by Pam Godwin
“I know the place.” My mouth waters, but I can’t afford a meal there. “What’s the job?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner.” He cocks his head. “My treat.”
The offer smells sketchy and underhanded, and I always trust my nose. “See you around, Evan.”
I pivot toward the subway tunnel, my throat tightening with each step.
“They’ll pay you for the interview,” Evan says, still standing where I left him. “All you have to do is apply and show up.”
I stop at the stairway that leads down to the subway and grip the railing. What kind of employer pays applicants for an interview?
Evan doesn’t know me from Adam. Doesn’t know my prior work experience or qualifications. Hell, he just heard Shelby announce to the whole fucking bar that I assaulted her.
Warning bells sound in my head, spurring my feet down the stairs.
“Five thousand dollars.” His footsteps sound behind me, followed by a hand on my arm.
I don’t shrug him off, because fuck me, five thousand dollars would cover my overdue rent. It would mean the difference between a bed and park bench.
“What do I have to do?” Suspicion growls through my voice.
Expression softening, he nods in the direction of the Italian restaurant. “Dinner.”
CHAPTER 2
DECKER
I stretch my legs beneath the table, staring at the screen on Evan’s phone. The website he pulled up lists the senior leaders at the New York Presbyterian Hospital. Evan’s clean-shaved face smiles among the photos of suit-and-tie executives. I’m reluctantly impressed, despite the confusion pounding my head.
Evan Daniels, MD
Chief Operating Officer
Beneath his title is a bio of his prestigious education and work experience. Evidently, he was a cardiologist before he joined the board of directors at New York’s top rated hospital.
The url looks legit. Why is he showing this to me?
“You can get me an interview at the hospital?” I slide his phone across the table. “What’s the job?”
Janitorial? Security guard? Does it matter? The possibility of employment curls a tendril of hope through me, but the rational voice in the back of my mind swats it away. They won’t hire me when they research my background. Besides, janitors aren’t paid five grand for an interview.
“The interview isn’t at the hospital.” He rests a hand on the rim of his water glass, poking a finger at the floating ice cubes. “I showed you the web page to make a point. I have a legitimate job, one that’s public and sensitive. I have a reputation to protect.”
Fuck, that sounds ominous. I recline in the chair and slug back a gulp of beer. “Go on.”
His gaze darts around the room. The dozen other tables sit empty. We’re the only diners in the tiny restaurant.
Our balding waiter bends over the pastry counter near the exit, snapping in hushed tones at the silver-haired woman who seated us. She huffs and rolls her eyes, speaking in heated Italian. He throws his arms in the air and vanishes into the kitchen through a side door.
“The owners.” Evan grins, removing his gaze from the woman and placing it on me. “Married forty-five years. Always bickering and hopelessly in love.” His expression sobers. “What I’m about to tell you can’t be repeated.”
I laugh, a shocked sound that I quickly cut off. “I don’t know what this is, but—”
“Shut up and listen.” He rakes a hand through his thinning black hair. “I told you I was committed.” His eyes find mine. “But I haven’t met my companion yet.”
Wow. Okay. Something’s wrong with this guy. Is he not right in the head? If he hadn’t shown me his work credentials, I would’ve walked out. Instead, I squint at him, silently prompting him to continue.
“I just came out of a relationship. An agreement. My partner…he…uh, reunited with his ex and didn’t renew our agreement.” Pain clouds his eyes, and he blinks. “So I signed a second agreement, got matched with a new companion. I’ll meet him when he moves into my place next week.”
“What?” I lean forward, voice low. “You contract your relationships?” I shake my head, baffled. “Why?”
“It’s…more efficient. I work long hours and—”
The waiter shuffles out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of food piping with steam. The aroma of garlic and pesto permeates the air as he serves two dishes of gnocchi, tops off our waters, and replaces my beer with a new one. He returns to the kitchen with his wife on his heels, leaving Evan and me alone in tense silence.
“Eat.” Evan picks up a fork, stabs a dumpling, and scoots it through the white sauce. “I’m a client of an exclusive company that provides companionship to a small network of people like me. People who can afford to invest in arranged relationships.”
Exclusive service. Arranged relationships. Five grand for an interview. The proposal he hasn’t spelled out hits me sideways. He’s talking about male escorts. It can’t be anything else. I choke on a bite of pasta and press a fist against my chest.
“Already told you.” I reach for the glass of water and drain it in an attempt to cool my rising temper. “I’m not whoring—”
“It’s not a brothel.” His eyes harden. “They don’t sell sex by the hour—”
“But they do sell sex.” I jerk forward, bracing an elbow on the table. “You brought me here to propose I become a gigolo for some secret society of doctors and rich folks? I don’t have a problem with your sexual orientation, could care less where you put your dick. But I will not let a man fuck me, not even for money.”
I might’ve reached rock bottom, but I won’t go there. Not ever.
“It’s not like that.” His face reddens. “There are female clients. Infidelity is a respectable—”
“Infidelity?” My smirk feels more like a grimace. “Appropriate.”
“Are you going to let me talk?”
I shrug. “It’s your wasted breath.” I dig into the gnocchi, my hope for employment crushed like everything else in my life.
“Look, I’ve tried the dating sites, the bar hookups, the friend-of-a-friend connections.” He takes a bite, chews slowly, and swallows with a scowl. “I can’t seem to hang on to someone longer than a few weeks.” A self-depreciating smile. “Funny how I can treat every heart condition known to man, but when it comes to relationships, I always end up with a guy hellbent on destroying my heart.” He rubs his forehead and sighs. “That’s why Infidelity is so appealing. They have a remarkable ability to pair clients like me with an employee who fits.”
“If that’s the case, why are you on your second contract?”
“Agreement. That’s what they call it. And my situation is uncommon. My companion…” He closes his eyes for a brief moment. “We were perfect together. He would’ve stayed and renewed the agreement, but…”
“The ex.”
“Yeah.” He stabs his fork a little too forcibly in a dumpling. “He shared five years with the ex. Only a year with me. So when the ex showed back up—”
“Wait. Did you say a year?” My eyes widen. “The agreement can last that long?”
“One year is mandatory.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Relationships aren’t built in a pay-by-the-hour motel room.”
“I want a job, not a fucking relationship.” I glower at my plate of pasta, appetite gone. “Thanks for dinner.” Where’s the waiter? “I’m gonna get this boxed up and head—”
“Take the interview. Then make your decision. If you don’t like what they tell you, you’ll walk away with five Gs, no strings attached.”
A knot of too-good-to-be-true coils in my stomach. “You know those timeshare scams? The kind where they offer you spectacular prizes for sitting through a one-hour presentation, which turns into an all-day sales pitch that leaves you brainwashed and broke?” I finish off my beer. “Your one hour is up.”
“No offense, but I get the feeling you’re already broke.” His gaze roams my face with too much scr
utiny. “And you don’t strike me as someone who’s easily manipulated.”
True, but desperate men do desperate things. I reach for my beer and remember it’s empty. “What do you get out of this?”
“Nothing—which is everything. I was in a bad headspace a year ago. After a string of rough breakups, I beat myself up, was convinced something was wrong with me. Then a friend stepped in, an acquaintance in my social circle. He gave me a similar pitch to the one I’m giving you. It changed my life. I can’t pay him back, but I can pay it forward.” His gaze fastens on mine, steady and incisive. “Infidelity operates on word-of-mouth only. Confidentiality is vital, and employees must be sponsored. I want to be that person for you. Your sponsor. Because despite how my last agreement ended, the past year with Chr…uh, with my companion was the best year of my life.”
“A secret network that’s invite-only.” I laugh. What I should be doing is walking out that door, but curiosity keeps my ass in the chair. “Sounds like Fight Club rules.”
“Exactly. Most of the clients are distinguished and well-known. We’re talking CEOs, politicians, celebrities—people who spend a lot of money shielding their private affairs from the public eye. If you’re ever asked about Infidelity, you say you don’t know. You do not acknowledge it outside of the network.”
“You don’t know me.” I lower my voice and lean closer, glaring at him. “I can sell your dirty sex life to the newspaper and destroy your career.”
“I’ve been watching you sling beer at Blue Dixie for six months.” He smiles softly. “My fascination might’ve started as a crush, but I swear I’m not a creepy stalker or anything like that.” He strokes a thumb along the rim of his plate. “You have a way with people. Everything about you is magnetic and attractive—your confidence, your charm, your irresistible sex appeal. With assets like that at your disposal, you could woo a wealthy woman out of every penny she has.” His lips twist then flatten in a line. “But you’d never do that. Beneath that fuck-off exterior lies a tremendous amount of honor and self-respect.”
My skin tingles uncomfortably. “You don’t know that.”
“Remember when I slipped in a hundred-dollar bill with my check?”
Yeah, I thought it was a mistake and caught him on his way out the door to give it back. “No one tips like that at Blue Dixie.”
“You could’ve kept it, played it off like it was a tip and not a slip-up on my part.”
“You were testing me?”
He nods. “You never hit on a married woman, not even when her interest in you is blindingly obvious.” Something akin to respect shines in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I wasn’t one-hundred-percent confident in your integrity.” He sighs. “Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but you can have anyone you want. Yet you seem so…”
I arch a brow.
“Lonely.” He looks down at his plate, twisting the fork. “I know you need a job, but part of me hopes you’ll consider this interview and find happiness in the company of another person.”
Loneliness is so far down on my list of problems right now. I’m unemployed and soon-to-be evicted with twelve bucks in my bank account. I need that five thousand dollars.
I rub the back of my neck. “Some of the clients are female?”
“Of course.” His eyes light up, and he sits taller. “You can restrict your profile to women.”
“Attractive, young, physically fit women?” A hot corporate type who needs a stiff dick at the end of a long work day? I can get behind something like that.
“You don’t get to pick your client. Infidelity prides itself in its mastery of pairing people based on personalities and tastes. They’re so good at it, in fact, they only offer their clients two agreements. Two chances to make it work.”
“You’re on your second agreement. What if that doesn’t pan out?”
“I’m out. While clients are allowed two agreements, employees only get one. Infidelity doesn’t pimp. This isn’t an escort service. Clients aren’t paying for companions who are rotated in and out. They’re paired with an employee who’s never done this before. It’s genius if you think about it.”
“How much do you pay for this exclusivity?” I can’t imagine paying for sex.
“That’s not something I can talk about. I can promise you an interview, but Infidelity decides whether to hire you. They have a very selective intake process, which includes medical tests, psych evaluations, and background investigations. The last thing their clients need is a scandal involving an Infidelity employee with a shady past.” He tilts his head. “Full disclosure is advised. If you’re hiding something, they’ll find it.”
His unasked question hangs in the air, but I’m not about to air my dirty laundry to a stranger.
“If they offer you a job,” he says, “you’ll receive a monthly check from them. Most clients provide housing, meals, all the basic expenses on top of your Infidelity salary. For example, if you’re required to attend black tie affairs, the client would cover the wardrobe and attendance fees. You can potentially go the entire year without spending a dime of your income from Infidelity. At the end of the year, the agreement can be renewed. Or it can be bought out, if you and the client decide to stay together without the company. Or it can be terminated. In that case, you receive a severance package and walk away with the money you saved during the year.”
“What’s the pay?” Am I actually considering this?
“It varies. I’m not sure I’m supposed to—”
“Give me a rough idea. What did they pay your last companion?”
He shifts in the chair, takes a sip from his water, and meets my eyes. “Twenty thousand dollars a month.”
CHAPTER 3
DECKER
“Sorry?” My heart stops then restarts in a frenzied tempo. “Can you repeat that?”
“If you’re hired…” Evan swallows the last bite of his pasta. “You’ll earn around twenty grand a month.”
I don’t even try to hide the frozen shock on my face. My entire body ignites in a state of excited desperation. I force my brain to focus on the downside, because no one offers that kind of salary without a huge fucking trade-off.
“You said Infidelity decides the pairings.” I slide my uneaten dinner aside and rest my forearms on the table. “I could end up with…” I grasp for a realistic albeit exaggerated scenario. “A fat old lady with a fetish for strap-ons and gimp masks.”
“Maybe?” His lips twitch. “When you fill out your profile, you can set certain restrictions, such as no bondage, no anal, stuff like that. As the company’s name suggests, some clients are married, but you can request a single woman. Just don’t expect to be matched with your ideal body type. Remember you’re the employee, providing a service to Infidelity’s client. And unless the client decides to share you with another, monogamy is mandatory.”
“Christ.” I swipe a hand down my face, grimacing as I picture a four-hundred-pound grandma in black leather. “Call me shallow, but I have standards.”
“Are those standards worth adjusting for twenty thousand a month?”
Maybe, but there’s no way I’ll get it up for a woman who turns my stomach. “What if I sign the agreement, meet the client, and can’t go through with it?”
“You’re stuck with her for a year, man. The only time agreements end early is when there’s abuse. Non-consensual bodily harm isn’t tolerated.”
Given what I used to do for living, I have zero concern about someone wailing on me. But one year? Fuck, that’s a long time to share a bed with a fugly woman. Because realistically, how many wealthy, sexy, young women pay for sex? Why would they? Men probably make up most of Infidelity’s clientele, and those few women who pay for companionship are undoubtedly lacking in physical looks or personality. Probably both.
The waiter emerges from the kitchen, and I grab my empty beer bottle and hold it up for him.
“You want anything?” I ask Evan.
“I’ll stick with wa
ter. Gotta work in the morning.”
Wish I could say the same.
We sit through a thoughtful span of silence until the waiter brings another beer and the check and returns to the kitchen.
“No matter what you decide…” Evan loosens the knot on his tie and leans back, slinging a leg over the other. “Be judicious about the privacy of this company and its associates. If you ever encounter another Infidelity client or employee, you can’t mention my name. Not to anyone except the intake representative.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.” I sip the beer. “I have no intention or reason to sabotage you.”
“Thanks.” He fidgets with the end of his tie. “Where’s your head at on all of this?”
“All over the damn place.” But my appetite’s returned, so I pull the plate back in front of me and finish off the lukewarm gnocchi.
“Don’t overthink it, Decker. You need a job. The client is paying for companionship, but she goes into this fully aware your incentive is money. And who knows? You might come out of this with a hard-on for lumpy, blue-haired ladies wearing strap-ons.”
He chuckles, and I laugh at the absurdity of it, instantly feeling less tense. The more I consider the interview, the lighter I feel. Infidelity’s a solution. If I’m honest, it’s the best option I’ve had in a long time. My hang-up is the sex. I’ve never done monogamy. Never fucked a woman I wasn’t attracted to. Granted, some of those women turned into regrets, but that’s on me. I was the one in control. I need that power, the ability to say when, who, and how.
Though I guess there are worse things than spending a year satisfying an unpleasant woman. Like giving ten-dollar blowjobs in dark alleys. Thankfully, I’ve never hit that kind of low, but if I find myself homeless and starving, fuck knows what I’d do for a meal. I have too many desperate friends doing unspeakable things to make ends meet.
“Tell me about the interview.” I set the fork down, my plate scraped clean. “Do I have to perform?”