The Choice

by Alice Ward

  I refused to be intimidated by the strangeness of our interaction. With effort, I held a relaxed and pleasant expression on my face and smiled graciously, daring her with my gaze to shut me down again.

  “He died and took with him the grace of a man who knew exactly how to love a woman. I doubt any other man is his equal.” I could see she too was waging an internal war, fighting to stay unaffected and distant or else unravel and shatter.

  My intrigue spiked, and I felt something in me give as I came to realize she and I fought similar demons. Why antagonize a woman who might have the capacity to understand me? Why not reward her honesty with some of my own?

  I shifted gears. “I’ve been with many women, but when I was in my twenties, I nearly married one. She was beautiful, refined, educated. After a lot of thought and consideration, I let her into my world. As soon as she understood the expanse of my wealth, she changed her interest from engaging in a loving relationship with me to securing as much of my worth as she could get. Now, I’m much more careful.” I leaned back, feeling more comfortable.

  The ball was in her court. Would she volley?

  “Thank you for sharing, Mr. Wellington. I’m sure those memories are painful. Are you ready for our third question?” Her mask of perfection hadn’t altered. Her face, body, and countenance remained exquisitely fabricated.

  She hadn’t taken the bait, and our night was in jeopardy of becoming a show bigger than the opening act she’d already performed.

  “I am.” I hadn’t intended for the disappointment to resonate in my voice.

  Her faced softened some, as if she sympathized. “If you had a choice to lose a part of your body, an important part, which would you choose? Question three.”

  Finally, we were reaching depth. I could only assume she’d lost an important part of herself. The limp, her mask — tragedy must’ve robbed her of something precious.

  That made sense. Why else would she work at a brothel, even the most exclusive brothel in the world? She’d lost something significant.

  I appreciated the interlude into a more meaningful exchange, so I cut her some slack. “Are you threatening me?” My levity got her, and she responded with unexpected laughter.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” She leaned against the arm of her chair. Damn, she had to be trained to do that, look so seductive just propped against a chair arm. Just then, her eyes moved almost unwillingly to my crotch.

  “I’d definitely keep this,” I said, giving myself a light, quick stroke, playing her game without being too crude. “It’s worth saving.” I smiled and let my gaze travel over my arm, down my leg, until I felt hers join in, inspecting my body. “If I were to choose to lose any part of my important senses, I guess it would be my eyes. I don’t want to see the world sometimes. People are often cold and ugly to one another, especially in high-powered business transactions. I read people well. I know their intentions. It’s disgusting, and it would sometimes be a relief to never see their base natures, forever blinded to their greed and debauchery.” I felt sweat gathering at my brow. I’d let my emotions take over, said too much.

  I took a drink of my vodka, which still had a few dwindling ice cubes, hoping to cool down. I was being impulsive. She’d engaged me to the point I’d forgotten to hold back. Damned if I didn’t care if she caught and branded me.

  “At the risk of wasting a question, I’m curious. Which body part would you choose?” I took another healthy drink of the beverage then set my glass down within the wet ring of condensation left on the coaster. I ran my finger through the moisture, wondering if I’d aroused her as much as she had me. Was she turned on? Wet? Yearning?

  She had no immediate response, and I couldn’t gauge her reaction, which was strangely unsettling. Had I probed too deeply? Was she even better than me at hiding her true feelings?

  She took a drink of water and then smiled casually. After a long beat, she spoke in a serene and measured tone. “My heart, Mr. Wellington.”

  I’d barely spent twenty minutes with her, but I was filled with words she hadn’t said in the unspoken language between our bodies and our minds. She was riddled with heartbreak, and yet she elegantly recomposed into something untouchable. Now I knew why. It was so she might never be shattered again. To keep herself safe.

  I couldn’t help my sudden desire to protect her, followed by an insatiable need to take care of her.

  “Are you hungry?” I needed something other than carnal desire to fill the strange emptiness opening up inside me. And I hoped the offer of food might draw her out even more and stretch out the time I had with her.

  “Are you asking your next question?” she teased. It was hard to decipher whether she was being a straight-up bitch or joking.

  “No, there’s food on the table, I’m being polite since I don’t know whether you’ve eaten after your performance.” I stood up from my chair. “But that was a nice try.”

  As I passed her chair, I brushed my hand across her shoulder as a test. Her body stiffened rigidly at my touch.

  To lighten the mood, I waved the pate knife at her, and in a scolding voice teased, “I still have two more questions allotted in the contract. I won’t be tricked out of them by a scoundrel.” My cock, while tamed some by my trousers, was still on glorious display as I wielded the knife and helped myself to the offerings.

  While my back was turned, I listened to her draw in a long breath. “Of course. Thank you for your offer, but I’m not hungry.”

  As I returned to my seat, she exhaled and shifted, her hands now gripping the chair arms. Her face told a different story, one of calm resolve.

  “Am I making you nervous?” I asked pointedly. “Also not a formal question.”

  She huffed out another breath and fanned her suddenly flushed face with a wave of her hand. “It’s hot in here.”

  I sat a plate of samplings on her table before returning to my chair. “Shall I call the hostess to adjust the temperature?”

  My temperature had risen too, but not because the room was warm. It was actually quite comfortable. I knew exactly what was heating her up. There was sex in the air in this place. It wasn’t just us. Who could be at Jewel for any length of time and not get overheated?

  “No, thank you, let’s continue.” She took a grape, popped it in her mouth, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

  I nodded, on the edge of a feeling I hadn’t experienced since I was a child — giddy. Being with her was electrifying. Like this place. Her. “You’re up.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Adara

  This man was making me squirm in my chair. Pressing my thighs together to subdue the ache, I tried unsuccessfully to keep my eyes from gravitating to his dick, which was sitting high in the air for me, teasing me like we were fucking around in study hall.

  I’d seen hot men before. I grew up with them. Hot foster brothers, hot police officers who’d come to the house to cart my mom off to jail. Hot “uncles” who smelled like cigarettes and beer. Hot rock and movie stars. None of them ever got to me.

  Except Nate.

  Which was a bit strange, because even though he was extremely handsome, he wasn’t exactly hot as per the current definition. He was kind, which transformed his looks into something mouthwatering. Kind could bore holes in my soul. And had.

  He had an edge to him as well, so kind didn’t fit him completely. As I watched him closely, I couldn’t establish whether Mr. Wellington was kind or kind of an asshole. He seemed like a bit of both.

  One thing I did know was that when he touched me, I nearly rocketed to the subdued lighting in the high ceiling. I needed to get my ice-bitch face back on, so I used the breathing technique I learned in my grief and recovery class.

  Two questions to go, then I could rush back to my apartment and forget that I’d ever sat across from a man who ate caviar on a cracker with an astounding boner pointing in my direction.

  After a few more deep breaths, I felt more grounded.

  “To date, what has bee
n your greatest achievement? Question four.” As he launched into a lengthy story about an intricate business partnership, I tried to concentrate on his eyes and not think of my greatest moments, but it didn’t do me any good. His boring speech made me just want to concentrate on his cock even more, so I let my mind wander to my own greatest achievement.

  My greatest moment should have been my wedding, but Nate’s family ruined it. They wanted Nate to marry a southern girl. He was all country, and I was all rock-n-roll. Frankly, I terrified them, so they did their best to ruin us at every opportunity. In the hopes they would change their feelings toward me, we kept putting the wedding off… and putting it off… then… he was gone.

  Since there was no walk down a rose strewn aisle for me, the best memory I could recall was walking up another type of aisle. This one after my name was called at the Grammy Awards for Best New Artist.

  My song, “Mamma Ain’t Gonna Lie,” had been at number one for twenty-seven consecutive weeks. I wrote that song while visiting Louisiana, deep in the bayous.

  There was this gorgeous young mom with an incredible afro, her hair spiraling to the sky. She was proud of who she was, and it showed. Her mini-me daughter sat beside her on a bench, sporting a ‘fro just as gorgeous.

  They seemed fabulous. Not rich, but unique and special, like the Earth revolved around them and all their moments. The little girl had ice cream dripping down her face, and her mom took a napkin from her purse and wiped it off. It was a simple gesture, just a tiny drop of love, but my mom never did anything like that. I didn’t even remember getting ice cream with her. Mostly, it was drugs. She brought me along when she was trying to score.

  Watching the two of them, I thought that little kiddo’s mom would never lie to her. She’d always be real and just scoop her up when shit went down. My mom always said she “ain’t gonna lie” to me, but she never told the truth. I wrote a song right there on the bayou, watching a mom and daughter. It debuted at number one.

  I found the two of them years later and sent them some of the royalties with a note. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all the news channels went nuts for the story. I’m glad I did it though. The story celebrated motherhood and helped pay for the little girl’s college education. It was a good thing.

  A few weeks later, I stepped up on the stage and accepted my award for Best New Artist. It was the best achievement I’d probably ever have now.

  Mr. Wellington’s voice pierced through my memory. “So,” he continued, deep in a story I hadn’t heard, “landing that account has been my greatest achievement to date.” He paused, and his eyes slowly narrowed.

  Shit, I must’ve totally spaced.

  “However, I can see by your glazed-over stare, my best moment wasn’t very riveting.” Disappointment dripped from his voice.

  Recover this, Adara. There’s a lot of money on the line.

  “I’m glad it all worked out in your favor, Mr. Wellington. You made the right choice. You should be proud.” I punctuated this with a genuine smile. Although I hadn’t listened to the story, I was sincerely happy that this nice man had done well.

  He smiled in return, relaxing again. “Yes, I was rather happy it all turned out as it did. Being in my position is sometimes quite the thrill ride.”

  “And your question?” I slipped back into seductress mode again, trying to ignore the images that his “thrill ride” brought to mine. Like me leading him to the bed, pushing him down on it, and taking control. Stripping him of his suit and climbing on top of him. Not giving him even a moment to gather himself before I positioned him at my opening and pressed my weight down on him, until he sank deep into me.

  “Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” His voice was stiff, as was his handsome. Why was he suddenly stressed? Uncomfortable? What had I missed?

  My face and body felt stiff too. My blouse was sticking to my skin in the heat of the room. I wondered if all the girls felt this way, and that was why they thought nothing of taking a strange man into their bed.

  Then his question sank in, and my skin turned suddenly cold. There was no way he would really recognize me — no one had. I’d worn my mask all evening. My previously blonde and purple-tipped hair was back to its original shade of dark brown with a few highlights. And rumor had it I’d died of a drug overdose. Forget that I’d never actually taken drugs. To most in the world, Adara Wilde was history.

  “Maybe I knew you in another life,” I blurted out, then inwardly cringed.

  Stupid. So stupid, Adara. You need to give him meaningful answers.

  “Doubtful. I don’t believe in reincarnation.” He wasn’t too amused by my evasion.

  “Okay.” I laughed and leaned forward, taking a more flirtatious approach. “Your waitress at Denny’s perhaps.”

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t work at Denny’s.” His eyes became distant as he sifted through the far reaches of his memory for the answer.

  Luckily, he drew a blank.

  “Have you worked here long?”

  Thank god. A question I could answer honestly. “Just started a few months ago.”

  “Well, must be my imagination then. How many questions do we have left?” He set his plate down on the table next to him and picked up his vodka, which was nothing more than a swallow of liquid in the bottom of the glass.

  Though I could call him on his last question, make it count, I decided to give him one more. “Do you want something else to drink first?” I asked, following protocol.

  A happy client was a drunk one. We had to offer beverages when the client’s libations were low.

  “Do I have time for another?” He seemed to perk up a bit at the thought of more time together.

  He was sexy and cute when he had a playful reaction to something. I liked Mr. Wellington more than I thought I would. He seemed real.

  Not much at Jewel was real. And it was way too good to have a conversation with someone from outside of here, even if I had to play cat and mouse.

  “You may have as much time as you want. At Jewel, we only satisfy.” I batted my eyes and fake smiled, putting on an overblown show as I called in the hostess for another drink.

  “I bet.” He shot me a genuine smile, seeming to see through my acting skills. “Let’s continue then,” he said as he put the glass down and rested his palms on his knees.

  I glanced at the bed behind him. A hot need burned in my center, making me wonder what it would be like to take him to the soft mattress and handle that bulge of his.

  “My turn,” I said quietly as my lungs constricted. I wished I could stretch out this last question, make the evening with him last longer. He intrigued me, a real man from outside the confines of Jewel.

  But I would never be rejoining the real world.

  I took a deep breath. “If you could have one moment of your life back and relive it, what moment would you choose? Question five.” I leaned into the chair and did my very best to keep my breathing stable, keep my Jewel face on beneath my mask.

  He looked at me for a long time, seeming to go over every angle of my exposed face. It was like a caress and a probe at once. To end it, I was about to prod him further when he smiled, and his eyes sparked.

  “It would be the moment I purchased this conversation with you,” he said plainly, still smiling.

  My heart exploded in my chest as air left my lungs. He regretted our time together? He couldn’t demand his money back, but I guess I had been evasive. Dammit. I’d been trying to keep him from prying my life apart. I couldn’t give away too much and have him figure out my identity.

  If he was disappointed, why was he still smiling? Had he meant it in a romantic way? Was he trying to coerce me into fucking him? He was oh-so-fuckable, and I didn’t want to leave him unhappy.

  No. No, I wouldn’t do that no matter how sexy the man. No matter how much he made me squirm.

  I kept my voice steady. “Why, Mr. Wellington? Only five of the questions were mine, you could have asked anything you wanted
within reason.”

  The slow, steady heat in his eyes flared, and suddenly, all I wanted was for this meeting to be over. But then again, I didn’t. Damn. I was getting entirely too worked up.

  “I’d go back and change my offer. I wouldn’t have offered to just talk with you. I would’ve paid to listen.” He sat thoughtfully for a moment. “And… I would’ve offered to make love to you. I wouldn’t have sex with you or order anything off of a menu. Nothing for myself. I’d hold you, caress you, bring you to delight.” He leaned forward again, his eyes nearly glowing in the soft light. “Until you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone on this Earth cared for you. If I could’ve had that moment back and changed my mind, that’s what I would’ve done.”

  Tears and carnal longing clogged my throat. There was so much kindness and truth behind his words, and so much sensuality. Did he really mean that?

  Or was it a game he played, the picture he’d painted his trump card?

  He had me scrambling to stay afloat, when just a few moments ago I’d been leading this interaction. I forced myself back into the elusive butterfly role. “I’m glad you didn’t, Mr. Wellington. Or you and I never would’ve had this time together. I’m not a whore.”

  He didn’t even blink. “You’re right, but I didn’t say anything about buying your services. I said I would’ve paid to listen to you. I’d make you feel good for free.” He looked surprised by his next words. “Love the pain away.”

  My whole body was trembling, and I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. It was palpable, the raw sexual tension, the unearthed and unclaimed truth between us.

  I took in a deep breath, willing my voice to remain steady. “It’s time for your last question, Mr. Wellington.”

  He got up out of his chair, and the hairs raised on the back of my neck, and not from fear. I was tensed and ready to bolt because of the pull that made me want to let him continue to sit across from me all night. It would be wonderful to allow myself to relax, have a drink, listen to this man’s voice for as long as I wanted.