Meat Market Anthology

by S. Van Horne

  But right now, she’s anything but confident and in control. If anything, she looks like she’s going to puke. Her alabaster skin is even whiter than normal—something I would never have imagined possible. It only makes the pink flush of embarrassment spreading across her chest and cheeks even more apparent.

  Shit. She’s beautiful when she’s flustered.

  I wait for her to say something, but the uncomfortable silence just continues to linger between us while we assess the situation analytically, like we are both trained to do. This has to be even worse for her than it is for me.

  Traffic whizzes by on the busy street behind me, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

  Fucking awkward.

  Someone has to say something. It might as well be me, I guess.

  “Uh, hi Josette. I didn’t realize…”

  How could I have known? She told Jason her name was “Jo.” That could be short for anything. And there’s no way she could have known it would be me. I try to maintain some anonymity by using my middle name, Lewis, when I go on dates.

  Still, what are the fucking odds…

  One lawyer working as an escort; one lawyer hiring one. This could not be more fucked up.

  She finally pulls her jaw up from off the floor and narrows her blue eyes on me.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I concur, counselor.

  What else can I do but shrug? Until she tells me to get lost, I’m committed to be her date for the evening, for whatever she wants. She sure as hell paid for it. “I wish I was, Josette.”

  Christ, I really, really wish I was.

  This could be so horrifically, fucking bad for me. One report to the Attorney Registration and Disciplinary Committee about what I’m doing, and my law license is fucking toast. Even if I argue that there were no sexual activities happening, which would be perjury, just being associated with an escort service is enough to end my career.

  Her head shakes from side-to-side, sending her blonde bob swinging just under her chin.

  “But…but how? Why?”

  She squeezes her eyes closed and pinches the bridge of her nose momentarily. When she returns her gaze to me, the questions still linger in those blue orbs. Keeping her eyes on me seems almost like a physical struggle at this point; they bounce behind me to the street, across to the neighbors, and then down to her feet while she waits for my response.

  We would need several hours and a couple bottles of good bourbon before I could fully answer those questions. And it would probably be less painful if she submitted them in interrogatory format so I can just type them out instead of having to verbally answer and relive the last two years of my life.

  I look down at my watch—anything to avoid maintaining eye contact with her when she so obviously doesn’t want to look at me.

  It’s only been five minutes? I feel like I’ve been standing here for an hour already.

  “Do we need to be anywhere? Your instructions said to be here promptly at seven thirty.”

  “Shit!” Her head jerks up, and she looks over her shoulder at a clock hanging in the entryway of her condo. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Yeah, we gotta go. We can discuss how fucking awkward this is later.”

  Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe it, even though that’s the word that’s been rattling around in my head since the moment she opened the door. This is epically, totally, and royally fucked-up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JOSETTE

  BY DISCUSS THIS LATER, I meant never. Because really, if this is embarrassing for me, it must be ten times worse for Wade. He’s a goddamn lawyer moonlighting as an escort. How the hell does that even happen? He has to know he could be disbarred for this. There’s no way the bar would let this fly. Even if all he’s doing is dates, which I highly doubt given what was told to me about The Meat Market, that’s more than enough to raise questions of ethics.

  So, I’ll just get through the night, and we can pretend like this never happened.

  Our ride to the party is, thankfully, short and silent. Wade has a nice car, a really nice car. The supple leather hugs my body and the low hum of the engine almost manages to soothe my frayed nerves.

  Is he doing this for the money?

  He’s an amazing lawyer; he should be making enough to support himself unless he’s one of those douche nozzles who has to have the best of everything so he can show off.

  But Wade never struck me as an arrogant man.

  Confident, yes. Arrogant, no.

  Hell, maybe he’s just doing it to get laid. That wouldn’t surprise me. He is a man, after all.

  Wade fucking Saxon. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been some perfectly nice guy like Dylan? One who I don’t have to see all the time around the courthouse.

  We pull up beside the valet stand outside the Art Institute. By the time the valet has assisted me out of the car, Wade is already at my side offering me a half-hearted smile.

  “Shall we?” He holds his elbow out for me. I hesitate briefly.

  It’s necessary, Josette.

  I never thought I’d have to give myself a pep-talk to take the arm of a handsome man. One who I have noticed more than once around the courthouse. Leave it to fate to fuck with me like this. How many damn men are there in Chicago? Why does he have to be Filet Mignon?

  When we reach the stairs, he removes his arm from mine and slides his hand down onto my lower back. A tingle races up my spine at the gesture. He ushers me up, and with every step, the warmth of his palm through my dress is a constant reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.

  With a person, that is.

  Wade halts me at the top of stairs with a hand on my shoulder. I turn to him and raise an eyebrow in silent question.

  He offers an apologetic smile. “What’s our story?”

  Shit, I hadn’t thought about that.

  I shrug and check out the area around us to ensure no one is close enough to overhear us conspiring. “What would you suggest?”

  His eyes travel down my body before returning to mine. The corner of his mouth quirks up. I’m sure the half-smile is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it sends my already starved libido galloping faster than American Pharaoh.

  He takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it.

  Who the hell does that anymore?

  That half-smile turns into a grin. “I guess, given the circumstances, we met at the courthouse and have been seeing each other for a couple months?”

  Easy. Straightforward. Believable.

  I nod my agreement to the story and take his arm again.

  We’re about to walk into the lion’s den. Thankfully, we’re both trained liars.

  WADE

  Why the hell does a woman like Josette need an escort for a work party?

  Men should be lining up to spend time with her. Every male lawyer I know has a real hard-on for her. Any one of them would have given their left nut to be the man at her arm tonight.

  Instead, she’s paying me…

  Without need.

  I would have gladly accompanied her if she’d only asked. What is so important about this party that she had to spend that kind of money to ensure a date?

  After twenty minutes inside, I have the answer. Every old goat in the joint has expressed their surprise to Josette. Apparently, her showing up with a date, a boyfriend, none the less, is a bit of a shock. From the way they talk, I’m surprised a couple haven’t dropped dead from a heart attack at the mere sight of me with my arm around her.

  What a bunch of misogynist pricks. No wonder she didn’t want to come alone. They’re more interested in discussing our “future” together than anything else, and they’ve barely let her get a word in. All the attention is on me—my career, my plans for us.

  Normally, I wouldn’t mind. A room full of lawyers isn’t intimidating for me. It’s home. But knowing we’re lying and this is all a big scam is making me uneasy. It wouldn’t be an issue if she
were some random woman and this were some random work party. But these are my colleagues, people I have to see professionally every day for the next fifty years.

  Well, I’ll be practicing for another fifty years to pay off my student loans; these old fucks will be dead in less than ten if their appearance is an indication of their health.

  As if their condescension weren’t enough, my empty tumbler only aggravates me more. I need another drink, and given the look in Josette’s eyes, she does too. They’re narrowed at one of the partners, Godfrey Mason, as he rambles on about his “courtship” of his late wife, Justine. He’s just reached the “she was a good little lady who stayed at home, never complaining, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen” part of his story. Basically, the exact same thing we’ve already heard from every other partner tonight.

  How Josette manages not to haul off and slap them senseless is a testament to her self-control. But mine is starting to slip. More alcohol would be a big help.

  A hand on my shoulder has me turning away from Josette and the douchebag partners.

  Holy shit!

  “Dylan? What are you doing here?” I never thought I’d be so happy to see my former co-worker from The Meat Market.

  He smirks and hands me a glass I’m praying contains something very strong. “You looked like you could use one of these.”

  “You’re right.” He always was insightful. Much to my benefit tonight. I tip the glass back and savor the burn of whatever mid-level whiskey they’re serving at the bar.

  “Ginger works for Goldberg, Mason, and Quinley. She’s actually Josette’s secretary.”

  What the hell?

  I survey the room, and sure enough, Ginger’s in the corner chatting with some other attorneys I recognize from the courthouse. When her eyes meet mine, she winks and holds a glass of champagne up in my direction.

  Christ.

  “You could have given me some warning, man.”

  He chuckles, and I follow him to a less populated area of the room. This isn’t exactly a conversation to have where others can eavesdrop. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t know until we were almost here. Ginger said she gave Josette the menu when she needed a date, but apparently Josette never told her she actually booked anyone until earlier today.”

  “You boys better not be talking about me.” Ginger slides her arm around Dylan’s waist, and his goes around her shoulders.

  I glare at her, trying to convey just what a shit situation she’s put me in. It’s not that I don’t want to be out with Josette, because I do. I just don’t want her to have paid for it. “Jesus, Ginger, you could have warned me Josette was my date tonight.”

  She sighs and tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder before offering an apologetic smile.

  “Look, I didn’t even know she had gone through with it until a couple hours before the party, and by then, it was too late for her to find another date. She needs this, Wade. Like, really, really needs it. She’s been gunning for partner and working eighty-hour weeks. And they flat out told her she’s not ‘stable’ enough because she hasn’t settled down yet.”

  “Well, shit.” I suspected as much given how they’ve been talking and acting, but for the assholes to actually tell her that to her face…

  They have some fucking balls.

  Though they are probably shriveled and wrinkly by this point.

  Now I understand why she needed me so badly tonight. I just wish I were here with her under other circumstances. She looks fucking smokin’ in that dress.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOSETTE

  I’M NOT SURE WHAT GINGER and Dylan said to Wade, but when he seeks me out after their little powwow, any awkwardness that had existed between us seems to vanish the moment he put his arm around me.

  The menu didn’t lie.

  “Lewis” can charm the pants off anyone, including the partners. He’s gracious, flirty, friendly with everyone, and a grade-A schmoozer. He’s also somehow managed to keep my temper from flaring while listening to the partners. It can only be winning me points, especially since he seems intent on spending his time lauding how amazing I am—in and out of the courtroom.

  “The first time I saw Josette, she was arguing a summary judgment motion in front of Judge Cocher. It only took about two minutes of me witnessing the way she tore apart any argument the plaintiff tried to put forth before I was a goner. I think the only person more stunned than the judge was me.”

  He glances over at me with those damn bourbon eyes, and the flare of heat in their depths almost makes me believe he’s telling the truth.

  Stop it, Josette.

  I force myself to take a half-step farther away from him. Just standing that close to him, feeling the heat radiating through his perfectly tailored tuxedo has me considering things good girls don’t think about. He gets paid to give women attention and make them feel appreciated and loved. That’s all this is.

  Bill and Kevin chuckle at Wade’s description and then turn their focus to me. “So how did he end up winning your heart, Josette?”

  Well, shit.

  Lying to my bosses about having a steady boyfriend is one thing, but delving too deep into any specifics of our “relationship” will only lead to future issues. I know what happens when people develop elaborate stories to try to cover up the truth. They fuck up. They get caught. They end up in deep shit. And sometimes in jail.

  “Oh, you know, he charmed me with his briefs.”

  A round of drunken chuckles ensues, and Wade casts me a look that sends a ripple of warmth through my limbs, straight to my core.

  And now I’m picturing him in tight as hell boxer briefs…with a massive bulge.

  Shit.

  At least it seems to satisfy the bosses, and they move back to grilling Wade about his law practice instead of his “love” for me. He launches into a discussion of his practice focus, and I release a sigh of relief. It seems the portion of the evening where they cross-examine us has concluded, and with no blood spilled. It couldn’t have gone better. I don’t think I’ve ever had a real boyfriend who was so gregarious and charming.

  But this is going to be a long night now that I can’t get the image of him undressed out of my head.

  WADE

  Christ.

  How is it possible for Josette to have gotten more beautiful as the night went on?

  It’s not from the alcohol. I only had three drinks and was stone cold sober when we left the party. No, it’s not from booze, it’s because now I’ve actually spent time with her and know it’s not just beauty on the outside.

  There’s always been something about her. But tonight, I finally figured out what it is. She’s just real. There’s no façade; there’s no act; there’s no different person in the courtroom in her real life. She’s the same firecracker whether she’s arguing a motion or discussing the latest episode of Law & Order with her work colleagues. And fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  Walking up the stairs to the small porch of her condo, I can’t keep my eyes off the way her dress hugs her firm ass. I want nothing more than to take her inside and show her just how fucking gorgeous she really is.

  And given the way she’s been looking at me all night, I’m pretty sure she’d let me. But then again, it’s been a while since I’ve been alone with a woman who wasn’t paying for my company.

  Isn’t that a bitch…

  Josette pauses at the door and turns to face me. “Thanks for tonight, Wade. I know it can’t have been comfortable for you.”

  It certainly wasn’t easy on my cock. I must have had a raging hard-on for about half the night.

  I grin at her and take a step closer. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I had an amazing time with you this evening.”

  She quirks an eyebrow at me, and I close the distance between us until we’re a mere hairsbreadth apart. I lean in, intent to show her just what a great time I really had, but her hand on my chest stops me. She backs away a step until her b
ody is pressed against the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Her ice-cold eyes are nothing like the warm pools I’ve been swimming in all night.

  Seriously?

  I thought it would be obvious.

  “Kissing you.”

  I don’t even see it coming, just feel the sharp sting of her slap across my left cheek.

  My hand instinctively moves up to cover my tingling flesh. “What the hell was that for?”

  Red colors her cheeks, and her fists clench and unclench at her sides. “You’re a real asshole, Wade. I can’t believe you thought I would pay you to have sex with me.”

  Wait, what?

  I’m so stunned by her accusation that, by the time I gather my thoughts enough to reply, she’s already inside and slams the door in my face. I stare at the dark brown wood of the door for several moments, trying to get my head around what she said.

  What the hell just happened?

  How could she not understand that tonight was genuine, and that I actually like her—a lot. This was never about the payment—well, at least not once I knew she was my date for the night.

  I guess it doesn’t matter. All she sees me as is a fucking whore.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WADE

  SHE WON’T EVEN LOOK AT me. Twenty minutes of sitting across from each other in the courtroom, waiting for our cases to be called, and not once has she bothered to even glance over here.

  As far as she’s concerned, I don’t exist.

  I get paid to sleep with some of the most beautiful and classiest women in Chicago, but the only one I want won’t even look at me. Because I’m a whore.

  This is the first time in almost two years I really feel slimy about what I’ve been doing.

  And ain’t that a bitch.

  “Wheaton vs. First State Insurance Company, case number 17L205.”

  My case being called finally breaks what was probably a little bit of creepy staring at Josette. The scheduling conference should only last five minutes.