by Anthology
Noah was the sort of man who wouldn’t rest until he had a puzzle mastered and I wasn’t going to be a game he played. Despite his smug expression, I wasn’t as transparent as he assumed and I needed to keep my life distanced from his.
Reassuring myself he couldn’t possibly have me figured out, I blanked my expression and my heartbeat calmed. “Like I said. You don’t know me.”
“Let me get to know you.”
The elevator pinged and my focus pulled to the dial climbing toward our floor. Micah.
Looking back at Noah, I licked my dry lips. Time to squelch his little crush once and for all and focus on what mattered, what kept my apartment warm and my name on the enrollment list.
“You want to know me? In five seconds that elevator’s going to open and a man’s going to step out. He’s sixteen years older than me. He’s going to open doors for me and take me to a fancy party and I’m going to let him because he pays my rent every month so I can live in this gorgeous building that’s probably a dump compared to where you grew up. He bought my clothes and my jewelry—”
“The jewelry’s fake. He’s ripping you off.”
“I know it’s fake,” I hissed. “But I paid for it with his money. I’d rather keep as much as I can for tuition and other bills. My point is, this is who I am, whether you accept it or not. This is how I afford to live here. If you saw where I came from, you’d run. Trust me, Noah, you don’t know me and if you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The elevator pinged and Noah took a step back just as the doors parted. Micah’s familiar leather soled footfalls broke the silence. “Avery?”
I blinked away from Noah and gave Micah a shaky smile. “I’m ready.”
His assessing gaze traveled to my neighbor and back to me. He approached and held out an arm. Dressed in black tie as he was, he should’ve easily been the most intimidating person in the hall, but Noah didn’t flinch. Micah gave him a stiff nod and escorted me toward the elevator.
“I’ll talk to you later, Avery. We’re not finished.”
My eyes continued to blink as we stepped into the elevator and Micah keyed in the first floor. He didn’t say a word, but I knew his mind was full of thoughts and opinions.
Noah unapologetically watched us as the doors slowly closed.
“He’s just—”
Micah’s hand tightened on mine. “No need, love. I see you’re upset. Let me take your mind off whatever that was and treat you to a pleasant evening.”
Strangely, his nonjudgmental response relieved me. I knew it was a cop-out, and that I was running from some emotional baggage I didn’t feel like carrying, but that was the perk of being a sugar baby. I didn’t need to think beyond my own personal safety. All I needed to do was let my clients pamper me.
I had the luxury of pretending to be someone else for the evening. Tonight, like most nights, that was exactly what I wanted to do.
Chapter Eight
It had been nine quiet days without a peep from my mother or my neighbor. I took a few nights off of work to focus on school. I needed to get my Lit grade up to a B and my professor wasn’t making that easy. I also needed to reassess some things that were keeping me up at night.
Thanksgiving was a quiet day in the building and a much-needed chance to think. The halls remained silent through the weekend. It was as if everyone disappeared, which was probably what normal people did—home to visit families that actually enjoyed each other.
Noah claimed our conversation wasn’t over, yet he hadn’t tried to contact me in any way. I knew his schedule but nothing about his occupation. He left around seven-thirty each morning in a suit and I could smell his soap in the hall every day when I returned from the gym.
Then, I could sense his presence when he returned from work around six each night. I wasn’t sure if he had a commute or worked in the city, but I wanted to know these things, and that had to make me the stupidest girl on the planet.
Finished with my final English paper, I packed up my books and folded some clothes into boxes. The auction sites had paid off and I now had all the money I’d need for next semester. So, why was I in this funk of a mood?
The close of the semester left me wanting to celebrate, but I had no one to share in my personal accomplishment, no one that really cared. Wandering around my apartment, I debated if I should call a client—maybe Micah. He’d celebrate with me in his own Micah way. I had nothing better to do, but the idea of making a date didn’t sit right.
I nosed around in the fridge for a few minutes and snagged a bottle of wine off the shelf. I wasn’t a big drinker so I’d been saving this for a special occasion. Cocktails were nice, but I only indulged when someone else was making them or paying. This bottle of wine had been in my fridge for over three months and I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of expiration date I was missing.
Rummaging through my drawers I searched for a corkscrew, unsure if I owned one. About to give up my search, I stilled when I heard a door close. My gaze drifted to the front of my apartment and then down the front of my body for an inspection of my appearance.
I wore sweats, slippers, and my hair was in a messy bun. There was nothing sexy about my outfit, so maybe this was the best time to see what had caught my neighbor’s tongue. Grabbing the wine bottle and my apartment key, I crossed the hall and knocked.
His footsteps shuffled and the door opened. His eyes did a double take of my outfit and then he grinned. “Do I know you?”
Funny guy. I held up the wine. “I need a screw.”
He laughed and gave the door a nudge so it opened wide. “You guessed my magic password. Come on in.”
I followed him inside, immediately noting how different his apartment appeared when not full of fifty drunken guests and gourmet food stations. We headed into the kitchen where an open box of pizza sat on the island, one slice removed and sitting on a plate.
“Did you eat?”
The scent of garlic and basil filled the air and my stomach thrilled at the opportunity. “Not since lunch.”
He brought down another plate from his nicer-than-mine cabinets. “One slice or two.”
“One.”
He pursed his lips. “Really?”
“Really.”
Appearing unimpressed, he dropped a slice on the plate and went to a drawer. Holding up a corkscrew, he took the bottle of wine from me, pausing to frown at the label. “What is this?”
I slid onto a wooden stool and pulled the pizza slice closer. “I don’t know. I bought it when I moved in.”
“And you never opened it?”
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Yet you like bourbon.”
Surprised he remembered what I drank, I smiled. “Honey bourbon. It’s whiskey with training wheels.”
He scoffed. “Whiskey’s whiskey. You drink. You just don’t know how to open bottles.”
I pulled the cheese off my slice as he twisted the cork free.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re ruining the pizza.”
“I don’t eat cheese.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that some girly bullshit to do with your body?”
“No. I have a dairy allergy. Cheese doesn’t do nice things to me.”
“I could order something else.” He filled two glasses and slid one to me.
“It’s fine. This is how I’ve always eaten pizza.”
“Okay.” He took a sip and grimaced. “This is terrible wine.”
“You don’t have one of those little voices in your head that tells you not to vocalize every single thought that crosses your mind, do you?”
“Like a Jiminy Cricket? No. I’m a real boy.”
I laughed. He certainly was.
We settled in and quietly ate. Noah finished off three slices before calling it quits. He nudged the box toward me. “Have another one.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. “Because I’m still
a girl and I still follow some rules. I had a big lunch.”
His eyes studied me for a long minute. Reaching into the box, he plucked the cheese off a slice and dropped it onto the wax paper, then plopped the piece on my plate. “Eat.”
“I’m full.”
“Liar. Eat.”
I had no intention of eating that slice. “Where do you work?”
“I own a company that does media marketing for extreme sports.”
“Like cliff diving?”
“That, and skateboarding, wakeboarding, mountain biking. You name it I’ve probably videoed it.”
“How did you get into that?”
“I’m a guy. I love anything dangerous.”
“Do you do those things?”
“I’ll try anything once.”
“Have you ever jumped out of a plane?”
“Twice. I’m going again in a few months when the weather breaks.”
“So you’re insane.” I took a bite of pizza.
“I like the rush. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to stay on the ground and leave the flying to the birds.”
“Chicken.”
I waved a finger. “Yes, a perfect example of a flightless bird. Like me.”
“You don’t fly at all?”
“Nope.”
“Why? Don’t you like to travel?”
I shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”
His brow tightened as he sipped his wine. “Have you ever been out of the country?”
“Nope.” Truly full now, I picked at the crust of my half-eaten slice.
“Those guys, I’ve seen the cars they drive. Any of them ever offer to fly you anywhere?”
I’d wondered if we were going to talk about that. “Some, but travel requires overnight accommodations and that’s not included in my services.”
“Your services… What exactly do your services include?”
“Are you looking to hire me?” That would never happen.
“Let’s presume you’re not selling sex and I don’t need to buy it. Deal?”
“Deal.” I pushed the plate away. “I let them take me out, buy me delicious food from fancy restaurants, pretend I’m whoever they need me to be for a few hours so they feel good about themselves. I listen to them when they need to vent—sort of like a therapist, but totally underqualified yet we share a sort of confidentiality so there’s no drama. They take me to concerts, operas, museum, art showings, private galas, weddings, all sorts of things.”
“And they … they pay you for this?”
I blushed, not used to openly discussing my services with anyone other than my clients. “Yes, they pay me. It’s all legit. I started with a service, but now I book my own clients. It’s not a secret. I’m not doing anything illegal.”
“So … you signed up for a service, men contact you, you agree to see them, they take you on extravagant dates, and then they pay you at the end of the night, but you never fuck them?”
“They buy me clothes and jewelry, too. But no, I never touch them.”
“I saw one guy kiss you.”
I laughed. “You’re quite the stalker. I have two clients who are permitted to give me pecks on the cheek, but that’s only because I fully trust both of them not to get carried away.”
“The guy from the other night, the one who picked you up when we were talking…?”
“Which, the comb-over or the tall, dark, and—”
“Not the pig.”
Micah. “He was my first.”
“Your first…?”
“Daddy.”
A slight V formed between his brows. “How did you start? Did he come up to you and just offer you money for a date?”
“Pretty much. I was studying at a café and he sent over a cup of coffee. I was new to the city and short on friends, so I approached him to say thank you. We ended up talking and then we ran into each other again a week later and he asked me out. I didn’t feel any attraction, so I turned him down.”
“Then he named your price.”
I gave him an unimpressed look. “If you’re trying to offend me, you won’t. I’m not cheap.”
“How much did he offer?”
I smiled. “Two thousand dollars.”
“For a date?”
I laughed at his shock. “Yup. And it wasn’t a crappy date.”
“Come on, where’d he take you?”
“To a private concert with Elton John and only about twenty other couples.”
“Get the hell out of here! And he never tried anything?”
“Nope. He was an absolute gentleman.”
“So unfair.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a guy. No one looks at you and says, hmm, I wonder how much it would take to buy that. Women have always been pared down to buyable commodities. I’m not a prostitute, but… Never mind.”
I looked at my half-eaten slice and felt sick. Maybe it was the shitty wine.
Noah’s hand closed over mine and squeezed. My gaze jumped to his as he offered a friendly grin.
“You’re nothing like a prostitute. I have a friend who paid her way through college by selling her eggs. Another friend of mine got college loans to pay for a boob job, never taking a single course. She’s up to her tits in debt, but she got what she wanted. People do all sorts of things to reach their goals. I think it’s sort of fascinating that you go on all those interesting dates and make money. They should pay you. I bet you’re a ton of fun when you’re not playing the bitchy neighbor. Sort of like now, your guard’s down and we haven’t bickered once.”
I pulled my hand free. “You’ve called me a bitch a few times now.”
“I said bitchy.”
“And before?”
“I was drunk and out of line.”
“No, this was when you were trying to apologize in the hall. You were sober.”
He smiled and something shifted as if a veil came down. “I’m sorry.”
And I had been a bitch to him, so really, I shouldn’t expect more than the apology I already received. “I’m sorry I was a bitch to you.”
“I get why you’re not interested.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You want to focus on school and work—”
“Please don’t use finger quotes.”
“Whatever. You have a job and I was distracting you from that, getting you all hot and bothered before your business appointments.”
I refused to acknowledge his arrogant assumption. “Again, the finger quotes aren’t necessary.”
“I know, but I like using them. They make conversation more fun. Like let’s say you had an appointment, but I stopped by your place ten minutes before you had to go. Let’s assume we start talking and, of course, it turns into bickering, and I suddenly—” Finger quotes. “—kiss you. That can’t be conducive to the sort of—” Finger quotes. “—work environment you’re trying to create.”
“You’re a jerk.”
He laughed. “Why? I’m just laying out a hypothetical situation.”
“Hypothetical because it’ll never happen?”
“Oh, it’ll happen.”
I rolled my eyes. “Does anyone ever tell you no?”
“All the time, but eventually I get a yes. Especially from women. It starts out slow. Mmm, yesss… Then it gets a little more enthusiastic. Yes… Yes!” He used figure quotes to emphasize each impersonated female cry. “And then it’s all about giving me what I knew she wanted from the beginning.”
“You have problems. And you’ve reached your finger quote quota for the year.”
“But you’re curious.”
“About what?” I laughed. “Sleeping with you? God, no!”
He grumbled and refilled his wine glass, then grimaced as he took a long swallow. “We gotta get you some better wine.”
“Leave my wine selection alone. I think it’s good.” I refilled my glass, finishing off the bottle.
“It
tastes like my grandmother’s perfume.”
“And you drank that?”
“No, but when she walks into a room after Sunday mass it’s strong enough to choke a horse. It sticks in your throat until Monday.”
“You know, at first I imagined you were charming. I don’t think I’ve ever been more wrong about a guy.”
He raised his glass. “That’ll teach you to make assumptions. So, what do you say we watch a movie? I have a great one about this girl who’s house sitting and something goes wrong with the alarm system, so she calls the company. When the rep gets there they figure it out, but then the boiler breaks and she takes off all her—”
“Ew! Are you describing a porno?”
“I believe the appropriate term is adult film.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t say that with finger quotes.”
“I wanted to, but I was afraid you’d bitch at me again. And I’m told I have to work on my charm, so I’m trying to not piss you off.”
I suddenly realized I’d been smiling since the moment I walked into his home. It was strange to be so at ease with someone I mostly didn’t like. In the beginning, his attention had rattled me, but now… Something was different. We had … chemistry. I was having fun joking around with him and in a way, I didn’t want it to end.
With only a few sips of wine left, I glanced at the clock. “If you really want to watch a movie, we can. But I have to go home after that.”
“Why, you got a hot date?”
“Do I look like I’m going anywhere tonight?”
He eyed my sweats and sloppy hair. “You’d look hot in a sack. How would I know what you have planned?”
“I’m off tonight, but I do have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“So?”
“So, do you have class?”
“No, but you made me eat that second piece of pizza and there’s no way I’m missing my workout.”
His eyes rolled dramatically. “I can’t talk to you for the next three minutes. Come on. Let’s pick out a movie.”
I followed him into the den. “Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Because you won’t like what I say. Thriller or action?”
“Neither. Romantic comedy or drama. What were you going to say?”
