Cherry Popper

by Victoria Quinn

  CHERRY POPPER

  Cherry #1

  VICTORIA QUINN

  Hartwick Publishing

  Cherry Popper

  Copyright © 2019 by Victoria Quinn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Monroe

  IT WAS that time of the month.

  Bills.

  I dreaded picking up the mail in the lobby of my apartment building because that was the only thing waiting in my box. Bills and pizza coupons.

  The pizza coupons were the only thing I had to look forward to.

  Because I was definitely eating on a budget.

  I sat at the kitchen table in my apartment and opened each envelope.

  The first was a bill for my student loan for my undergrad. The second was a bill for my masters. The third was a medical bill. And then I had to worry about the other essentials, like electricity and water. After deducting all my bills from my paycheck, I was left with a hundred bucks.

  I had to survive for the next two weeks on a hundred bucks.

  Jesus Christ.

  I stared at the papers around me and felt the hopelessness inside my chest. The reason I’d gone to college was so I could have a good job someday. Now I was a marketing executive for a clothing company. I had a great salary and benefits. But the job was in Manhattan, so I had to live in the city—which cost a fortune on its own. With all my other bills, I was broke. I was living just to pay bills at this point.

  So much for the American dream.

  I would move out of the city and commute, but I couldn’t afford a car. I couldn’t even afford a down payment on one. I could move to Brooklyn or Queens, but having a decent apartment was the one luxury I wanted to maintain.

  But if I wanted food, I’d have to give it up.

  And I did like food…a lot.

  I hated to sit around and feel sorry for myself, but tonight, that was impossible. This would be the next twenty years of my life, working to pay bills. I would work forty hours a week just to come home and eat crackers, sleep, and then do it all over again. I didn’t even have enough money to go out on the weekends. I would never find a guy to spend my life with because he would run the second he heard how much debt I had.

  And I couldn’t blame him. I would do the exact same thing.

  “YOU AREN’T GOING to order anything?” Cindy sat across from me at the table in the deli. We both worked in the same office, so we took our breaks together at the same time. She worked in accounting.

  “Not hungry.” I just sipped my water and thought about the crackers I would eat at my desk when I returned.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” she asked. “You’ve been down all week.”

  Because I was drowning in debt. “Do you have a roommate?”

  “Uh…yes. Why?”

  “I’m looking for a roommate. And a new apartment. I just can’t afford my place anymore.”

  “I have three roommates, actually.”

  “Three?” I asked incredulously. “Are you in a townhouse?”

  “No. Two-bedroom apartment. Two girls per bedroom.”

  Oh my god, they were like rats. “Seriously? What do you do when you bring a guy around?”

  “Go to his place,” she said. “There’s just not enough room there. Only one bathroom.”

  That sounded like a nightmare. “How much do you pay in rent?”

  “A thousand.”

  My jaw dropped. “You pay a thousand dollars for that?”

  She nodded. “It’s all I can afford. How much do you pay for yours?”

  “Two thousand…but it’s too expensive. I can’t swing it anymore.”

  “What are you talking about? You must make at least $70,000 a year.”

  “Yeah…but I have a ton of student loans. Even if I were only paying a thousand dollars in rent, I would still be drowning.” I left out the part about the medical expenses, which I would be paying off until the day I died.

  “That’s too bad,” she said. “I had a friend who was in a really tight spot. She was so desperate, she sold her virginity to Slate Remington.”

  I heard every word she said, but it took a few seconds to actually process it. “She sold her virginity…? People still do that?”

  “Yep.” She picked up her sandwich with both hands and took a bite. “And she got a fat check for it.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred thousand.”

  My jaw dropped again. “He paid that much for it?”

  She nodded. “That’s his thing. They call him the Cherry Popper.”

  “That’s his thing?” I asked. “So, he does this on a regular basis?”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  The guy sounded like a huge douchebag, even if he paid well for the product. He was probably some rich asshole who had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it—so he spent it on pussy. He could buy whores, but instead, he wanted something cleaner. But despite how much I despised it, I could really use that money… It would take away a good chunk of my debt. “What’s his name again?”

  “Slate Remington. You don’t know who he is?”

  “Am I supposed to know who he is?” I lived in my own world, focusing on getting through the day. I didn’t have time to pay attention to rich playboys who spent their money on ridiculous things—like people.

  “He’s pretty well known. He owns all the Remington hotels and resorts.”

  I recognized the chain. It was a luxury line of resorts that existed all over the world, not that I could ever afford to stay in one.

  “He owns a few other companies too,” she said. “But I don’t remember what they are.”

  I grabbed my phone and typed his name into Google, curious to see what he looked like. He was probably an older man with disgusting fetishes, a guy who couldn’t get a girl growing up, so now he just paid for sex.

  The search results popped up—and Slate Remington was nothing like I thought he would be.

  Young.

  Handsome.

  Fit.

  Sexy.

  He did not look like a man who had to pay for sex. “This is him?” I held up the phone.

  “Yep. Sexy, right?”

  “Super sexy.” I pulled the phone back to me. “I’m surprised this guy wastes his money like that. He must get ass handed to him all the time.”

  “Probably. But every guy has his kinks. Why are you so interested?”

  Because I was desperate and pathetic. “Just curious…”

  Cindy didn’t press me on it. “His brother owns a bunch of companies too, but I guess they haven’t spoken in a long time. He’s private about his life. The only reason why I know he’s the Cherry Popper is because my friend told me. But I guess she wasn’t supposed to mention that…”

  “Well, it doesn’t make him look very good.”

  “I doubt he cares. A man that rich and good-looking probably doesn’t care what people think of him.”

  “Yeah…probably not.” I looked at his Wikipedia page and saw that he was thirty, fairly young to have so much success.

  He was seven years older than me—and a million times more experienced. I locked the screen on my phone then looked out the window again, unable to believe I was even considering this.

  It was so degrading.

  Would I really give up my V-card for money?

  If I weren’t up to my eyeballs in debt, I wouldn’t be enticed by the money. But my future would be infinitely more difficult if I carried all that debt. I could never s
tart a family because I wouldn’t be able to provide for them. I would be too tied up in my loans. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to college and should have just stayed in Connecticut. I could have started at a bank and worked my way up. I wouldn’t have any loans, and the rent would be cheaper. Honestly, I was probably better off going that route than taking out hundreds of thousands in student loans.

  I wish I could go back in time and redo it all.

  Or I could give up my virginity and make my life a little easier.

  2

  Monroe

  FOR THE NEXT WEEK, I continued to debate with myself.

  Could I really do something like that?

  My initial reaction was no, but once I saw what he looked like, it didn’t seem so bad. He had short, dark hair, a masculine jawline, brown eyes that looked a little scary, and a muscular physique that must be perfectly manicured every single day. His suits fit his sculpted shoulders and arms like a second skin, and he was tall. Pictures could be deceptive, but anytime he was around other men, he was always the tallest one in the group.

  Maybe it was immoral. Maybe it made me a skank.

  But I needed to live.

  And unless I won the lottery, that wasn’t going to happen.

  It would be an embarrassing story when I told my husband. He might think less of me for giving up my purity for a check. Or I could just keep it to myself and never tell another soul. No one would ever know.

  But I hated keeping a secret like that.

  By the end of the week, I only had twenty bucks in my account. I still needed to eat for another week, so that meant I would be dining on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal until I got paid.

  That was all the convincing I needed. I couldn’t live like this much longer, and if I had to get on my back for thirty minutes while an asshole fucked me, that seemed like a small compromise. I could pay off my undergraduate degree completely—and eliminate one loan payment altogether.

  That would save me $1,000 a month. To someone like me, that was a fortune.

  I was in a bad situation, and I didn’t have the time to be noble or classy.

  I had to survive.

  And I wouldn’t apologize for it.

  I DID some research and found where his main office was located. It was the administrative building for his chain of resorts, and it was in Manhattan. I wasn’t sure what to wear because it wasn’t a job interview, but I didn’t want to walk in looking like a prostitute either. I settled for a pencil skirt and blouse, something that outlined my curves but didn’t give away too much. I did my hair and makeup then left for his office.

  I didn’t know how to go about this because I couldn’t tell his secretary exactly what I wanted. She probably knew nothing about his personal life. So I would have to get a meeting with him even though I had no business seeing him at all.

  I entered his building then took the elevator to the top floor. Right when the doors opened, I came face-to-face with three secretaries all sitting behind a white desk. It was extremely quiet, and it seemed like music should play overhead. A white wall was behind them, blocking the rest of the office from view.

  A pretty blonde addressed me. “How can I help you?”

  “Hello.” I walked up to the desk. “I was wondering if Mr. Remington is available for about five minutes?”

  Her fake smile immediately turned into a catty look. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then he doesn’t have five minutes. He doesn’t have any time. He’s very busy, far busier than you could possibly imagine. So, if you think—”

  This bitch was annoying. “Take a breath, honey.” I walked around the desk and helped myself to the back, finding him in a large office completely surrounded by glass walls. He had a perfect view of the city and the park right through his window. Just his office alone was as big as my apartment—and I paid a fortune for it.

  “You can’t do that!” The blond secretary chased after me and grabbed me by the wrist. “I will call security—”

  I twisted out of her grasp. “Touch me like that again, and see what happens.”

  She slowly lowered her hand, her eyes fuming. She stomped her foot then rushed back to the desk to call security.

  When I turned back to his office, his eyes were on me. Brown like hot coffee and deep like the sea, they were so eye-catching, they were impossible to ignore. He stayed in his seat as he watched me, his suit fitting his broad shoulders as well as it did in pictures.

  I walked past the sitting area then opened the door to his office.

  He stared at me—full of hostility.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize while you do something wrong. It seems insincere.”

  I let the door shut behind me, caught off guard by the deepness in his voice. His thick body was tight with rage, and he didn’t hide his annoyance at my presence. His hair was a little longer than it was in the pictures, and the subtle beard around his jaw didn’t hide how chiseled his appearance was. Then he rose to his feet, buttoning the front of his suit as he moved.

  The guy gave me chills.

  He was threatening, beautiful, and terrifying.

  “What do you want?” He slid his hands into his pockets. “I have someone meeting me in five minutes.”

  “That’s ironic. Five minutes is all I need.” I slowly stepped toward his desk, my heels tapping against the hardwood floor of his office.

  “Ironic. I’m not amused.”

  I carried the folder in my hands and set it on his desk, wondering if this had all been a huge mistake. “I don’t know how to go about this—”

  “You usually make an appointment with one of my secretaries first.”

  I grew timid as he continued to bark at me, and I wondered if I could let him fuck me for money. Was he this much of an asshole all the time? I was the one who barged into his office without permission. “I’ll be straight with you. I heard you…pay women for their V-cards. A friend of mine told me.”

  His expression was just as cold as ever, not altering in the slightest way.

  “And well…I’m interested…I guess.”

  “Max handles all of that for me.”

  “Who’s Max?”

  He grabbed a business card from one of his drawers and set it at the edge of his desk. “Contact him. He’ll take care of you.”

  I took the card in my hands and saw Max’s name and number written on it. He didn’t have a last name. There was no company logo. “Alright…”

  He returned to his seat and looked at his computer again, like I hadn’t disturbed him in the first place. “Get out of my office. And don’t come back.”

  I grabbed the folder I’d placed on his desk and slowly retreated. “Sorry…”

  “What did I say about empty apologies?” He kept looking at his computer, so bored with me, he wouldn’t even look at me. There was a decanter of scotch on his desk, a picture frame, and a gray MacBook Air.

  I stilled in the doorway. “Right.” I finally stepped out and walked away, relieved our interaction was over. I’d never done anything more humiliating in my life, stormed into a stranger’s office and basically asked for money in exchange for sex.

  Not my finest hour.

  I CALLED Max when I got to my apartment.

  “Max here,” he barked into the phone.

  “Uh, hi. Slate told me to call you…”

  “You spoke to Slate?” he asked in surprise.

  “Well, I stopped by his office.”

  “Do you know him?” He kept firing back with a million questions.

  “No. I was trying to find information about…what he likes to spend his money on. He gave me your card and told me to call you.”

  “So you barged into his office and asked him to take your virginity?” he asked incredulously.

  “Well…not in those words.”

  “That must have pissed him off. His office is a place for business—not his kinks.”<
br />
  “Yeah…I realize that now.” I sat on the couch and drank my wine, the cheap kind that cost five bucks for a whole box. “Anyway, now that I have you on the phone, what do I need to know?”

  “You don’t need to know anything. Text me a picture of yourself along with your name. If Slate approves, I’ll contact you.”

  “Approves?” Was I livestock in a fair contest?

  “Yes. He doesn’t take just anyone, and I’m guessing he may not be inclined to take you after you barged into his office this afternoon.”

  “His secretary was a bitch, alright?”

  “The blonde one?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I know exactly who you’re talking about,” he said with a chuckle. “So send me a picture. If he likes what he sees, I’ll arrange a dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Why did we need to have dinner?

  “Mr. Remington likes to make sure there’s chemistry first.”

  “Wow, he really is picky.”

  “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

  “It doesn’t need to be a nude picture, right?”

  “It doesn’t hurt.” He hung up.

  3

  Slate

  A WOMAN HAD NEVER BARGED into my office like that.

  And looked so lost.

  She had no idea what she was doing, had no idea how this process worked, and she looked like a deer in headlights.

  But she was stunning.

  Her tight pencil skirt showed her exceptionally narrow waist, and her long legs were tanned, like she jogged in the park on Saturday afternoons. She had a slim waist and generous tits. She wasn’t a C cup, but her tits were proportionally big compared to her waistline. She had soft shoulders, a pretty collarbone, and deep brunette hair.

  Perfect ten.

  I might have negotiated with her on the spot if she hadn’t pissed me off.

  She’d barged in there like she could do whatever she wanted, and I didn’t like an arrogant woman. I was already an insanely arrogant man. There wasn’t room for two of us.