by L. L. Ash
Copyright © 2019 by L. L. Ash
All rights reserved.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For Dimitra, my biggest fan.♡
Boyfriend By The Hour
The Minutemen Series
Book 1
Prologue
Adele
My anxiety was getting the better of me again.
I took a few deep breaths and channeled ‘peace’ through me like my therapist told me to do.
And it was all bullshit. It didn’t do anything to calm the turmoil. That was why I stopped seeing her. I didn’t need a bestie so bad that I would pay for one. I never had a best friend, and I likely never would. I was too busy for that; too intimidating and intense. That’s why the only friendly connection I had were with a couple men, and a select few alpha females like myself. Because they knew what it was like to be at the top and the pressures that went with it.
“Hey Ad,” Rachel knocked on the door lightly, inviting herself into my office.
She was a fellow board member, and one of those few aforementioned alpha females that I got along with.
I hated the new look of pity everyone carried for me since my mother passed. It was like I was the project now, even though I was the CEO and a senior board member.
“Hi Rachel,” I tried to give her a nice smile, proving that I didn’t need anyone’s pity.
“How’re things going? How’s the adjustment with life after...”
She couldn’t even say it.
“Mom died almost four months ago,” I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m not ok yet, but I will be. She had a full life and we spent a lot of great time together before she passed.”
“So, it’s the same as the last time we talked?”
I nodded, shuffling a few papers.
“But I don’t want you to worry about it, Rach. I’m your boss, but I’m also your friend, so please believe me when I tell you that I’m ok. I’m coping and learning to live without her.”
She fingered a sticky note, looking down at it as she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other.
“Last time we talked you said… I mean… Are you still lonely?” she asked, her spine straightening with resolution as she met my eyes.
“What does that have to do with...”
She held out the sticky note.
On it was the name Serge, and then a phone number underneath.
“I know you’re struggling, Ad. You don’t have to tell me about it. I know you like to keep that stuff to yourself, but I think that maybe this might help brighten things up a little. Like you said, we’re friends, and I trust you with this secret. I think the experience will be good for you.”
“What experience?” I lifted a brow, looking down at the number.
“You can only see him if you get the number from a past client, so tell him that I sent you.”
Heat burned on her cheeks as I looked back up at her with a question clearly written on my face.
“What the hell are you talking about, Rach? Who is Serge?”
“He’s the best in the city,” she sighed, folding her arms nervously across her chest. “He’s an escort.”
Chapter One
Serge
“I’ll see you next week,” Tatiana said as she moved toward the door.
She was my Wednesday afternoon, and sometimes a Saturday night if she was feeling particularly lonely.
Reaching into the drawer of my night table, I extracted a white cigarette and brought it to my lips before going back for my lighter.
The door clicked closed behind her as she left, leaving me in silence until my next appointment, somewhere around six o'clock.
Flicking on the little flame, I ignited the butt of my cigarette and sighed.
With the orange ember glowing at the other end, I pulled the smoke into my lungs, and closed my eyes for a moment to savor it.
It was a dirty habit. I knew that. I always had to shower and use mouthwash twice before seeing a client after indulging, but sometimes I just needed a good smoke after an even better fuck.
I managed to sit up, some strength finally back into my limbs after my latest orgasm. There, on the other night table, was my yellow envelope, full to bursting with payment.
Getting onto my feet, my toes sank into the thick, plush carpet of the little studio apartment that I kept just for this singular purpose.
That’s right, I was the highest class fuck you could buy in this city, complete with a little love nest with sheets changed two times a day. Sometimes three, if it was a good day.
New York City. A beautiful, busy, and dirty city, perfect for the likes of me.
The envelope was stacked thick, as I required, unless they agreed to wire money prior to our visits. Some of my long term ladies did that, since we’d established a sliver of trust over time. But newbies and some who wanted to keep their visits from jealous husbands? Yeah, they used cash.
The stack of bills smelled like ink and paper, fresh pressed from the bank.
Sexy.
Plopping the envelope with my typical two thousand dollar rate tucked inside, my starting rate, I moved to the balcony so I wouldn’t get ash fallout anywhere and so the smoke smell would dissipate.
Two thousand dollars a pop. For fucking. Something regular people did every single day for free, I did for a shit-ton of money.
Industrious, right?
I liked to think so.
The city was...beautiful. Especially my little chunk of heaven in South Carnegie Hill. I could see both the Met and Central park from my balcony.
And I spent a lot of time staring.
Having grown up in the dregs of Brighton Beach, I learned from a very young age what I wanted in life and what I didn’t.
Babushka tried her best to provide, and between her two jobs and the handouts from the state, we managed. Sort of.
It still didn’t stop me from getting involved with the Russian mafia when I was a young, dumb kid, though. They taught me a lot, but most importantly, they made me realize that I had to get out.
I owed a lot of my current success to them, to be honest, and the influence they had on me growing up. I was always the pretty boy and girls liked me. And soon word got around in the nearby fancy high schools about what I did, and some of the moms would buy a ‘playdate’ for themselves. For a little cash, I provided.
Some of my buddies sold drugs, and I sold sex.
It was that part of my life that gave me my skills and the businessman mindset which helped me build my empire. And it was still those same connections that kept me safe, being an escort in a city where such work is outlawed.
All I had to do was pay a small percentage of my earnings to my old, mafia buddies, and they kept me out from under the NYPD’s radar.
I just assumed they bought out some dirty cops to 'help them out’, but who knew? Maybe they owned the whole collection of precincts in NYC.
Grinding out what little was left of my cigarette, I went back into the apartment to put some clothes on.
Natalia was already inside, changing the sheets.
“Thanks, babe,” I told her, leaning back against the desk, distracted by my leggy, blond maid.
“Have you no shame?” she threw the question over her shoulder in broken English.
“If you’re jealous, I keep tel
ling you I can pay you in flesh,” I smirked at her, not ashamed in the least of my nudity.
She huffed.
“Unless I can eat that flesh, I’d rather have money I can buy groceries with.”
Ah, ever my practical girl.
I had brought Natalia over from Ukraine six years ago. We met online through a mail order bride system and the girl was starving to get out of there. I needed someone who was undyingly loyal to me, and she needed someone to take a chance on her. So when I offered her a job and temporary housing until she got on her feet, no marriage necessary, she took it in an instant. Once she got a green card and signed a contract with me, which included an NDA, she'd been my go-to girl ever since.
And I hadn’t slept with her once.
After changing the bedding, smoothing on fresh sheets and a coverlet, she stood and picked up the laundry from the floor.
“What else do you need, Serge?” she asked me, plopping her fists on her hips and letting her eyes wander up my body before meeting mine with an expectant look.
“Nothing for now,” I smirked, then waved her away.
Natalia gathered her stuff and went toward the door as I stepped toward my closet to finally find some clothes.
I slipped on my comfortable but sexy Philipp Plein brand boxer briefs, an extravagance that I don’t mind splurging on. Not when my ladies loved it so much. A few of them tried to guess what kind of design would be on them before unwrapping me to find out.
It was a game I loved indulging.
Plus, I was twenty-six. Why shouldn’t I wear fancy-ass underwear? Please don’t pardon the pun.
Over that, I pulled on my favorite Armani, navy blue suit pants, trading out my typical button up for a casual white and blue striped t-shirt before pulling on the matching jacket.
My loafers were next, followed by a matching brown belt.
I wasn’t going to meet anyone for hours, and I intended to go out, have a drink somewhere, and maybe flirt with some girls my own age, therefore, I didn’t want to look too put together.
So, maybe I'd stated an untruth. I did still fuck for free, but I was very picky on who I chose to give a gift like that to. Girls got attached to good fucks, so it was important to keep it few and far between, so it didn’t mess with my business.
On the way out the door, I snatched up my sunglasses and took a quick swig from a bottle of mouthwash before tucking it back into the cabinet nearby where I stashed it.
Locking the door behind me, I found my way to the elevator, the mouthwash burning the shit out of my mouth on the way as I swished and swished.
Down in the lobby, I paused and spit into the nearest plant, trying not to look conspicuous in the process.
The doorman and the receptionist, that hung out in the extravagant lobby had pretty much given up on getting me to stop spitting in the plants, so they just changed them out when the mouthwash eventually killed them.
One day they would learn to buy fake plants.
One day…
I raised my eyebrows and nodded at both employees, standing in their designated spots before leaving, and thanking Ned the doorman, on the way out.
It was pretty perfect outside at this time of the year. Late fall, with it’s dying, crunchy leaves, made it easy to look good and feel good. Otherwise my suit would have felt stiflingly hot. But maybe that’s unfair, because I’d always felt better naked instead of clothed, anyway.
Going down the street, I integrated with the dozen New Yorkers walking the same block in the cool afternoon.
My favorite little hipster bar was only a few blocks away, so I liked walking there between seeing clients. Well, that and working out. The gym inside my building got abused by me constantly, day and night. It’s what kept up my amazing physique, especially with the rich dinners I was constantly having with my boyfriend-by-the-hour clients.
Inside the bar, it was starting to get just a little traffic, now that some people’s workdays were ending, and that was good for me. The office across the street just let out and there were ladies vying for wine at the counter.
“This seat taken?” A sultry voice asked across from me.
I looked up from my phone that was resting in my lap and sipped from my old fashioned as I greeted the woman in front of me.
“Not yet. It’s been waiting for you.”
She smiled, like the line was sexy instead of cheesy.
But man, women like cheese, what can I say?
“Smooth,” she shot back with a grin, dropping slowly into the chair with a martini in hand, stirring around her olives.
“Yeah, well, I’m better at other things,” I smirked, not even looking at her, but staring into my glass instead.
It drives them nuts when they don’t get attention, so when I did eventually look up with a practiced smoldering look, it was instant wet panties.
Aaaaand, cue the smolder.
Immediately her thighs were grinding together underneath her classic, black pencil skirt.
“W-what do you do?” she asked me, dropping her eyes away from the intensity in mine.
“Oh, this and that,” I shrugged, dropping the smolder and going back to cool aloofness so I didn’t scare her off with my ferocious intensity.
Just a hint here and there of the passionate animal that resided beneath my professional looking exterior.
“This and that? I’m not sure what that means,” she clipped back, stilling her thighs with a tremendous effort that reflected on her face.
“It means I’m a private person and I don’t like to give too much away too fast,” I said finally and sipped absently while still interpreting the vibes she was giving.
“You could have just said that,” she smirked. “It’s not a shameful thing to be out of the job. Happens to the best of us.”
My eyes shot up and she was smirking at me.
She was smirking at me.
Shit, when did this get out of my hands? I needed to rein this in.
“Pretty sure the Armani wrapped around my body and the Ulysse Nardin on my wrist are pretty good indicators I’m not out of work, sweetheart.”
“Pretty sure the clothes and the watch are trying to compensate for something.”
What did she just say to me?
I scoffed, then I grinned, then I scoffed again, shaking my head.
“Never seen such a big pair of balls on a woman before.”
I was about two seconds from laughing at how much I was enjoying her and her sass.
“Maybe ‘cause you’ve never met a real lady,” she quirked up an eyebrow.
Yep, yes please.
I would make an exception for this one.
Slowly, my eyes trailed up her slim body from her smart black, two inch mary jane heels to her curly brown hair.
“Maybe you’re right,” I smiled at her and she blushed, looking away in nervousness.
Even the strongest alpha females fell to me. They just couldn’t help it.
Just as I was about to make the cheesiest and most confident come-on ever, my phone started ringing.
It was a blocked number, which usually meant it was a client.
“Sorry, but I have to take this,” I told her, standing.
She watched me as I left, pressing the pad of my thumb down on the green circle to answer.
“Serge,” I answered, as was my typical opener.
“Hello Mister...uh...Serge. I’m calling on behalf of Ms. Wilder who has an interest in your services...”
“Let me stop you right there,” I told the man over the phone. “If Ms. Wilder is interested in an appointment, she has to call me directly. I don’t work with middlemen.”
With that I hung up the phone and headed back to my spot where I’d left my pretty, sassy companion.
But then my phone started ringing again.
Blocked number.
“Serge,” I answered again, but there was only silence.
I waited a full five seconds and was about to hang up when someone cle
ared their throat on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Serge,” a strong, female voice rang out through the line. “It seems you don’t like to talk to secretaries, so I’ve taken the time to call you myself.”
“Ms. Wilder,” I said, using my sexiest, graveliest voice.
I could actually hear her gulp before she went on in a rather impressively stable voice, considering she was calling an escort.
“I’d like to book your...services...for an evening.”
“Who, might I ask, referred you?” I asked.
It didn't really matter who did the referring, so much as I needed to know that she wasn’t some undercover cop or something.
“Oh, I uh… Rachel. Rachel Bookler”
“Alright, what evening were you hoping for?” I continued.
“Uh… tonight?”
I wanted to laugh that she actually thought I'd be free, but instead I hummed deep in my throat.
“I’m afraid I’m booked out tonight, but I have an opening tomorrow evening.”
“Fine, tomorrow it is,” she said with finality. “Seven o’clock at Mon Chou. Do you know the restaurant?”
“I do,” I agreed. “Do you wish to discuss rates?”
“It doesn’t matter. Text this number how much and I’ll bring the cash.”
“I’ll see you at seven o’clock,” I told her finally and hang up.
Mysterious woman, though she sounded like she was used to telling people what to do. She’d be a fun one to please and break down until she was begging for me.
With satisfaction, I set a calendar event in my phone and sent a text asking for my typical rate, reminding her that my rate was per hour.
With that taken care of, I headed back to my chair, but my sassy companion was gone.
Looking down at my watch, I saw that it was late anyway, so I headed home instead to shower before seeing my next client.
Chapter Two
Adele
Oh my God… Tell me I didn’t just do that!
My hands were still shaking from holding the phone to my face with a prostitute on the other end.