut bra are far more naked than I would like.
“Calm yourself, Miss Daniels. Mr. Kincaid isn’t interested in what you have to offer.” Miss Black sniffs, somehow managing to infuse the small sound with condescension, before she stalks over to the man who has just entered the room and plants her hands on her hips. He smirks at her irritation. “What are you doing here?”
“You know what I’m doing here.” The man’s voice, deep and reminiscent of whiskey, nags at my consciousness. I can’t help but stare as I slowly reach for my dress.
He stares back, a cocky half smile playing over his lips. I feel the punch of attraction that comes with being appreciated by a good looking man, a persistent feeling even though I’m naked and way out of my element.
“Nice rack.” He runs his tongue over his lips as he looks me over, and I gape, utterly shocked by his crass words, and even more put out by the fact that my body responds to the comment, and to the way he looks me over like a car he’s thinking of buying.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Don’t toy with my new girl.” Miss Black glares at him, but something in her body language tells me that her anger is for show. She’s manipulating the situation, trying to get something... and if I’m right, that something is money. Probably a lot of money, if she’s bothering to play this game.
So who is this man? Why is she putting up a fuss yet allowing him to barge into her office while I’m naked and exposed?
It takes me a minute, because he’s dressed differently—dark skinny jeans and a tight black T-shirt are a far cry from the elaborate get ups that he wears on stage or in photographs. But his eyes are still ringed with dark liner, his arms sleeved in bright tattoos. A thin silver ring pierces his left eyebrow.
Holy shit.
What the hell is Adam Kincaid doing in Miss Black’s office? Apart from being so famous that he surely has no need to pay for sex...
According to entertainment news the world over, he’s not interested in women, if you know what I mean... not that the female population is deterred by that.
“My answer is the same as it was last time. We don’t employ the services of men here, so we have nothing to offer you.” Miss Black all but bares her teeth; Adam smiles lazily in return, a sexy curve of the lips that makes me think of dirty things.
Hmm. Something tells me that it wouldn’t take too much effort for Miss Black to find a good looking young man who needed money as badly as I do. But then, I would never say that I know what’s going through that woman’s head.
And that answers that. And it’s probably for the best, because even before I recognized him, he gave me a nice little buzz in my girly parts, one that I haven’t experienced often in my life. What can I say—when I’m not getting paid for it, I’m picky.
But I’m determined to make my way through life on my own terms—even if my own terms have led me into this job.
I’m self-conscious for a moment, then shrug it off, realizing that Miss Black would have chased him out the door if he’d been at all interested in what I have to offer—the comment he made was clearly just because he’s a self-indulgent asshole trying to make me uncomfortable. Holding my breasts in my bra with one hand—damn, but this thing is low cut—I bend to retrieve my dress from my backpack. When I straighten, I find Adam freaking Kincaid once again perusing my naked flesh, an insolent smile on his lips.
He’s interested in men. And he’s a jerk. The look doesn’t mean anything besides the fact that he’s toying with me for fun, but the nipples that have gone rock hard don’t know that. My skin flushes, and I pray that he – and Miss Black—don’t notice the jutting peaks as I hastily slip my arms into the short, silky wrap dress that was a major thrift store find.
“I’m sure you can do something.” Dropping into one of the huge leather chairs that are scattered throughout the large office, Adam reaches into his jeans pocket, extracts a wad of cash even thicker than the one Miss Black handed me not fifteen minutes ago.
I try not to gape. I cannot, absolutely cannot fathom having that much money... and very likely more. Closing my eyes, I imagine the scene that the sight of that wad of cash would cause back at Green Acres.
Bloodshed and mayhem. People doing anything to get their hands on the money that could lift them out of their dismal lives. And then those same people would ultimately blow their windfall on third generation Camaros and cheap domestic beer as they gravitated toward the comfort of their old routines, however dismal.
I’m not saying that all trailer parks are home to white trash. I’m really not. But where I come from? It lives up to every stereotype-filled late night comedy sketch you’ve ever seen.
Miss Black eyes the money, lips pursed. I wonder if she’s going to kick him out with the pointy toe of one of her designer pumps, but instead she snatches the crisp wad of cash from his hand and stalks from the room, leaving me without further instruction.
Clearly she doesn’t think he’s any kind of threat to me, but that doesn’t do anything to change my feeling of awkwardness... I’m not accustomed to being seen almost naked by rock stars. Especially not ones who are smirking at my exposed skin. Cheeks flushing crimson, I turn to the side. I can feel his impudent stare burning my exposed skin as, not sure what else to do, I fasten the waist tie of the teal silk dress, then smooth it over my figure, which, thanks to the nerves of the last week, is actually a bit slimmer than I like it to be.
I really don’t need to look over the Henry Thomas file before I leave, but I want something to do, so I perch on the edge of the leather chair nearest me, then open the folder in my lap.
“You don’t look like the type.” I’m not expecting Adam to speak, and I jolt, just enough to knock the folder out of my lap.
“Fuck.” I curse as I lunge after the papers—Miss Black will have a coronary if anyone gets a look at these papers. Of course, that means that the one with Henry’s name marked right across the top lands right at Adam’s feet. Smirking, he picks it up, studies it, then hands it back to me.
“Mind you, you don’t look like you’d have a mouth like a drunken sailor, either.”
I snatch the piece of paper back, stuffing it into the leather bound folder. Sexy or not, that smirk makes me want to punch
him in the throat. “Yeah, well. Don’t judge a book and all that.”
He smiles lazily at my obvious agitation; I return to my seat, face burning. God, what a shithead.
But...
Thing is, I don’t feel like that kind of girl—the one who sells her body for money.
But here I am in Miss Black’s office... so clearly how I feel is no longer who I am.
“The easy road isn’t always the best one.” Leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, I find myself on the receiving end of the stare that has launched millions of lust filled dreams. He arches an eyebrow, the silver ring catching the fading light outside.
I’d like to say that I’m above noticing the way the jerk’s new position draws attention to his biceps.
I’m not.
But I can appreciate a nice set of pipes and still be irritated as hell. Stuffing the papers I’ve gathered back into Henry Thomas’ folder, I glare at the man sitting across from me. Famous he might be, but he’s also clearly a know-it-all and a bit of an asshole.
“You don’t know a thing about me.” Deciding to ignore him, I set the file on the seat beside me, then reach into my bag for the shoes that I found at the local Walmart. They may not have been expensive—if you look really closely, they’re clearly made of cheap vinyl rather than supple leather—but they’re still sexy as hell, spike heeled black sandals with thin straps that wind around my ankles and calves and tie just below my knees. Sliding my feet into them, I begin to lace the ribbons of faux leather up and around my legs.
“Look. I’ll give you some money. Just get out of here. This isn’t the kind of job a nice girl should have.”
Whaaaat?
Angry words on my tongue, I look up from lacing my shoes. I’m thrown off for a moment by the way his gaze is fixed, not on my eyes, but on where my fingers rest on the pale skin of my calf.
Against my anger, I can feel attraction, however unwanted, do a little spin in my belly. Those sensations only intensify when I look up, lock eyes with him, register heat there.
Then he thrusts a wad of cash at me. The moment is broken, my jaw drops, and I feel like an idiot.
He makes people want him, Carly. It’s in his job description, dumbass. My temper returns, and I flap a hand at the cash sitting in his hand.
“That’s a little hypocritical, coming from a man who’s here to buy sex. Why are you here, anyway? Have you burned through all your willing groupies?” My words hit home—I can see my own displeasure reflected in his eyes—but in an instant it’s gone, replaced again with that languorous grin that screams sex.
“Never said I was a good boy, kitten. Just that I thought you were a good girl. Though maybe I’m mistaken.” He ignores the question. Deliberately, his stare rakes over the exposed flesh of my legs, my bare arms, my breasts.
He’s doing it to upset me. To be a jerk. There’s no other reason. And the fact that it works, that he’s churning me up inside, has me spitting fire.
“Kitten?” That arrogant ass. How condescending is that? I brace my hands on the arms of the chair, trying to get a handle on the maelstrom of feelings whirling around inside of me.
I need to get a grip, or I won’t be able to handle what the rest of this night has in store. But Mr. Rock Star here has thrown me completely off my game.
I open my mouth—to say what, I’m not entirely sure—but Miss Black chooses that moment to re-enter the room.
“What’s going on here?” She looks from Adam to me, then back to Adam, pinching her darkly painted lips together tightly.
Words stick in my throat. I don’t know what, exactly, is going on, other than the fact that one of the most famous musicians in the world just did his best to provoke me and I jumped to the bait... not a behaviour that will endear me to Miss Black.
After a long moment of tense silence, Adam speaks. “Nothing at all, darling.” I’m pretty sure that he thickens that growl of his on purpose in an attempt to be charming, though I’m fairly certain that the effort is wasted on the madame. Still, it deflects her anger from me, and I’m quite certain that that’s deliberate, though I have no idea why.
Miss Black studies each of us for a long moment, clearly not buying it, but, at the end, not really caring, either. Thrusting yet another folder at Adam, she turns to me and reaches impatiently for my hand.
“Ow.” She’s not gentle as she grabs my wrist and clasps a bracelet around it. It’s a thin gold chain, set with a small black stone.
Stepping back, she surveys me up and down, and I feel rather like a side of beef that she’s inspecting in the supermarket. But this moo cow seems to satisfy her, so she brushes a piece of lint off my dress, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and nods.
“You’ll do this time, but only because I think the cheap attire will add to the illusion of the sweet young girl that Mr. Thomas wants. In future, you will shop at the stores that I have approved.”
Damn it. She noticed my desperately cobbled together outfit.
I wish she hadn’t commented on its quality though—for some reason, I don’t like it that Adam Kincaid has heard what she’s said to me, though why I care that he knows I don’t have any money, I don’t know.
Miss Black continues. “If you get in trouble—and I mean, only life or death kind of trouble—crush the stone in that bracelet.” She gestures to the door. “Caleb is waiting downstairs for you. Hurry along, now. You’re late again.”
I want to snap back that the lateness isn’t my fault this time—that blame belongs to one Adam Kincaid. But the ghostly tendrils of fear freeze my words in my throat.
If you get in trouble... life or death kind of trouble...
The enormity of what I’m about to do doesn’t just sink in, it slams me over the head like an anvil. With every fiber of my being, I don’t want to do this, but I have absolutely no choice. Not if I want to get my mama some help, not if I want to eat for the next six months until I graduate and can (hopefully) get a good job.
Sucking in a deep breath, I make the mistake of looking past Miss Black, at Adam. His expression could have been carved from stone, but his eyes...
I’m pretty sure I can see some compassion in them. And I can’t handle that.
Hardening my heart, freezing out the fear that’s trying to dig its anchor in and weigh me down, I nod, first at Adam, then at Miss Black.
“Good night.”
Chapter Two
Caleb, my driver, isn’t much of a conversationalist. I find my mind drifting as the limo weaves its way in and out of Manhattan traffic.
It’s surreal, the very fact that I’m here at all. Thanks to the fact that my mom always had a sugar daddy—if you can call a parade of men with jobs ranging from grave digger to unemployment insurance scammers sugar daddies—I’ve always had a roof of some kind over my head and at least some food in my belly—but there was never any long term security, let alone anything left over for luxuries.
I’ve certainly never been in a limo before. I’ve absolutely never been in a limo wearing a silk dress and fancy underpants, never mind that neither is fancy enough for Miss Black’s tastes. It was chance, really, that I found anything suitable at all—just the luck of being in the right place at the right time.
The right place at the right time—like when I first found out about Miss Black. I’d been at the bank, waiting in line to check that my meagre monthly student loan allowance had been deposited. I’d been studying the girl in front of me in line with an intensity that had only bordered on slightly creepy.
She was about my height, had a similar build... okay, a similar build if I lost twenty pounds. And that’s where all similarities ended.
She was dressed simply, in jeans and a T-shirt. But you know when you look at clothes, and you just know that they’re quality? That they came from a high end boutique rather than Target?
Her clothes screamed money. Her shoes were simple pumps, but again—these were no Walmart special. And her hair, makeup, jewelry—it was all simp
le, but flawless, speaking of money and class.
I’d stood behind her, smelling the delicate floral musk of her perfume, growing more and more insecure by the minute.
I’d never look like that. I didn’t think I was hideous, or anything, but I just didn’t have the kind of cash to put myself together like that. And right now it felt like I probably never would, since I couldn’t get my head above water long enough to see past paying my next bill.
When the girl concluded her business and stepped away, I breathed a sigh of relief, though truthfully the air seemed a little less exciting with the scent of her perfume gone.
“I’d just like to check the balance on my account, please.” This woman, too, was dressed better than I was... and she wasn’t wearing designer gear, so that wasn’t saying much. I avoided her eyes as she tapped away on her computer, printed a sheet, then handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I glanced idly at the total, started to walk away, then jerked my gaze back to the sheet as what I’d just read sank in.
“Excuse me.” My voice sounded high, shrill, even to my own ears. “I’m sorry, but I think there’s been a mistake. Could you please make sure you printed this out for the right account?”
The woman frowned a bit as I thrust the sheet in front of her face. She tapped away on her keyboard, studied the screen, then flashed me a slightly condescending smile.
“No, that’s correct.” Leaning forward, she beckoned me closer. “And I don’t want to embarrass you, but unless you can bring your balance up above zero, your account will be closed.”
I don’t remember how I got out of the bank, but I do remember collapsing on the stone bench outside. The cold of the rock seeped through the thin weave of my worn jeans as I struggled to catch my breath, my gut twisted into a knot that I didn’t think I could ever undo.
There was no money in my account. At all. And there should have been, even without the scholarship deposit... not much, but some.
The Chase Page 2