Played

by Colleen Charles

  Please … oh, please, Nolan, don’t ask me which company employs her.

  “Didn’t you mention she was from Brooklyn? Must be a bitch for her to travel all that way for a part-time office gig. She really reminds me of Charlie. Plucky and determined. You could do worse.”

  Thank you, God.

  “You don’t think it’s weird that I’m a few years older? She’s only a senior in college which makes her what, twenty-two? I’m all for robbing the cradle, but there’s a difference between stealing a pack of Doublemint and grand theft auto.”

  “Jesus, Chase. You’re not even thirty. No one’s going to even look twice at the two of you unless she looks like jailbait. Does she?”

  “What?”

  “Look like jailbait?”

  “Not even close. Now, let me off the hook and off the phone so I can get my ass into work.”

  “Ciao.”

  ***

  “Angela,” I opened my office door and called out to the reception area where Myrna furiously tapped on her iPad. Her head snapped up at the sound of my voice.

  “Do you need an intern for something, Mr. Bradenton?”

  Shit.

  Now I’d offended my right-hand woman without any intention of doing so. The only reason I wanted to talk to Angela was to make sure she didn’t start running off at the mouth about my strange behavior the day before. The last thing I needed was a round of stupid office gossip undermining my authority as the Director of Sales. I had a team of twelve underneath me, and we needed to get Charlie’s pet project sold out before the completion of construction.

  I oiled my tone and plastered my most charming smile to my face.

  “Actually, it’s such a trivial matter, Myrna, I thought it would be best suited for someone without your vast and valuable experience.”

  She narrowed her eyes and paused as if she saw right through my line of bullshit. But then, she smiled and nodded.

  Whew.

  “I think Angela’s making copies for Nolan.”

  I spotted her by the Xerox, brow furrowed in concentration. She shoved her horn-rimmed glasses farther up her hooked nose. Poor Angela. She’d been beaten with the plain as Jane stick. Good thing she was sharp because Charlie had taken over the intern program and she only hired the best and the brightest.

  Another intern stood beside her, back to me, grabbing the stapled packets off the copier. The gangly nerd’s pants were hemmed so short that a good two-inch sliver of white sock showed between his khakis and his Converse sneakers. For the love of god. I’d gotten within earshot when the nerdy kid spoke.

  “We’re so far above this crap, Angela.”

  “What do you mean? It’s an honor to get chosen to intern at Banks. It’s a sure ticket to land a good job after graduation. Grantham Banks is an NYC legend.”

  “Yeah,” the kid snorted. “In his own overinflated mind. Why don’t they have us doing anything besides basic secretarial tasks? A trained monkey could copy, file, and staple.”

  Who was this annoying little shit? Arrogant much? Angela was right. The Banks internship was a golden ticket. The ungrateful scamp needed to be taught a lesson, and I was just the man for that job.

  “Ahem.”

  I thought Angela might piss herself. The papers she held floated to the floor like leaves on a stiff, fall breeze. When she bent over to retrieve them, I waved her off.

  “Let me. You see, there isn’t any work here at Banks Realty that I feel is beneath me. As an MBA from NYU, I understand the importance of knowing each level and department of this business inside and out. From the basement to the penthouse.”

  Angela nodded so hard she looked like a homely bobblehead in the back of a ’79 Chevy wagon with wood-paneled sides.

  “I agree, Mr. Bradenton.”

  “Angela, I knew you were a star the moment I met you,” I said turning toward the Mark Zuckerberg wannabe. “You, on the other hand, can start planning your packing strategy. I’ll be telling Charlie exactly what I heard today.”

  He turned without even a nod of acknowledgment and fled toward the break room. Probably wanted to cry in private. Who said shit like that out loud at the copier where the executive office suites were located? Grantham was famous for stealthily checking out the inner workings of all departments like he was auditioning for an episode of Undercover Boss.

  “So, Angela,” I said in a tone dripping honey. “I just wanted to check in on you and make sure that Myrna wasn’t cracking the whip too hard.”

  “Not at all,” she said as I handed her papers back to her. She snatched them out of my hand, and hers trembled. I watched as the white sheets fluttered underneath her nervous energy. “I’ve learned a lot. Everyone is so nice here.”

  “Everyone?” I asked with a wink. “Even me?”

  She nodded. “Especially the sales team.”

  Praise the Lord.

  “Excellent. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Just let Myrna know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  I walked back to the sanctuary of my office, grateful that at least one catastrophe had been avoided. Now, Chastity and her fleeing the scene of a potential special connection, that challenge was a whole other matter entirely.

  Chapter Four

  Chastity

  By the time I got home, I felt better but still shell-shocked. I hadn’t had an interlude in person with a man in months. Just work and over the phone lines. It took over two hours – Chase hadn’t been lying about the train delays – and the fog shook from my head as I approached the rundown building in Crown Heights, Brooklyn that housed my apartment. Trina and I had lived there together for going on three years. We’d been matched together by the college as freshmen, and although we didn’t have very much in common, we’d really hit it off with each other. Trina was my rock.

  “Girl,” Trina said as soon as I let myself in the door. “Where the hell have you been?” She rolled her almond-shaped eyes. “I thought I was gonna have to send out a search and rescue.”

  I frowned. What would have happened if I had gone with Chase? Well, for starters, it would have been so unlike me that my roomie would have called the cops. That alone was enough to tell me that I’d made the right decision to blow him off. It’s not like I was ever going to see him again, anyway: the Banks building housed multiple businesses and twenty floors. Most of the time, I didn’t even see anyone outside my cubicle buddies.

  “The MTA sucked ass today,” I said, wrinkling my nose and throwing my tote bag down on our IKEA futon.

  Trina had Real Housewives of New York City blaring on the TV, and I watched for a few seconds, infuriatingly captivated by Luann de Lesseps as she tore Bethenny Frankel a new one. I liked Bethenny. She was tough and real. Like me. She’d clawed and scratched her way up and came out on top. A mogul. I could do the same. It killed me to admit it, but I envied her material possessions. Not because of what she had but how she didn’t have to struggle. And I envied people like Chase. The beautiful people, the gifted people, the people with enough money to buy a damn yacht for a stocking stuffer.

  “Oh, yeah?” Trina raised her eyebrows and hopped on the couch next to me. Over time, I’d gotten used to how gorgeous she was: with a mother from Japan and a father from Kenya, Trina turned heads no matter where she went. Her skin glowed with a faint golden hue, and her shiny hair looked incredible even with our cheap two-dollar shampoo. “How was work? Same old?”

  “Mostly,” I said. Trouble, my cat, jumped onto the futon and butted me with her head. Sighing, I scooped her up into my arms. “This guy called – it was a mistake. Actually, he was looking for his stupid limo driver – and we had a talk.” I smirked. “I think I turned him on before he hung up on me.”

  Trina threw her head back and laughed. “Girl, you gotta get a better job,” she said. “So, he works in your building? Is he cute?”

  I bit my lip, uncertain of what I wanted to say and how much I should reveal. Trina possessed an uncanny ability to read between the line
s, and I didn’t want to suffer her teasing for days on end. She knew my current love-life loomed desolate for months past and months in the future.

  “Unfortunately, he looks like Adonis,” I said, selecting each word with care. “I actually saw him in the elevator after work. We just randomly met after a pretty racy conversation.”

  “And?”

  I swallowed. Just thinking about Chase again caused tingles to erupt over every inch of my skin. Hot and itchy, like I needed to take a bath. Mmm, yeah, a bath with Chase in a tub built for two. Wincing, I turned back to Trina.

  “And he gave me a ride home.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “Thought you said the MTA sucked tonight? You can’t be in a car and on the subway at the same time, sistah.”

  “It was,” I clarified quickly. “I, uh, I jumped out of the limo.”

  Trina gaped and flung her expressive hands through the air like she was waving in a plane. “He really had a limo? Are you serious?”

  I nodded, my face a neutral mask. “It was like a damn high school prom,” I said. “The only thing missing was his white tux and my sparkly taffeta dress.”

  Trina burst out laughing and after a second, I joined in. I couldn’t help it – this was too much. When I really sat and thought about it, bad reality TV could center around what had happened today just like on the show that blared in the background.

  “Can I have his number?” Trina looked at me, eyes wide and searching. “Girl needs a new pair of shoes.”

  I rolled my eyes and threw a pillow at her. Trouble jumped out of my lap, meowed, and then skittered into the kitchen. I groaned when I heard her in the litter box a few seconds later, spraying litter all over the floor.

  Trina wrinkled her nose. “That cat is cute, but damn, she stinks.”

  “I know,” I groaned. “I’m sorry. I wish we could find a better place, but Brooklyn is so expensive.”

  Trina nodded. She stood up from the couch and stretched. Her shirt rose an inch or two, showing her perfectly flat tummy. I had a pooch there no matter how many crunches I suffered through. “You want a beer? I’m thinking tonight’s gonna be a night where we need some.”

  “Yeah,” I told her. “Sounds good.”

  I grabbed my tote bag and spread out my homework all over the wooden spool that we used as a coffee table. It was only the beginning of the semester, but I could tell that a truckload would get thrown at me. I was in all honors classes, trying to graduate summa cum laude and the homework kicked my ass daily.

  This one class in particular, Advanced Behavioral Psych, was really giving me problems. The professor was a total asshole, and he had a reputation for only giving one ‘A’ per semester, no matter how good the students were. Some bullshit bell curve. It made me angry. I’d really had to work my ass off to get into Hunter with scholarships, and I didn’t need any douchebag professor ruining my chances for second-semester funding.

  To make matters worse, my mind raced like California Chrome running for the wire. Every time I closed my eyes, Chase’s face lurked there, as if he’d somehow injected my brain with a serum that made me think of nothing but sex. Sex with him. Usually, after work, I didn’t want anything to do with sex – fantasy or reality. Lots of old men gushing about how they’d like to cream themselves with a pair of my dirty panties was enough for me to feel totally G-rated for the rest of the day.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation we’d had earlier. My cheeks turned red as I thought of how I’d pitched my voice low, talked about touching myself in front of Chase. Naturally, I never thought he would be so sexy in person. But now, my mind kept dragging me back to that explicit, raunchy world of naughty talk.

  What would sex with Chase be like? Would he be like one of those rich jerkwads I’d seen on TV who pumped and dumped? Or looked at himself in the mirror, à la Patrick Bateman in American Psycho? Or would he expect really kinky shit because he was so used to sleeping with women that regular sex bored him?

  I wrinkled my nose as the words in front of me turned into a mess of ink on paper. I chastised myself and let out a long sigh.

  Stop thinking about him, Chastity. Thinking about him won’t make this any better. You’re never going to see him again. And furthermore, you’re too different. He probably pisses champagne and shits diamonds in a marble toilet imported from Rome.

  “He’s under your skin,” Trina said. She sat down next to me with a huff and handed me a cold can of beer. “I can see it plain as day. You can’t stop thinking about him. You told me not to let anything veer you off course from your ultimate goal. This is me. Telling you. Sweep Hottie McFilthyRich out of your mind.”

  “Well, he was hot,” I snapped. “Of course I noticed. Any red-blooded woman would. But I know better than to get involved with someone who’s that far above me in the NYC social scene.”

  “Are we even involved in the NYC social scene?” Trina chuckled as she opened her laptop. “What was his name?”

  “Chase Bradenton,” I replied.

  I could still hear his annoyed, arrogant tone in my head: This is Chase Bradenton, from Banks Realty. I need my driver!

  “You weren’t kidding,” Trina said. She mimed fanning herself and spun the laptop around on her lap. “He’s a fox. Those eyes.” She shivered and then soothed the gooseflesh with her elegant fingers. “I feel like he can see right through my soul.”

  I blinked. The picture she’d pulled up wasn’t a professional one but from some kind of fancy event. Chase wore a tuxedo, with a beautiful blonde who looked like a Playboy bunny on his arm. He grinned at whoever snapped the photograph, his mouth opened like he’d been in the middle of saying something. There was a glass of champagne in his free hand almost the same color as his tanned skin.

  “Like I said,” Trina said with a smirk as she slammed the laptop shut. “Under your skin.” She sighed. “Hey, you think men like him ever want sugar babies?”

  “What?” I wrinkled my forehead. “What the hell is that? Like that candy?”

  Trina laughed. “You sweet, innocent summer child,” she said, shaking her head. “No, like that website. Rich dudes who want to pay some girl for the girlfriend experience. Take her shopping, take her to dinner.” She paused and shrugged. “Sometimes take her to a hotel. But you can make bank doing it. My friend, Jolie, posted to some sugar baby website and she loves it. Her clients are all these old guys, and she always makes fun of them behind their backs. Something about loose skin and saggy balls.”

  I forced a laugh. “And you’re thinking about doing that? You have a thing for a hanging ball sack?”

  She shrugged. “Ain’t all that different from what you do,” she said, then yawned as if the idea of working at all had tired her out. “We need a better apartment,” she whined. “That kind of money could help.”

  I frowned and turned back to the papers spread out on the futon. “Just be safe,” I mumbled. The mention of sex with wealthy men brought up Chase’s face again in my mind, and I sighed, trying to banish him from my thoughts. But instead, I thought of him telling me how hard his cock was for me, how much he wanted to slide it inside my wet folds.

  I shook my head. “Time to study,” I said firmly.

  No more thinking about you, Bradenton.

  I pursed my lips as I tried to picture that perfect crooked smile just one more time and then clamped my eyes shut against the compelling image.

  ***

  Plagued by nightmares, I barely slept that night. They were mostly about school. Turning in papers late, missing an exam. But there was one dream I had in the middle of the night that featured Chase. He was tanned and tux-clad, like in the photo, and staring at me hungrily with those dark brown eyes. In the dream, he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me toward him with a kind of practiced grace. But just as we were about to kiss, he pushed me away. You’re not my type, he said, voice dripping icicles. I just like the attention. Did you really think I wanted to be seen with you
at Daniel?

  After that last flippant barb, I jerked awake and couldn’t fall back to sleep no matter how many sheep I counted. I spent the wee hours of the night studying, and then finally collapsed in a heap on the living room futon with Trouble curled into my side.

  In the morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. My eyes were red and scratchy, and my mouth was horribly dry. I felt like I had the worst hangover of all time, except aside from that one beer, I hadn’t actually had anything to drink.

  You’re hungover on Chase, you idiot, I thought as I dressed in a loose sweater and ripped black jeans. And it’s time to go on the wagon.

  Trina had left by the time I was dressed and ready to go. She studied art and even though most of her classes didn’t meet until the evenings, she spent the mornings hanging out in coffee shops with her artsy friends, trying to sell portraits for ten bucks. She called it her tip money.

  Unlike me, she didn’t have a real job. At least not yet. Privately, I thought it was kind of gross that she’d think about selling herself for sex to geezers. Even if it wasn’t that different from what I did, at least I sat behind an anonymous phone line and didn’t have to spread my legs.

  The commute into Manhattan was crowded and noisy as usual. With a wistful sigh, I recalled the smooth elegance of Chase’s limo, along with that delicious spicy scent that enveloped him. Proud of myself for climbing out and getting away, guys like Chase didn’t really want anything to do with girls like me – in fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced the whole dinner invitation had been a joke. My skin prickled with embarrassment as I recalled how I’d almost accepted. Now, I was elated that I’d turned him down and dodged the bullet of future shame.

  As luck would have it, my first class of the morning was Advanced Behavioral Psych. Students peppered the room when I walked in, but I managed to snag the one remaining seat. Right at the front, in the line of sight of the douchebag bell curve lover.

  A guy sat next to me that I recognized from a few other classes – quiet and smart, but he always seemed like kind of a loner. Anti-social. When I realized he was staring at me, I smiled. Sometimes, I got a kick out of thinking about my job during school hours. I’m sure no one ever expected that Chastity Sexe was actually a Phone Sex Worker and thinking about their possible responses always tickled me. This guy would probably bust a nut if he knew the sordid truth.