by J. L. Mac
“Wait… WHAT?” Maggie whisper-yells into the phone. The speakerphone on my cell vibrates and I set down my hairbrush to turn the speaker off and put the phone to my ear.
“Yeah. That’s what happened. I just had to… process all of this.”
“Are you going to do it? The thirty days?”
I groan into the phone, feeling so frustrated with how everything has been playing out. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet. How’s Trey?”
“What? Oh he’s on cloud nine. We stopped by the game store and bought the new Mortal Enemies Dark Ninja game.”
“Don’t let him play that all night.”
“Oh, he won’t. We take turns.” I can practically see her waving away my concern. “Lindsay,” her voice turns soft, “moving back to the subject at hand—are you going to take the deal? I mean, are you going to do the thirty day thing? What exactly is expected of you? Is this like Pretty Woman?”
I sigh heavily into the phone and contemplate everything that has been thrown my direction in the last few days. Losing my job. Getting evicted. Meeting Russ. Hating Russ. Wanting Russ. Needing to take the deal he’s offering, if only to survive…
“I’m not sure. He said he has some conditions that I need to hear and then I’ll decide, but honestly, I don’t think I have much choice. He may have a whole other side of him, but I need food and shelter and some time to find a decent job.”
“I bet he’s a weirdo with kinky fetishes,” Maggie whispers. I click my tongue at her and roll my eyes. “No seriously, I bet he likes to wear diapers and suck on pacifiers or something weird.”
“No way. He may have this Jekyll and Hyde thing going on but he isn’t like… that. I’m sure of it.”
“I need to see a pic and then I’ll know for sure. I have a keen eye for weirdos,” she reminds me.
“Takes one to know one, I suppose. I’ll see what I can do about that picture,” I jibe, pausing to check the time on my cell phone screen.
“Touché, hooker. Touché.”
I snort-laugh and turn back to my reflection in my bathroom mirror. “Well, Weirdo, I have to go. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Okay. Pepper spray his ass if he gets all touchy feely.”
“Pepper spray is locked and loaded,” I lie. My bottle is expired and has been for some time, but personal security hasn’t been a priority as of late, which really means as of never. It’s a testament to just how pathetic my life has been. A can of decent pepper spray only runs ten or twenty bucks, but I haven’t had the extra cash to buy a little peace of mind. Surely life gets better than this.
I end the call and set my phone back to the countertop. 5:42 and I still have to finish my hair and makeup. Curly hair can be a true curse. I let the mass of freshly washed curls hang down my back, dry and just kind of doing its own thing. It looks okay like this. Natural. Makeup for me is a task mostly because I don’t have the greatest products. Good makeup is expensive, so everything I have is the pharmacy brand and pretty old. Thankfully I’ve never been very bold with makeup, so I keep it simple with light eyeliner, a little eye shadow that I hope makes my dark blue eyes look nice, and two coats of mostly dried out mascara. I smear on my tinted lip balm and give my hair a little tousle. A quick spray of perfume and I’m as ready as I think I can ever be.
Butterflies swarm wildly in my stomach. I take a deep breath and step back to examine as much of me as possible in the vanity mirror. I’m wearing my nicest jeans with my black peep toe heels. My shirt is nothing fancy, but it does hug me in all the right places. It’s white and has a tailored sort of quality to it which makes it look way more expensive than it actually was. It’s cotton and comfortable and quite frankly it’s one of my nicest shirts, so it’ll have to do. I lace my only black belt through the loops of my jeans and take a deep breath, doing my best to calm my nerves.
A knock at my apartment door resonates through my small home, jarring me from my silent meditation. I glance at my cell to check the time again.
“5:57,” I mumble to myself as I hurry from my bathroom to the front door. I unlock the deadbolt and swing the door open and there he is in a pair of dark blue jeans and simple jet black dress shirt. He’s skipped the tie and left the top two buttons undone, giving the ensemble a look of refined casualness. How in the hell can he pull of casual and formal at the same time?
Those green eyes that seem too good to be true lock on with mine and something carnal passes between us. I’m instantly feeling breathless and weak in the knees. Crap. I thought he was gorgeous earlier, but he’s unfathomably gorgeous wearing that dark look that all but spells out what he’s thinking—what I’m thinking. My brain is screaming to get my pepper spray. The paranoid part of me wonders if his conditions have to do with some sort of kinky deviant plans, but the hunger in his eyes isn’t deviant. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Regardless, I’m practically a virgin, and worry begins to outweigh the desire that seeing him has ignited within me. I take a step back.
Russ notices my small retreat and allows me a moment to gather my thoughts. “Ready?” he asks with his head slightly cocked.
I can’t help but feel like he’s asking so much more than if I’m ready to leave for our date. All I can do is answer honestly. “I think so.”
Russ extends his big hand to me and I take one last look at his green eyes, grab my purse off the table beside the door, and place my hand in his. I hope this isn’t a huge mistake.
He leads me in silence to the elevator, not loosening his grip on my hand at all. It’s like he’s holding on for fear that if he lets go, I’ll go up in a cloud of smoke and dust. It’s endearing and makes me warm a little to the man who wounded me in his office. I inch just a little closer to him. I guess it’s my way of saying, “I’m here. I said I’d hear you out and that’s what I plan on doing.”
Russ glances over at me and the ghost of a sweet smile tilts his lips up at the edges. I bet he has a stunning smile.
We ride in silence to the ground floor and step out into the evening air hand in hand. Russ has long legs; I must take four steps to his two. I’m guessing he’s maybe a couple inches over six feet and holy shit is he a glorious six feet of man. I openly ogle him as he steps to the curb in front of the apartment building and opens the passenger side door of possibly the fanciest car I’ve ever been invited to sit in. It’s glossy black and low to the ground.
“Wow,” I whisper as Russ pushes me gently, urging me to get in. I step closer to the car and peek inside, suddenly feeling very inadequate. Why in the hell am I here?
He uses his free hand to tuck a blonde ringlet of hair behind my ear. “It’s just a car, Linds,” he says softly, as if he can see right through me and somehow knows that all of this is so intimidating for me.
I nod and let him help me into the front seat. He closes the door and rounds the front of the car as I run my hands over the supple leather seat beneath my thighs. I watch curiously as he presses a button on the dash and the car revs to life, sending subtle vibrations through me. It’s nice. Actually, nice is a serious understatement. This car is sex on wheels.
“What kind of car is this?”
“Aston Martin. Do you like it?” Russ asks, pulling out into traffic like he owns the pavement.
“It’s amazing. I’m afraid to touch anything,” I admit with a laugh.
“Trust me. You can touch whatever you want, Linds,” Russ says in a low, gravelly voice. He glances over to me and that same hungry look from earlier is back in his eyes.
Between him looking and sounding like that, the vibrations from his fancy car, and my ultrasensitive neglected body, I feel like I’m moments from going up in flames. Butterflies rage deep in my stomach while my cheeks burn and that tingling between my thighs picks up speed. I clear my throat and try to distract myself with idle conversation.
“First things first—what am I supposed to call you? I’ve known you as Russ for so long and now I discover that your name is actually Logan, so which is it?”
“Please call me Russ.”
“Okay, but why not Logan?”
“My mother calls me Logan.” The way he answers with traces of contempt in his voice quickly reminds me that there are two sides to Russ and while I’m crazy about the side I’ve known for all these years, I absolutely do not like the side I met in his office. The man with a sharp tongue and no heart isn’t anyone I’m interested in.
“Oh. Okay.”
Russ drives us down the Las Vegas strip for a bit, eventually pulling into a valet station. He quickly slides out of the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to come to my side. I watch out the window as he slips a one hundred dollar bill the uniformed valet before he opens my door. He takes my hand and helps me out of the low profile car.
As soon as I’m standing, I adjust my shirt and smooth my jeans, feeling inadequate again. “I’m underdressed,” I whisper, feeling stupid and out of place. Tears seem to threaten from nowhere. I’m emotionally raw as it is and adding more insult to injury hurts. I’ll never be more than what I am—an average woman with average clothes and a strict budget. I’m not glamorous or carefree. I’m just Lindsay Fuller, mom and full-time worrier.
“Trust me, Lindsay,” Russ leans in and whispers into my ear, “you’re perfect.”
I nod subtly but keep my head down a little. There are women in fancy sequined dresses and men in suits milling about. This crowd isn’t the normal party crazed type of people that are known to litter the strip. How could I not feel lacking? Why would he bring me here?
Russ enfolds my hand in his possessively and leads us through and around people walking to and from places on the strip. He seems completely unaffected by the crowd, just tugging me gently along into a building.
We walk past three polished women in evening dresses and I glance over to them just in time to see one point at me and lean in to whisper to her friends. I plead my legs to walk faster in hopes that we’re close to sitting down somewhere. Maybe then I can sink back behind a dinner table and do my best to hide the fact that I don’t belong here.
He takes a sudden right turn and we make our way down a corridor to a small elevator. I glance around, confused. I lean into Russ and quietly ask where we’re going.
“You’ll see. We’re almost there.” He squeezes my hand and leads me onto the waiting elevator. The doors close and we ascend to the sixth floor. Once we’ve come to a stop, the doors slide open to a dimly lit hallway. It’s all I can do to not play Maggie’s warning about pepper spray in my head. The figure of a man beside a door at the end of the hall comes into view.
“Sir,” he greets Russ with a nod. Russ nods back while the guy holds the door open for us.
Stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. I walk past Russ and take in the private room that he’s brought us to. Panoramic windows line the entire wall, providing a breathtaking view of the strip. I slowly walk up to the wall of windows and take in the twinkling lights below us. Emotionally raw women should not be provided a dream date with the man they’ve been crazy about for a decade. Tears pool in my eyes, making the lights seem to triple in number and brightness. I can feel Russ behind me. His cologne drifts my direction, making this entire scene more intoxicating than I could ever have imagined. My eyes stay forward, too embarrassed to let him see me this emotional. Russ grips my shoulders and gently turns me so I’m facing him. Automatically I drop my head, too ashamed to face him.
“You can do that all you want, but I’ll just keep fixing it… if you’ll let me,” he says softly, stepping closer to me and cupping my cheek forcing me to look at him. His thumb catches a fat tear just as it begins to slip down my cheek.
“But I don’t know you,” I rebut, wishing so badly that I did.
“Yes you do, Linds. You know me better than you realize. Let’s sit. I’ll list my conditions and then you can decide if you’re willing to give me these thirty days.”
“Okay.” I nod and sniffle.
Russ pulls my chair out for me and we take our seats. The small table leaves very little room for dinner plates, silverware, and glasses. A single tea light flickers in a small glass between us. Seemingly on cue, a server appears with water and a bottle of something expensive. I jump and laugh when the waiter popping the cork startles me.
“Just like canned biscuits, ya know?” I play it off with a laugh. “They get me every time.”
Russ’s eyes seem to sparkle with amusement as I take a deep breath and sigh. The waiter pours two flutes of the expensive stuff, sets the bottle in a silver ice bucket on a serving table beside us, and then leaves us alone.
Russ lifts his champagne flute and holds it toward me. “To a meeting ten years in the making,” he declares with a small smile curving the edges of his lips.
God, those lips.
I clear my throat awkwardly and nod my head. Russ sips lightly on his champagne. I down half of mine all at once.
“Mmm,” I hum my approval.
“Glad you like it.” Russ nods and gives nearly an entire smile. I find myself aching to see him smile. A full on genuine smile. I imagine it’s enough to make any woman melt.
“So… what’s this proposition you have for me?” I ask, setting my half-empty champagne flute back on the linen-covered table.
Russ nods and seems to go into business mode. “I had this drawn up so that you could look at them later if you wanted to,” he explains, reaching for a folder on the serving cart. He pulls a single sheet of paper from the folder and examines it for a moment. “My conditions are fair and I think you’ll agree,” he goes on and passes the paper to me.
I eye him and the paper in his extended hand carefully, like they may bite me. After a long moment of hesitation, I take the document from him. “Condition number one: the agreement is to go on for a period of thirty days,” I read aloud. Condition number one seems straightforward. I knew this was a thirty day thing. “Condition number two: exclusivity. No one else. No exceptions.” I look up to Russ and arch a questioning eyebrow.
“I won’t share you,” he explains with a flash of possessiveness in his eyes.
I’d be a giant liar if I said that it didn’t completely and utterly turn me on.
“Condition number three: discretion. Neither party will openly discuss the agreement or its conditions with anyone.” I wince as soon as I finish reading condition number three.
“Maggie?” Russ asks.
He knows me so well. All I can do is nod. She’s my best friend and it hadn’t even occurred to me that secrecy would be one of his mysterious conditions.
“I figured as much. No one else, though.”
“But why? I mean… if you’re embarrassed—”
“I’d never be embarrassed of you,” Russ interjects adamantly. “But I make it a point to keep my private life as private as possible.”
“Okay…”
“Go on.” Russ motions his chin towards the paper in my hand.
“Condition number four: upon agreeing, both parties will spend time together as normal dating couples do.” I set the paper down in front of me and look up at Russ. “That one seems pretty vague.”
“It’s simple. I want the thirty days to be used wisely. I’ll want to see you as much as possible and I’ll expect you to accompany me to whatever functions are on my schedule.”
“What if I get another job?”
“You won’t,” Russ says coolly than takes another sip of his champagne.
“Yes. Yes I am. I will,” I say. The bookstore thing might actually work out in my favor, and as curious as I am about whatever this is, I’m not going to let it get in the way of gainful employment. “So what happens after thirty days is up? I’m jobless and facing destitution again. I need to have a job waiting for me, Russ.”
He looks down, seemingly to think about what I’ve said. I grab my champagne and down the rest in two gulps. Without missing a beat, Russ tops off my glass.
“Fine. You can continue your search for a job and or work as long as it doesn
’t interfere with our agreement.”
“Okay. What about Trey? I’m a mom first, you know. I can’t just go and do as I please.”
“I understand and I admire you for that. You’re an amazing mother. That’s why I wanted to know what you think about us meeting. I still owe him that advice.”
“Russ… I don’t know… I… I don’t want to confuse him or upset him. I’d have to think about that.”
“Fair enough. But if you do agree, I’d like to introduce him to a professional caregiver that comes highly recommended.”
“You found a babysitter?” The incredulity in my voice is hard to miss. Another small smile tilts up one side of Russ’s delectable mouth.
“Caregiver,” he corrects me. “While you and I are spending time together, Trey would also be having a great time doing whatever he wants. Within reason, of course.” Russ quickly adds the last bit when I show my squinty Mom eyes. “Speaking of Trey, I assume he’s with Maggie?”
“Yes. And unfortunately, Maggie doesn’t comply with the ‘within reason’ part of anything. I’m sure he’ll have a fresh cavity by the time he comes home tomorrow.” I smile ruefully, thinking of him and Maggie having a junk food fest and a trip to the dentist that I can’t afford.
“If you agree to this, I promise it will be worth your time and effort. In return for your time, I’ll take care of any outstanding debt. You’re welcome to stay in your apartment. All outstanding debts due the property will be forgiven. You’ll have everything you need and hopefully,” he takes another sip of his champagne, “some things you want too.”
My mouth goes a little dry. The champagne seems to be kicking in. Warmth spreads through my arms and legs. My cheeks begin to heat, but it’s difficult to say who or what is to blame, Russ or the alcohol.
“What about… um… y-you know.” I stumble through the words, trying to figure out how to ask what I want to know.
Russ leans forward across the table and takes my hand in his. His thumb makes slow passes back and forth over the back of my hand. “Linds, I will never hurt you. I’ll never do anything or expect anything from you that you don’t want to give.”
