attitude that has placated me for almost 30 years. My indifference has always been my safety net. And now…now I’m fighting just to hold onto it.
You reject people before they have a chance to reject you.
My head snaps to Allison as if she had just murmured the words herself. I know it’s just my conscience messing with me. My Jiminy Cricket has a sick, twisted sense of humor.
“So…how is this supposed to work?” Shayla asks, her face still flush and top buttons undone.
“Starting in about half an hour, someone from my staff will come to retrieve you one by one, then lead you to a secluded room. From there, we will have a private session of sorts. I want to gauge both your strengths and weaknesses so I can determine the best way to personally consult you. So…ladies, if you will…” I extend my hand toward the hallway the leads to the staircase. The staff is already lined up, waiting to assist them in any way. Once the last reluctant face disappears from sight, I make a beeline for the kitchen.
“A LITTLE EARLY for a brew, eh, J.D.? Let me guess: Lingerie Day.”
I nod at Riku before tipping back my beer, nearly draining it in just a few gulps. I open the fridge and grab two more, handing him one. A little mid-morning beer never hurt anyone. Hey, it’s five o’clock some where in the world.
Riku pops the top and takes a swig. “Wait a minute. Don’t you usually do that around Week Three?”
I take another big gulp. Holy hell. I’ll be halfway drunk if I don’t get some food in me. “Yeah. But these girls…they need to be shocked. They’re too comfortable. I need to push a bit and see if they actually push back.”
Riku shrugs. “You’re the boss. But don’t be surprised if one of those chicks gets a little fire in them and pushes you right on your ass.”
I turn toward the fridge and immerse myself in a hunt for snacks to hide my expression. If Riku only knew how right he was.
Someone did push back. And now it’s physically impossible to get back up, dust my shit off and walk away.
I pop a few grapes into my mouth to keep from speaking the bitter truth. Then I drain my beer and prepare to give these women what their husband’s hard-earned money paid for.
“BRING IN THE next one.”
I wipe my brow with a handkerchief and take a calming breath. So far, five ladies have been brought to me, all shaking like leaves on their 6-inch hooker heels. But they came. No matter how reluctant they may have been, they came willingly.
Minutes pass before I hear the telltale signs of stilettos on hardwood. They grow louder, echoing in my head, mimicking the sounds of a ticking time bomb. I know it’s inevitable, and I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m almost immune to the sight of scanty lace stretched over round, full breasts. I’ve seen more than my fair share of thong-clad asses. And every p*ssy
looks good when it’s kissed and caressed by buttery-soft silk.
Still, none of my experiences could have prepared me for the vision that stood in the doorway in the next instant.
Allison steps into the room just far enough for Diane to close the door behind her. She flinches, though she’s trying like hell to remain cool and indifferent to being half naked in front of me. I stay seated, choosing to remain in my safe zone. Standing would only make the urge to rip that goddamn cock-tease of a satin robe off her shoulders, that much stronger.
“So?” she asks, raising a brow.
“So.”
“So…I’m here. Now what?”
I stroke the dust of hair on my chin, contemplating my next move.
She’s just like everyone else. She’s nothing special. Just a paycheck.
I chant it in my head over and over again until it becomes real. Or at least believable.
You’re full of shit. She’s more than that, and you know it. And you hate it.
“Take off your robe,” I say brusquely, trying to silence the voices in my head.
Allison hesitates, still riding the imaginary fence between the doorway and the actual room space. She pulls the robe around her tighter, the drawn satin revealing the curve of her hips. My mouth waters.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me, Ally.” My voice is softer than it should be. Probably softer than she deserves. “Take off your robe…please.”
She doesn’t fight, though I know she wants to. Instead, she takes a breath and clenches her eyes shut. Then slowly, almost painstakingly, her grip loosens on the pinched fabric. Light brown freckles adorn the top of her chest and shoulders. The contrast of those tiny sprinkles against her milky white skin, and that scarlet hair frosting her shoulders, reminds me of a red velvet cupcake. I lick my chops lazily, the urge to feast on her sweetness growing stronger and hotter.