by Alice Ward
“You haven’t purchased me, Mr. Wellington. You’ve paid for my time and five questions.” She sank more deeply into her chair and took a sip of water, her eyes remaining on mine through the slits of the mask.
Suddenly, I had the bizarre feeling one got in a shrink’s office — like she already knew everything I would say and was just waiting for me to say it.
“Shall we get started?” she asked casually, crossing her good leg over the one she favored.
She was a confident woman, undaunted by the strangeness of this affair. I mirrored her actions and relaxed further into my chair. She took another drink of water, and her eyes lingered on mine for a bit longer than politeness tolerated.
“Shall I begin with the first question?” I asked, my mouth feeling dry and useless. I took a healthy drink of the vodka.
“My question first, then you’ll have a chance to respond and ask your own.” Her voice lilted as she spoke with a soft inflection.
I nodded. She would set the tone with the first question. She was beautiful and smart. I reminded myself of the power I knew I brought to the table. I couldn’t let her see that her mysterious poise caused an involuntary reflex in me, making my cock stab forward, growing larger every second those dream deep eyes watched me. I cradled the Grey Goose as I shifted to find a more comfortable position.
“If you’re so unaccustomed to purchasing time with women, why did you contract me this evening, Mr. Wellington?” Her eyes both invited and accused. “Question one,” she added like a seductive game show host.
“When you fell in the rain, I felt a strange magnetism between us. I wanted to explore that.” The words had just come out of me. From the look on her face, they surprised her as much as they did me.
“I see.” She took a sip of water and bit her lower lip, her lip gloss shining in the dim light. “The next question is yours, Mr. Wellington.”
My heart sped up as I navigated my thoughts away from her mouth and cleared my throat again. I shifted slightly to make room for my dick, which was now painfully hard and uncomfortable as it pressed against the zipper of my pants.
Images flashed through my head of myself sweeping her out of the chair and onto the bed behind us. I wouldn’t even bother to strip away her mask before I removed her trousers and sank deep inside her sweet body.
I ripped myself out of the fantasy, the tension in the room mounting as I composed myself enough to ask the first question. There was no denying the sexual energy building between us.
“Why do you work at a place like Jewel? A woman of your talent could find employment elsewhere.” I knew the question had an element of insult, but I had to regain my footing, as her mere presence had me feeling off-center.
“Not a very creative question, Mr. Wellington. Why does anyone work anywhere?” Her answer was short and obscure, very much like the woman herself.
I frowned, dissatisfied with her audacious attitude. This might’ve been her game, saying absolutely nothing of any consequence as her non-name suggested, but she wouldn’t play it with me. Surely, I could disapprove of her opaque answer after paying such an exorbitant price for five questions.
“Not a very insightful answer. I might remind you, I’m paying a good deal of money to talk with you. I’m not paying for you to pretend you’re not in there.” My eyes roamed her body intentionally, as if to insinuate a more pressing motive for our time together.
Her mouth, rounded like a rosebud, turned downward into an almost imperceptible pout. She had a sculpted chin and elegant neckline. Her eyes sparkled, showing her intelligence, while the mask did an excellent job of concealing the rest of her features. Because she didn’t bare much of herself, what was revealed titillated.
“I’m aware of the amount you’ve paid. I assure you, you’ll get your money’s worth.” Her eyes caught mine, thwarting their next journey down her body. “It’s my turn. Who was the first woman you ever loved? Question two.” A smiled crossed her face, a surprising expression that didn’t quite match the sorrow in her eyes.
The truth would take us down an awkward path, so my answer was brief. “My mother. To date, no other woman has captured my heart.” It was my turn to play at elusive.
“A man then?” Her smile turned to a smirk, thinking she’d caught me in a confession.
“No man either.” I took another sip of my drink. “And that’s too many questions.”
She leaned forward just a fraction. “Perhaps a seminary is where you should be divesting your interest,” she suggested, taunting me.
I mirrored her actions, bringing us marginally closer. “I have no intention of wasting away, suppressing my sexual desires. I haven’t given a woman my heart. I didn’t say women haven’t given me theirs.” My voice sliced through the air, more caustic than I intended. “I didn’t pay to fuck you because I don’t have to. When and if I ever find a woman worthy of my love, she won’t be a purchase on my Amex.”
While we’d been ignoring the evidence of my physical arousal, I made my condition perfectly clear as I unfolded my legs, my cock jutting forward, straining the fabric of my pants. To let her know I was much more a man than she’d insinuated.
“I believe it’s your turn.” Her response was wry as her gaze unwittingly drifted to the evidence of my manhood. She swallowed hard, her interest in my swollen member obvious.
I smiled and allowed a short laugh to escape my lips, letting her know I was enjoying myself immensely.
She returned the laughter, and our exchange defused some of the sexual intensity between us.
“Has any man or woman ever captured your heart?” I crossed one leg over the other, partially hiding my bulge, showing the restraint I was capable of. Silence so deep filled the room that I could hear my own heart pounding in my chest.
Was it the lighting or was there a thin sheen of sweat on what showed of her forehead? “There was a man at one time who consumed my every heartbeat. But he no longer exists. I, like you, haven’t, nor probably ever will, find that kind of love again. No man has proven himself worthy.” Her eyes drifted downward again, resting on my tented erection, making her point obvious.
“I’ll remind you that this conversation is costing me as much as a moderately priced vehicle. Why? Why would he no longer exist, and why would you deem any other so unworthy?” I felt a spike of anger rise from my stomach to my heart.
I had to hold myself back from giving her my full deal-closing approach to steal answers out of her. How dare she cast me off before she knew anything about me.
The feeling of being probed by a subtle psychiatrist returned. That was exactly what I’d been doing all these years, casting off women at the first sign of greed or avarice.
I refused to be intimidated by the strangeness of our interaction. With effort, I held a relaxed and pleasant expression on my face and smiled graciously, daring her with my gaze to shut me down again.
“He died and took with him the grace of a man who knew exactly how to love a woman. I doubt any other man is his equal.” I could see she too was waging an internal war, fighting to stay unaffected and distant or else unravel and shatter.
My intrigue spiked, and I felt something in me give as I came to realize she and I fought similar demons. Why antagonize a woman who might have the capacity to understand me? Why not reward her honesty with some of my own?
I shifted gears. “I’ve been with many women, but when I was in my twenties, I nearly married one. She was beautiful, refined, educated. After a lot of thought and consideration, I let her into my world. As soon as she understood the expanse of my wealth, she changed her interest from engaging in a loving relationship with me to securing as much of my worth as she could get. Now, I’m much more careful.” I leaned back, feeling more comfortable.
The ball was in her court. Would she volley?
“Thank you for sharing, Mr. Wellington. I’m sure those memories are painful. Are you ready for our third question?” Her mask of perfection hadn’t altered. Her face, body, a
nd countenance remained exquisitely fabricated.
She hadn’t taken the bait, and our night was in jeopardy of becoming a show bigger than the opening act she’d already performed.
“I am.” I hadn’t intended for the disappointment to resonate in my voice.
Her faced softened some, as if she sympathized. “If you had a choice to lose a part of your body, an important part, which would you choose? Question three.”
Finally, we were reaching depth. I could only assume she’d lost an important part of herself. The limp, her mask — tragedy must’ve robbed her of something precious.
That made sense. Why else would she work at a brothel, even the most exclusive brothel in the world? She’d lost something significant.
I appreciated the interlude into a more meaningful exchange, so I cut her some slack. “Are you threatening me?” My levity got her, and she responded with unexpected laughter.
“I wouldn’t dare.” She leaned against the arm of her chair. Damn, she had to be trained to do that, look so seductive just propped against a chair arm. Just then, her eyes moved almost unwillingly to my crotch.
“I’d definitely keep this,” I said, giving myself a light, quick stroke, playing her game without being too crude. “It’s worth saving.” I smiled and let my gaze travel over my arm, down my leg, until I felt hers join in, inspecting my body. “If I were to choose to lose any part of my important senses, I guess it would be my eyes. I don’t want to see the world sometimes. People are often cold and ugly to one another, especially in high-powered business transactions. I read people well. I know their intentions. It’s disgusting, and it would sometimes be a relief to never see their base natures, forever blinded to their greed and debauchery.” I felt sweat gathering at my brow. I’d let my emotions take over, said too much.
I took a drink of my vodka, which still had a few dwindling ice cubes, hoping to cool down. I was being impulsive. She’d engaged me to the point I’d forgotten to hold back. Damned if I didn’t care if she caught and branded me.
“At the risk of wasting a question, I’m curious. Which body part would you choose?” I took another healthy drink of the beverage then set my glass down within the wet ring of condensation left on the coaster. I ran my finger through the moisture, wondering if I’d aroused her as much as she had me. Was she turned on? Wet? Yearning?
She had no immediate response, and I couldn’t gauge her reaction, which was strangely unsettling. Had I probed too deeply? Was she even better than me at hiding her true feelings?
She took a drink of water and then smiled casually. After a long beat, she spoke in a serene and measured tone. “My heart, Mr. Wellington.”
I’d barely spent twenty minutes with her, but I was filled with words she hadn’t said in the unspoken language between our bodies and our minds. She was riddled with heartbreak, and yet she elegantly recomposed into something untouchable. Now I knew why. It was so she might never be shattered again. To keep herself safe.
I couldn’t help my sudden desire to protect her, followed by an insatiable need to take care of her.
“Are you hungry?” I needed something other than carnal desire to fill the strange emptiness opening up inside me. And I hoped the offer of food might draw her out even more and stretch out the time I had with her.
“Are you asking your next question?” she teased. It was hard to decipher whether she was being a straight-up bitch or joking.
“No, there’s food on the table, I’m being polite since I don’t know whether you’ve eaten after your performance.” I stood up from my chair. “But that was a nice try.”
As I passed her chair, I brushed my hand across her shoulder as a test. Her body stiffened rigidly at my touch.
To lighten the mood, I waved the pate knife at her, and in a scolding voice teased, “I still have two more questions allotted in the contract. I won’t be tricked out of them by a scoundrel.” My cock, while tamed some by my trousers, was still on glorious display as I wielded the knife and helped myself to the offerings.
While my back was turned, I listened to her draw in a long breath. “Of course. Thank you for your offer, but I’m not hungry.”
As I returned to my seat, she exhaled and shifted, her hands now gripping the chair arms. Her face told a different story, one of calm resolve.
“Am I making you nervous?” I asked pointedly. “Also not a formal question.”
She huffed out another breath and fanned her suddenly flushed face with a wave of her hand. “It’s hot in here.”
I sat a plate of samplings on her table before returning to my chair. “Shall I call the hostess to adjust the temperature?”
My temperature had risen too, but not because the room was warm. It was actually quite comfortable. I knew exactly what was heating her up. There was sex in the air in this place. It wasn’t just us. Who could be at Jewel for any length of time and not get overheated?
“No, thank you, let’s continue.” She took a grape, popped it in her mouth, her bottom lip quivering slightly.
I nodded, on the edge of a feeling I hadn’t experienced since I was a child — giddy. Being with her was electrifying. Like this place. Her. “You’re up.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Adara
This man was making me squirm in my chair. Pressing my thighs together to subdue the ache, I tried unsuccessfully to keep my eyes from gravitating to his dick, which was sitting high in the air for me, teasing me like we were fucking around in study hall.
I’d seen hot men before. I grew up with them. Hot foster brothers, hot police officers who’d come to the house to cart my mom off to jail. Hot “uncles” who smelled like cigarettes and beer. Hot rock and movie stars. None of them ever got to me.
Except Nate.
Which was a bit strange, because even though he was extremely handsome, he wasn’t exactly hot as per the current definition. He was kind, which transformed his looks into something mouthwatering. Kind could bore holes in my soul. And had.
He had an edge to him as well, so kind didn’t fit him completely. As I watched him closely, I couldn’t establish whether Mr. Wellington was kind or kind of an asshole. He seemed like a bit of both.
One thing I did know was that when he touched me, I nearly rocketed to the subdued lighting in the high ceiling. I needed to get my ice-bitch face back on, so I used the breathing technique I learned in my grief and recovery class.
Two questions to go, then I could rush back to my apartment and forget that I’d ever sat across from a man who ate caviar on a cracker with an astounding boner pointing in my direction.
After a few more deep breaths, I felt more grounded.
“To date, what has been your greatest achievement? Question four.” As he launched into a lengthy story about an intricate business partnership, I tried to concentrate on his eyes and not think of my greatest moments, but it didn’t do me any good. His boring speech made me just want to concentrate on his cock even more, so I let my mind wander to my own greatest achievement.
My greatest moment should have been my wedding, but Nate’s family ruined it. They wanted Nate to marry a southern girl. He was all country, and I was all rock-n-roll. Frankly, I terrified them, so they did their best to ruin us at every opportunity. In the hopes they would change their feelings toward me, we kept putting the wedding off… and putting it off… then… he was gone.
Since there was no walk down a rose strewn aisle for me, the best memory I could recall was walking up another type of aisle. This one after my name was called at the Grammy Awards for Best New Artist.
My song, “Mamma Ain’t Gonna Lie,” had been at number one for twenty-seven consecutive weeks. I wrote that song while visiting Louisiana, deep in the bayous.
There was this gorgeous young mom with an incredible afro, her hair spiraling to the sky. She was proud of who she was, and it showed. Her mini-me daughter sat beside her on a bench, sporting a ‘fro just as gorgeous.
They seemed fabulous. Not rich, but u
nique and special, like the Earth revolved around them and all their moments. The little girl had ice cream dripping down her face, and her mom took a napkin from her purse and wiped it off. It was a simple gesture, just a tiny drop of love, but my mom never did anything like that. I didn’t even remember getting ice cream with her. Mostly, it was drugs. She brought me along when she was trying to score.
Watching the two of them, I thought that little kiddo’s mom would never lie to her. She’d always be real and just scoop her up when shit went down. My mom always said she “ain’t gonna lie” to me, but she never told the truth. I wrote a song right there on the bayou, watching a mom and daughter. It debuted at number one.
I found the two of them years later and sent them some of the royalties with a note. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all the news channels went nuts for the story. I’m glad I did it though. The story celebrated motherhood and helped pay for the little girl’s college education. It was a good thing.
A few weeks later, I stepped up on the stage and accepted my award for Best New Artist. It was the best achievement I’d probably ever have now.
Mr. Wellington’s voice pierced through my memory. “So,” he continued, deep in a story I hadn’t heard, “landing that account has been my greatest achievement to date.” He paused, and his eyes slowly narrowed.
Shit, I must’ve totally spaced.
“However, I can see by your glazed-over stare, my best moment wasn’t very riveting.” Disappointment dripped from his voice.
Recover this, Adara. There’s a lot of money on the line.
“I’m glad it all worked out in your favor, Mr. Wellington. You made the right choice. You should be proud.” I punctuated this with a genuine smile. Although I hadn’t listened to the story, I was sincerely happy that this nice man had done well.
He smiled in return, relaxing again. “Yes, I was rather happy it all turned out as it did. Being in my position is sometimes quite the thrill ride.”