by Kira Barker
He snorted but didn't protest further, and we left it at that. The whore and the cyber criminal—as if either of us were fit to throw the first stone. Definitely a match made in heaven.
Chapter 3
Unlike the elevator in my own building, the one in Brigitte's was a sleek affair of speed and dependency. Even the insides of the doors were burnished until they were bright enough to reflect my perfectly put-together self back at me.
Staring straight ahead at my perfect lipstick, perfect coiffure, and perfect dress, I felt something I hadn't felt in quite a while—I was nervous.
The realization made me grin, then laugh, sweeping perfection away with chaos, but the fact didn't change—my pulse was clearly elevated, and as calm as I could make myself appear, serenity was only skin deep.
Rationally, I knew that I had absolutely no reason to be nervous. Not that I was perfect in the different components I had assembled into the perfect picture; no, I was far from it, and that was part of the reason why I had more regulars than most of Brigitte's girls.
One look at me was enough to dissuade anyone of the belief that I was perfect, least of all physically so. I was too short, my boobs were too small, my ass and thighs too large, two of my teeth slightly crooked, and only the heaviest foundation could make the scattered freckles across my cheeks, nose, and forehead disappear. My voice was a clear alto that didn't quite do sultry well, my mouth had a dirty streak that landed on irony and sarcasm more often than not, and I didn't play well with other girls. My thirtieth birthday had now come and gone for the third time, and while I didn’t quite look my age, I wasn’t a fresh-faced girl of eighteen. I was very aware of my shortcomings, and that had nothing to do with insecurity—I knew that the one thing I had going for myself was being as unique as possible. Not in an obnoxious, “look at how fabulous I am” kind of way, but, as Brigitte kept intoning, to simply be myself. The men who paid me handsomely in exchange for my company knew exactly why they kept asking for Penelope Thompson.
During that elevator ride, I wondered why exactly Darren Hunter had selected me to face off with four other women.
The answer was likely so simple that I needn't have bothered guessing. Brigitte kept extensive files of all of her girls, including very accurate, even starkly unflattering photographs, voice and video samples, and any measurement that could be of any interest. No potential client I'd ever met had been surprised that I didn't rock the physique of a model. Only few had marveled at the bright brain that hid behind the camouflage, all of them former clients once they'd professed their surprise. The men who chose me did so as much for my sophistication and intelligence, than the sex they could have gotten cheaper elsewhere. I wasn't delusional enough to believe that I was something special, but I did my best to make sure that any client felt like they were because of the attention they got from me.
For all intents and purposes, Hunter must have seen something in my file that intrigued him, and it irritated me that he forced me to compete with others now. I simply wasn't used to that—not anymore. Maybe for this lesson in humility alone, it was a good thing that I found myself here tonight. Maybe that had been Brigitte's intention all along. She didn't believe in punishment, but she was a little spiteful at times, and I hadn't been at my meekest of late.
With newfound confidence I walked through the opening elevator doors, stepping right into the splendor of Brigitte's penthouse apartment.
I was the last woman to arrive, as fashionably late as I could afford, which was three minutes before our agreed upon time. Whores couldn't be tardy, and anyone working for Brigitte knew that we couldn't afford to be greedy about the time we invested into our clients. Fifteen minutes longer and an extra hand job in the shower always went as a bonus, never incurring any additional costs, but likely came with the returns of a happy smile and often a hefty tip. And no one dared play coy to Brigitte's face.
I let myself relax further as I scanned the familiar faces present. Two at least were familiar, the other girls I only knew by name, and I doubted they already had anything resembling a reputation. Young, none of them older than twenty-three, they were the average Caucasian mix—blonde, brunette, redhead, no wrinkle in sight. They didn't run anywhere near my social circles, and while I could see the appeal of paying a girl barely out of her teenage years for sex, the other merits of her company had to be few and far between.
Discarding them on the spot, I smiled at the woman who was obviously my real competition—or not. Nya was ice to my fire, and as polar opposites, neither of us would hold it against the other if she didn't snag the price.
Tall and thin, Nya had the mixed heritage that gave her all the exotic beauty in the world without a single flaw in sight. Wearing a sleek black sheath dress, her black hair in perfect waves and her burnished bronze skin seemingly glowing from within, she had an air about her that oozed class and style. As she stood before me, she looked out of place in the slightly gaudy glamor Brigitte cultivated and would have fit in perfectly at any dinner at the White House. She was the perfect woman any man could be seen with at any formal occasion, and if Hunter was looking for that, I was screwed anyway—or not, as was the case.
While I could prance around with the rich and famous if I had to myself, I was well aware that I had retained a kind of homeliness that would never let me reach Nya's level of sophistication. Not even attempting that, I had shifted my focus more toward hands-on sexuality. My dress covered more skin than hers, but it accentuated every curve I had, and a few I didn’t. Her makeup was impeccably natural; mine was obvious if tastefully sultry. Beautiful as she was, she gave off a slightly untouchable vibe, while everything about me beckoned to look, imagine, want, touch. My best guess was that Hunter wasn't just looking for a woman who was presentable, but someone to rub other men's noses in. Not exactly flaunting my profession, I also didn't hide what I did for a living, and everything about me underscored that I'd be the best fucking lay they'd ever dreamed of.
With a nod of greeting, I went past Nya to where Brigitte was fixing herself a drink, gin tonic if I wasn't mistaken. Her smile for me was real, dipping into still warmer territories as she accepted the envelope I offered without letting anyone else see the exchange. Where it disappeared to I couldn't say—the blouse and form-fitting pants she wore couldn't have hidden the wad of dough it contained.
“I see you've taken my words to heart,” she said in a way of greeting, then nodded toward the three girls milling together on the couch. “If you will excuse me, I have some pep talking yet to do. You know your way around here.”
It wasn't unusual for Brigitte to ignore me if we were in the company of more of her girls, although it seldom happened that it wasn't just the two of us now. Some might have been offended by her behavior, but I knew her well enough to realize that it was a sign of trust. Having been a call girl herself for almost twenty years, she saw herself as much as the mentor as the madam. The girls still needed every bit of knowledge she could impart; I—and Nya—had already learned what she could teach and proven ourselves to her critical eye.
That, and she was as vain as any aging beauty, happy to have much younger women that society regarded superior to her in their juvenile beauty fawn all over her. As manipulative as Brigitte was herself, it didn't take much to manipulate her, if one just knew how. I did, but for the sake of our relationship, if not friendship, I refrained from ever mentioning that to her.
Reaching for a tumbler, I fixed a Bourbon on the rocks. When I looked up, I found Nya occupying the bar stool to my right.
“Seems like the competition isn't exactly stiff tonight,” she remarked dryly, not even bothering to look over to the gaggle of geese.
Shrugging, I slid onto the seat next to her.
“If you ask me, there's no competition at all.”
She raised her brows, a slight smile mocking my note of confidence, but inclined her head when I didn't elaborate.
“True, either it's you or me that he wants. And while he has the mo
ney, I doubt he'll pick us both.”
I wasn't opposed to girl on girl, but only with a woman I didn't feel inferior to on any level. Agreeing with her, I nodded.
“I think he would have told Brigitte if that was what he was after. Anything else would just seem greedy.”
“Like lust is the only deadly sin we cater to,” she joked, but cut off the moment the elevator doors opened across the room.
While the girls seemed to vibrate with excitement at Darren Hunter's arrival, I allowed myself only a cursory look before I turned away, denying him the same. Tall, handsome, trim but not too muscular, he owned the room from the moment he stepped in, and not just because every woman's attention was for sale. His tailored suit fit perfectly, but it was the air of confidence he exuded that gave him the kind of presence so many men—even powerful, rich men—lacked.
Nya sat up straighter beside me, not hurling herself at him like the girls did, but appearing open and inviting nevertheless. Being approachable to him now compared to others later was part of her spiel; inviting him to chase me was part of mine. We both held ourselves in the background, and showing that he could be a true gentlemen, Hunter greeted Brigitte and the girls first. Pleasantries were exchanged, and I wouldn't have been surprised if any of the girls had simply pulled off her dress and humped his leg just to draw his full attention to her. Likely trying to prevent such an embarrassment, Brigitte invited him to join her on the couch, with the girls lined up to the side.
I made my move the moment she asked if he would accept refreshments.
Gliding across the room, I kept to the shadows, reaching the back of the couch in no time. Just as Hunter opened his mouth to name his drink of choice, I pushed the tumbler with its amber liquid and half melted ice cubes into his hand while leaning just a little toward him. To his credit, he first stared at the drink, then gave my cleavage a passing glance before his eyes landed on my face. From up close, I saw that they were a warm brown.
“I think you will find this most satisfactory,” I purred, and without a backward glance retreated to my previous perch. I could feel his gaze on my back the entire time, even when Brigitte surged ahead and pushed the first girl's file at him.
By the time I was seated once more and allowed myself to look at Hunter again, he was all polite interest, but his eyes kept flitting in my direction every once in a while. Nya shook her head, laughing softly under her breath.
“He doesn't stand a chance, now does he?”
When I eyed her askance, she chose to ignore it.
Hunter took his sweet time getting to know the three girls, but even to them it must have been obvious that they were, at best, the appetizer, and not what he'd come for. Like the troopers they were, they smiled their way through their auditions, and stepped aside with grace when Nya swept in. A client like Hunter could easily make a girl's career in the business, and even the lowest, sex-only arrangement would likely pay their rents for months ahead. Brigitte also tolerated no airs beside her own, so any girl stupid enough to openly pout wouldn't even have made it to such a selection meeting.
While the previous three interviews had taken about ten minutes, Nya got a full twenty. I admired how open her body language was without once being too alluring; a smile here, a touch there, and it seemed impossible that any man—and only very few women—would have rejected her. I couldn't help but feel slightly superior when he dismissed her with sincere sounding regret. She took it with a dazzling smile, and likely also a grain of salt. Just because he seemed intent on leaving with me tonight didn't mean that he wouldn't ask for her on a later date.
Brigitte's sharp nod at me should have gotten me scurrying to her side, but instead I turned to fully face the bar, leaving me only the edge of my peripheral vision to keep track of what was going on. I didn't need to see her face to know that she was fuming at me from where Hunter was talking to her quietly. A streak of motion toward me let me know that I had won.
“A lesser man might believe that if he pays a woman for her company, he wouldn't need to chase after her.”
At the smooth tone of his voice coming from behind and slightly to my right, I turned my head just enough to glance up at Hunter, a playful smile on my lips.
“I wouldn't be here tonight for a lesser man,” I retorted.
He laughed softly and inclined his head at the row of chairs next to me.
“Is this seat taken?”
Instead of doing the polite thing and asking him to join me, I pivoted around until my back was to the bar, so I could face him fully. Like before, my body only got the barest glance before his attention focused on my eyes and remained there.
“Let's set some things straight before I waste even more of your time, shall we?” I proposed. He pursed his lips, his eyes alight with humor.
“Not just rude, but also a stickler for details. You really must be phenomenal in bed for anyone to put up with your winning personality.”
I didn't know whether that should have been an insult or a compliment, but I didn't let the possibilities faze me. Keeping my smile firmly fixed on my face, I added a hint more confidence to my tone.
“You know that I am. It’s the prerequisite all of Brigitte's girls have to come with. We both know that you're not here because of the sex.”
“I'm not?” He took my bait.
“No.” I shook my head slightly. “You're here because you're looking for a woman who can, and will, fulfill your every desire. Her beauty will please your aesthetic sense, her intelligence will stimulate your mind, her engaging and winning personality will make you forget that she's someone who you've just met. She will make other men envy you for her company, and make other women want to fight her for the right to take her place. She will never ask for anything, but give whatever you desire. That's why you'll pay her exorbitant sums of money without a second thought, instead of getting a fifty-dollar blow job on the next street corner. And you may sit down if you agree with my assessment.”
His smile had turned wry during my explanation, and I was sure that he was paying me back for my teasing with the ten seconds of hesitation that he took before sitting down.
“You are a peculiar woman, you know?”
That I certainly did take as a compliment. Extending my hand, I lightly touched his before I met his gaze again.
“One of my best qualities, without a doubt. Shall we go now?”
I was sure that he still had questions, at least judging from how he'd treated the others, but he just chuckled and inclined his head.
“Why not? I doubt that anything you'd say to me here you wouldn't over dinner.”
Getting up, he offered me his arm, and I slid mine through it with a wry smile of my own.
“A man after my own heart. I'm sure this is the beginning of a wonderful relationship.”
He was still laughing as we swept by Brigitte, who seemed torn over my antics but pleased about the cut she'd receive from everything that happened from here on until Darren Hunter would tire of his latest conquest.
Chapter 4
The restaurant he took me to fit him like a glove. It was one of those overly stylish, somewhat spartan looking places where everything was flawless and the staff as pretentious as the patrons. The maître d' gave me the slightest hint of a haughty look as he led us to a table in the very back, but he showed perfect manners whenever his attention shifted to Hunter. He didn't entirely snub me as he proffered me the menu.
Some men of Hunter's social standing were egotistical—or controlling—enough that it didn't even occur to them to let their women choose for themselves, but he wasn't one of them. With a decisive tone that didn't allow for any kind of disobedience, he let the maître d' know that we hadn't decided on food and drinks yet, and waited with a slightly mischievous smile until we were alone again before he looked up from perusing the menu.
“Every time I do that, I expect them to kick me out, but somehow that never happens,” he confided, proving that he wasn't oblivious to the glare his b
ack had received once the maître d' had made it across the room.
“So you like playing games with the staff? How immature,” I remarked, keeping my eyes cast down.
“I wouldn't be here with a woman who forces me to chase her if I didn't,” he shot back.
“You wouldn't want her if she just lay back and spread her legs for you.”
His not so quiet laugh spoke volumes of his agreement.
Still, once we'd decided, he showed perfect manners as he ordered and didn't lose them until after dessert. The conversation we kept going was light but ranged over a variety of topics, even politics for a minute or two.
Listening to him gave me ample time to study him in more detail. On the outside, he looked exactly as the business man of this century should appear. His short, blond hair was cut to perfection, his skin had that sun-kissed touch only achieved artificially, and his teeth were straight and white to deliver the perfect dashing smile—or predatory grin, depending on who it was directed at. His brown eyes were warm, but I didn't doubt for a second that wouldn't be the case in cross-examination. He wasn't outright beautiful, but there was a certain polish to his masculinity, likely due to more spa treatments a week than I allowed myself in a month. He'd look as perfect in front of the TV cameras as he did here, and I guessed that was the reason behind all the obvious pampering.
As striking as his appearance was, what drew me in was his presence. When he’d entered Brigitte's apartment, it took him all of a second to dominate the room, and not just because he was the client and no whore in her right mind would reject a man she wanted to ensnare. Not all lawyers and politicians had such a presence, but I'd seen my share of powerful men who knew how to set themselves up perfectly. With him, it seemed effortless on top of natural. I could only guess at how he'd gotten where he was now, but I didn't doubt that his past was littered with social accomplishments as well as academic ones. Valedictorian, captain of the sports team, most popular member of his fraternity, top of his class. From early on, he must have been used to shining and dealing with the shadows of jealousy and envy such a bright light must have cast.
