by Katie Ford
“I love you too Lacy. And I’ll never let you go, I promise.”
With those words, the blonde turns my way and smiles tremulously.
“Do you promise, Mr. Bates? Forever and ever?”
I nod solemnly.
“Absolutely sweetheart, because you’re my one and only.”
Because with that, our vows are said. The most meaningful words that we’ll ever speak take place while we’re crouched on the floor of her aunt’s apartment, and not in some fancy restaurant or ballroom. Instead, I know the value of the girl before me … because Lacy started as my maid, but now she’s the my world, my life, and my heart.
EPILOGUE
LACY
When we come back to the penthouse, I confess everything.
“I couldn’t tell you it was him because I knew you’d fire him. He just needs the money so he can start a new life as a painter and finally let me go.”
“You respect him Lacy. That’s good.”
“But I don’t want him to touch me, or love me at all.”
“I understand Lacy. Look. We’re going to pay him what we would have if he did the paintings. But he’s not going to be around anymore.”
“Oh really Howie? Thank you!”
“It’s just you and me now honey.”
We walk into the kitchen and there’s Albie. She’s smiling.
“And guess what Albie was up to, this whole time we have been living together?”
Albie smiles and pulls a cord dangling from the wall. A curtain falls and on display are twenty portraits of me, in all different positions and dresses. There were even a couple sexy portraits with me holding whips and wearing lingerie.
“Albie! You’re such an incredible artist! Who knew!” Albie smiles, and raises a glass of limoncello. She was the artist all along.
“Now come with me upstairs. We’ve got a date on the rooftop.” Says Howie.
The sun is shining as we sit together at our table overlooking the city. The wind blows my designer clothes in soft brushes of heat.
“I love you Lacy.” Says Howie. Oh he looks so nice in his white linen suit. His blue eyes sparkle with truth. I know under that shirt is the most gorgeous abdomen I’ve ever seen, and below that, a true and magical heart.
“I love you Howie.”
I can’t believe this is happening. Howie stands up and lowers himself. To one knee.
“I had Margaret working on a little something in her jewelry studio, you know, while we were in Italy.”
My heart is thumping wildly in my chest. This can’t be real!!!!!
“Lacy,” he takes out a red velvet box. “Will you marry me?”
I smile a thousand times! The ring is perfect. It’s got a green stone. Margaret’s favorite color. But the gold band is as strong and sturdy as Howie Bates’ monster cock. Oh my god! I really am Cinderella!
“Yes Howie. Yes!”
“Say that a little louder!”
“Yes Howie. Oh my god!”
He lifts me up and pulls my leggings down. He slips the ring on my finger. Next thing I know we’re on the chaise longue. His beautiful penis bumps deep against my cervix. My silky girl juices gush as we thrust and thrust.
“I want to sink my seed in there real deep princess, so we can seed you. So you can be mine forever.”
“Yes Howie! Oh yes!”
We come and I’m screaming. This is the happiest moment of my life, and the best part is, I get to be this happy forever.
THE END
The President and the Starlet
~A Forbidden Romance~
© 2018
By Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
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ABOUT THIS BOOK
The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance
I’m a feature dancer.
He’s the leader of the free world.
Is it a match made in heaven?
Susie Hemphill’s trying to make ends meet working at a seedy joint on weekends while going to school at the same time. The Pink Flamingo’s not her ideal employer, but when she catches a glimpse of a dark man in the back one night, her pulse races. Could this alpha male be the man of her dreams?
Thomas Burke sometimes hits up local bars on the downlow as a way to unwind. After all, as President of the United States, it’s not easy to get away from the unrelenting eye of the public. But when he sees the beautiful Susie, everything changes because Tom will do anything to possess the curvy dancer … even if that means giving up the Presidential Suite!
CHAPTER ONE
Susie
I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, and this is one of them. Because if the folks from my hometown of Littleton, Kansas knew what I do to make ends meet, they would die. Heck, if I knew what had become of me, I’d die.
Because I’m an exotic dancer at the Pink Flaming in Midtown Manhattan, flaunting my assets for gentlemen who walk through the door. It’s a long way to fall for someone who was once Homecoming Queen as well as class president, but real life isn’t a fairy tale. And I learned that the hard way on my first day in the city.
“Hey chica,” leered Chester, my new landlord. “You got that deposit in cash?”
I looked at the overweight man with puzzlement.
“Um, I thought my broker already gave you my deposit?” was my meek reply. “I gave her a thousand dollars which I thought she forwarded to you.”
Chester shook his head slowly with a sad frown, but his eyes were secretly happy.
“No, Cheryl never paid me anything,” he said. “We gave you the key to the apartment as a courtesy but chica, we need that one thousand pronto. In cash would be best, if you know what I mean,” he intimated, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together in the timeless meaning of money.
I flushed.
“No, there’s been some mistake,” were my quick words. “I definitely gave Cheryl the money, and she told me she was giving it to you. There’s a mix-up somehow. Just let me get on the phone and clear it up. I’ll have it to you in no time.”
Chester spun and began waddling down the dingy hallway, his wifebeater showing a dirty stain on the back.
“Sure, chica, but if you don’t have it by tomorrow, I wouldn’t bother moving in,” he called carelessly over one shoulder. “In fact, you might want to stop right now because you know what they say. No moolah, no boolah!”
What the hell did that mean? Moolah was money, but boolah? Was that New Yorker for “trouble around the corner” or “pay up or you’re toast”? Was I supposed to watch crime family movies to make better sense of my new landlord’s lingo?
But one thing was clear. There was a mistake somewhere. I’d definitely given my broker a thousand dollars for my move-in deposit, and Cheryl was supposed to give it to Chester. So where was the cash? The money couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.
Fishing for my cell, I furiously dialed the middle-aged woman. Fortunately, she picked up on the first ring.
“Hiya deary,” sang Cheryl. “How’s your new apartment looking?”
The truth was that it was horrible. The tiny studio had only room for a bed and a chair, and there was no space for a couch, much less a dining room table. Plus, the tub was in the kitchen, and all I’d have to do was reach past my dish detergent for my soap. But I was grateful for the place because at the low price of one thousand dollars a month, it was a miracle I’d landed anything at all.
“It’s great,” I said hurriedly. “Listen, the manager just came by and said he never got my deposit? But I thought I handed it to you last week, and that’s why they gave me the key? Or has there been some misunderstanding?”
Of course, there was no misunderstanding and Cheryl didn’t even try to pretend.
“No, honey, it’s just different terms,” she said.
“Different terms?” I parroted, perplexe
d. “What do you mean? I thought it was one month’s deposit, and they’d refund it to me when I move out.”
“It is one month’s deposit,” Cheryl replied in a soothing tone. “But what Chester’s asking for is different from a deposit. He’s looking for key money.”
“Key money?” I repeated like an awkward lump. “What’s that?”
Cheryl spoke airily like there was nothing weird about all this.
“Key money can mean a lot of things, sweetheart,” she said. “It can be the payment a landlord makes to a tenant to encourage them to move on. It can be the payment a new tenant make to a former tenant in return for handing their lease to you. But in this case, I think Chester means ‘key money’ in its most basic sense. He wants his palms greased, sweetheart. He wants a little extra as a part of this transaction.”
My heart thumped as all the blood drained from my face.
“So you’re saying that Chester wants to be paid a bribe,” I said slowly.
Cheryl paused for a moment.
“Not exactly a bribe,” she said like this was no big deal. “Again, it’s just something to grease the wheels, except in this case, you’re greasing his wallet.”
By now, my heart was almost pounding its way out of my chest.
“But I don’t have it,” was my hoarse whisper. “What do I do? Half my stuff is already in the apartment, and I can’t just lose the money I’ve already paid.”
Cheryl was silent for a moment, although I could almost hear the wheels in her head clacking.
“Well, do you have some family that can help? Maybe your mom and dad?”
I sighed.
“No,” was my curt reply. “My parents aren’t an option.”
“Well maybe a great-aunt!” suggested Cheryl brightly. “Everyone’s got a fairy godmother somewhere, right?”
I rolled my eyes although she couldn’t see.
“No, I don’t have a great-aunt, a great-uncle, a god-mother, or a fairy anything who can help me. I’m sorry, but I’m just a small girl from Kansas who’s here to pursue her dreams. So is there something else I can do?”
“Get an advance on your credit card,” said Cheryl promptly. “The gods at Citi and Bank of America will answer.”
But that was the thing. I don’t have credit. As a recent high school graduate, I have no credit history to speak of. I’d only just applied for my first Mastercard last week, and it was a secured one where I put down five hundred dollars to open the card.
So I sighed again.
“I’m sorry, Cheryl. I just don’t have the money. Can you lend it to me?” I asked quickly. “I mean, this has kind of taken me by the surprise. In fact, it’s like a punch to the gut knowing that I have to fork over an extra four figures when I only just moved to the city. Could you spot me a little?”
I figured it would be no big deal for my broker because she dressed really fancy. During our week-long tour of New York, Cheryl had been wearing designer heels and carried a leather bag that was probably worth four figures in and of itself. Besides, we’d gotten friendly during our time together, and the real estate agent had assured me that once upon a time, she’d stood in my very own shoes.
“You’ll see,” Cheryl had chortled. “The city is like a big gift box. You open it up, and the most amazing ideas and inspirations come flying out, one after another. There’s no place like New York!” she rhapsodized.
This was exactly what I’d been hoping to hear. I’m an aspiring writer and the city was supposed to be my muse as well as the setting for the new book I wanted to author. So I figured Cheryl would be willing to help a girl with big dreams, since she’d once been that girl herself.
But the moment I asked for money, suddenly the woman grew hard of hearing.
“I’m sorry?” she queried coolly. “That doesn’t sound like the Susie Hemphill I know.”
My mouth grew dry but I forced myself to ask again.
“Please Cheryl,” was my quiet plea. “You know I don’t have a lot to spare. Otherwise, why would I rent a dingy walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen? And you said that you’ve been in my shoes before. Lend a hand to someone who needs it now?”
But the broker just cluck-clucked.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke primly. “But I don’t think we know each other that well. You’ll have to find another resource, Susie, but I’m sure it’ll all work out. And don’t forget to call me the next time you’re looking to move!” she sang before clicking off.
The urge to hurl my phone at the wall was overwhelming, but I forced my hand down to my side. After all, that would be another fifty bucks that I couldn’t spare, plus a trip to the Sprint store when I didn’t have time. So I took a deep breath even as the movers hauled the last of my belongings into the apartment.
“Thank you,” I said, opening my wallet and pressing a twenty into their hands. These guys deserved more than that, seeing that they’d just lifted my stuff up to the fifth floor, but I didn’t have more for the tip. So I shot them a nice smile. “I really appreciate it.”
And thankfully, the Jamaican crew nodded before disappearing silently down the stairs. But now I was left alone in this apartment that maybe wasn’t going to be mine for much longer. The dingy yellow walls weren’t much, not to mention the leak from the kitchen sink. But it was private space, and the only thing I had even remotely been able to afford during our tour. So taking a deep breath, I went down the stairs, making my way to the manager’s office.
“Chester,” I said, knocking on the door that had been painted so many times that it looked firmly stuck in place. “Can I talk to you? It’s Susie from 5B. I just moved in.”
I heard some scuffling inside and then the distinct click of a laptop case shutting.
“Come in!” bellowed Chester. As I opened the door, he shot me a smarmy grin. Sure enough, the guy had his legs up on his desk, a laptop perched on his belly with a ton of used tissues in the garbage can. Oh gross. Had Chester the Molester been masturbating while on the job? All I wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.
But right, business first. I had to negotiate this ‘key money’ thing that he seemed to expect.
“Chester,” I said peremptorily. “I didn’t know there was an additional fee on top of my deposit. I thought the deal was already signed, sealed and delivered.”
The obese man chuckled, his laptop bobbling like a ship on a jiggly sea as his stomach vibrated.
“No, it’s no worries,” he yawned, stretching both arms above his head. “Newbies to the city never get it. But yeah, we expect that money. It’s building management, you know,” he said conspiratorially.
I knew this was all fake. Building management had nothing to do with it. Chester wanted to keep the money for himself. But fortunately, I was able to keep the expression on my face neutral.
“Well, seeing that you understand that I’m new to New York, maybe we could work out a deal,” I said in an even tone. “Could I maybe pay an extra two hundred per month going forwards? That means I’d have the entire sum to you in five months. Or if we could reduce it, I’d be even more grateful. Maybe to seven or eight hundred? It’d make a world of a difference to me.”
But Chester shook his head regretfully.
“Naw, I’m sorry sweet’ums, but it’s building management calling the shots here. I’d happily reduce it to zero for you, but they’re expecting to be paid up there,” he said, pointing his finger to the ceiling. Where exactly was he referring to? Upstairs? My apartment? Heaven? But I decided to ignore it.
“Listen, I need to work out a deal,” came my firm voice. “I don’t have the money. There’s no one I can turn to, and I need to wait until I get my first paycheck to start making payments. So if you could help me out here ….”
To my surprise, Chester didn’t turn me down flat. Instead, he stretched again, showing his flabby white under arms, the yellow half-moons under his armpits gross and disgusting.
“Sure, sweet’ums,” he said casually again. “But if I
reduce the amount, what do I get?”
I was flabbergasted.
“I thought you said it wasn’t up to you?” came my confused voice. “That you had no decision-making power over the amount?”
Chester’s expression grew crafty then. I could almost see him sensing an opportunity and tapping his fingers together while hissing, “My Precious.”
“Well, I have a little wiggle room,” he said suggestively. “Like maybe if you wiggle for a me a bit, I’ll reduce it fifty bucks.”
I stared at him.
“I’m sorry?” I asked with a dumbfounded expression on my face. “Wiggle what?” Was this some sort of New York-ese that I wasn’t understanding again?
Chester rolled his eyes like I was a country bumpkin wearing overalls with a piece of straw stuck through my teeth.
“You know, shake da bom-bom,” he said, jiggling a bit in his chair in demonstration. “Do a little dance. Make me want it.”
And the dam burst in my mind then. Make it more like the great floodwaters rushed over my consciousness, making me feel horrified, shocked, and disgusted all at once. Chester expected me to dance for him, and in return he’d lower my rent? Oh god, no. This was like out of some sick Law & Order episode where a ruthless predator preys upon the young girl new to the city.
