by Alice Tribue
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, right?”
“Good-bye, Collin.” I hang up the phone, and with that conversation, a shitty day just got even shittier. Welcome to my world.
CHAPTER ONE
Three Months Later
I struggle to fake another smile, forcing a giggle at another poorly executed joke. I look around at a sea of mostly familiar faces in the midst of yet another charity event hosted by people who have way too much money. Perhaps, if donating the five thousand per plate meal ticket went directly to the charity, nights like these wouldn’t be necessary. It just seems so insincere, another excuse for the wealthy to get together, to see and be seen, and I play along because my illegal company is hidden behind what appears to be a thriving legal one.
Thank goodness the champagne is flowing freely, I think to myself as I grab another glass from a server passing by. I look at my assistant, Ivy, who looks equally as bored as I am. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I couldn’t do another one of these alone.”
She gives me a smile in response. Ivy has been working with me from almost the beginning because finding people who I trust is difficult. Sure, they all sign NDAs, but Ivy is one of the few who I naturally trust. It’s been my experience that most people are not good; given the chance, they will hurt you at every turn, do what they have to do to get ahead in life, and not care about the carnage they leave behind. For this reason, I limit my interaction with people to just a few close friends; the few people who I know would have my back no matter what.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement and look up. Across the room, a woman pulls her arm away from her date just as a server passes by. She looks hurt, angry even. Unfortunately for her, she’s bumped into the server and his tray of champagne comes crashing down, the sound of breaking glass causing the majority of the room to go silent. As she hurries off, embarrassed I’m sure, her date runs after her. The waiter begins to pick up the broken pieces of glass and the chatter around me resumes. Just as I’m turning my attention back to Ivy and the group of associates standing around me, a man bends down to silently help the server with his cleanup. I don’t know why, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks up and our gazes lock onto one another. My breath hitches, and I’m suddenly stuck—unable to move and unable to look away. Something passes between us, an unexplainable jolt of electricity that I cannot understand. His black suit is tailored to fit his lean body perfectly, and his unruly brown hair is styled in a short spiky mess on top of his head. For a minute, I imagine running my hands through that hair while he hovers over me in bed. What the fuck am I thinking?
Just as I turn away, I catch a hint of a grin on his lips. Geez, I need to get laid. There’s been no one in the three months since Collin left, and the drought is starting to affect me. Maybe I just need more alcohol, I think, replacing my empty champagne glass with a fresh one as Ivy and I excuse ourselves from the group chatter.
“Are you trying to get drunk? At least have a few hors d’oeuvres first, Victoria.”
I smile, linking my arm through hers.
“I know. Copious amounts of alcohol are how I manage to get through these events. If I’m borderline wasted, it makes it almost tolerable.” We both giggle and make our way to the buffet table to snack on a few crudités.
“If you hate these things so much, then why do you come to them?”
“Because it helps me to maintain the appearance of legitimacy.”
“It is legit.”
“Yes, parts of it, and I have to keep them up, make sure that they’re successful, to cover up the parts that aren’t.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah, clients are happy, employees are happy, and I just splurged on a pair of silver Louboutins there’s no way I could afford if I wasn’t working for you.”
I smile at her assessment of my success. She’s right though, business is good. Great, actually; if there’s one thing that always holds true, it’s that sex sells. It’s taboo; no one likes to talk about it, but everyone wants it. It’s a billion dollar industry and I’m just collecting my piece of that pie. Fundamentally, I know it’s wrong, but if it were not me, someone else would be doing it. If there’s one thing I can be proud of, it’s the classiness of my business. How can selling sex be classy? Just go stand on a street corner and see what those girls go through—addicted to drugs, pimped out, beaten, abused. That’s not how I run my business, and I take pride in the fact that I can give these girls a safer lifestyle.
I step into the bathroom for a few minutes, having lost Ivy to a young man who looked more like a male model than a well-to-do businessman. Short blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and the body of a swimmer. I have to admit, he looked dazzling in what I would guess was head-to-toe Hugo Boss. After their second go on the dance floor, I gave up hope of her coming back to me. I run my hand through my newly dyed caramel-colored hair that now matches my eyes—a nice change from my usual blond locks—and take one last glimpse in the mirror. Pretty good… I wouldn’t say that I was drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but I’m certainly not hard to look at.
I decide to leave behind the quiet of the bathroom and head back to the party. One last trip around the perimeter, a few more hands to shake, a few more fake smiles, the necessary good-byes, and I can get the fuck out of here in twenty minutes tops. But if I’m going to make it through, then I’m going to need something a little bit stronger than champagne. On that thought, I head to the bar in the rear because it looks less crowded.
“Martini, please?” I place my drink order and turn to scan the crowd. I know exactly who I’m looking for, though, for the love of God, I don’t know why. I don’t know him, he is nothing to me, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. The most pressing question at the forefront of my mind? Is he here alone, and if he is, does he have somebody at home waiting for him?
“Victoria,” I hear just as arms slide around my waist from behind. I inwardly cringe at the contact but turn around with a smile on my face nonetheless.
“Bradley.” I place a chaste kiss on his cheek and, with a swiftness even I’m impressed with, break away from his hold. “How are you? I had no idea you’d be here tonight.”
“I’m good, really good. I was dreading coming to this thing. Once you’ve seen one charity event, you’ve seen them all, right? Then I spotted you, and now, I’m thanking my lucky stars.”
“Oh stop, flattery will get you nowhere.”
“There’s only one place I want to be right now, and I’ve been trying to get you to agree for years.”
Bradley Carson is your classic rich kid from the Upper West Side with all of Daddy’s money to play with and too much time on his hands. He’s likely never known a hard day's work in his life. He’s had everything handed to him and feels entitled to it. When all is said and done, he’ll have fucked his way through half of Manhattan, and when Daddy’s gone, he’ll carry on the legacy by taking over his company. Hopefully, he’ll have learned enough before then not to run it into the ground. He’s also one of my many clients in attendance here this evening. Not everyone knows what I do but, those who do, handle that knowledge with the utmost discretion. Not only do I have signed NDAs from all of them, but the biggest insurance policy I have is that if I’m found out, they’ll be found out, too. Nobody wants to be uncovered as the kind of person who would pay for sex or, worse, pay a small fortune for it—my services are far from cheap.
“You know better. I don’t operate that way.”
“How do you operate then, huh? What would it take to get you to break your own rules for once?” he asks, grabbing hold of my waist again and jerking me over to him. His face is inches from mine, too close for comfort, and I try not to gag at the pungent smell of alcohol permeating from his pores. He’s obviously wasted and that only makes him more of an arrogant douchebag.
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“Let me go, Bradley,” I demand in a firm voice, but he’s having none of it.
“God, Vic, if you’d just let loose for a minute, I could show you how fucking good it would be between us.”
Why he thinks I would actually want to be with someone like him is beyond me. First off, he has a girlfriend. Clearly not one he loves, but she exists nonetheless. And second, he’s one of my clients, one of my most active clients, meaning he spends a small fortune on what I have to offer. Which is great for my business but it certainly doesn’t make me want to cozy up to him and warm his bed.
See, there are two types of clients that I deal with. The types like Bradley and Conrad Roberts, who use my services because they are clearly addicted to sex. They’ll fuck anyone that they can get their hands on, and when they can’t find a willing partner, they will pay handsomely for it often. They are womanizing scumbags with no regard for the women in their lives. They have classic commitment and fidelity issues, and they possess little, if any, morality.
The other type is the overworked and overstressed businessman who has little to no time for relationships. Most of his time is spent in boardroom meetings closing big deals on a daily basis. He eats, sleeps, and dreams work, and when he needs to find a release…well, that’s when he comes looking for me. This is the easiest type of man to deal with; he knows what he wants, and he’s content to get it. He’ll pay well for it and treat the girls well, but he doesn’t abuse them; it’s mostly just a means to an end for him. I’ll take this type of client any day over the Bradleys and the Conrads of the world.
“You’re drunk and you need to let me go.”
“Come on…” He doesn’t get to finish that thought before he’s being pulled back, his hold on me being ripped away, and the face of the man from earlier in the evening comes into focus.
“You all right?” he asks me as I try to shake off my stunned reaction. I give him an affirmative nod, and he turns back toward Bradley.
“When a lady asks you to take your hands off her, you let her fucking go.”
The outraged look on Bradley’s face is priceless. I doubt anyone has ever stepped up to him or called him out on his less than stellar behavior.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spits out. I stand there watching the scene unfold before me. My eyes land on the beautiful stranger, who has unexpectedly and unnecessarily come to my rescue, and remain completely glued on him.
“I’m the guy who’s trying to teach you some manners. Either you can listen to the lesson or I can beat it into you. You decide.”
And like any true rich kid with no real life experience or street smarts, he raises his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey man, I was just messing around. No harm done.”
“Walk away,” the stranger growls out, and though the anger on Bradley’s face is evident, he absolutely does as he’s told and walks away.
“You sure you’re all right, miss?”
“I’m fine; you really didn’t have to do that,” I say sounding way snarkier than I intended to. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed at the fact that he defended me when I didn’t ask for his help, or if I’m pissed at myself for being so attracted to him. Either way, I regret my tone immediately.
“Right. Well, from where I was standing, it looked like you were in over your head.”
Now I’m offended. I may be a lot of things but a damsel in distress is not one of them.
“How could you tell that I was in over my head? You have no idea who I am or what I can handle?”
“Are you really giving me shit for helping you out right now?” he questions, getting in my face. “Would it have been better if I had let him grope you?” He’s right; he stepped in when no one else would have. Maybe chivalry isn’t dead, after all, and maybe I should be more appreciative of it.
“Shit. No, no, no, I’m sorry. It’s just been a long night. It was very nice of you to step in.”
His shoulders relax, making him look a lot less intimidating. “Did you know that guy?”
“He’s an acquaintance.”
“He’s an ass.”
“Yes,” I agree nodding my head. “He is; thank you for saving me from him.” I mean it; it was nice not having to fend for myself for a change.
“Even though you didn’t need saving?”
“Yeah, even though I didn’t need it,” I confirm with a smile. God, he’s sexy, damn near perfection, and what makes it even better is that he’s not trying to be. He is who he is and there’s no need for him to try for more. He’s dressed impeccably in a black suit, silver cufflinks, and a blue tie.
His light green eyes are mesmerizing, really mesmerizing, even more so as they lock with mine. His short brown hair is styled effortlessly, and if I’m being totally honest, his full lips are sexy as can be.
He rewards me with a grin that would melt the panties off most any woman.
“Nathan Lennox,” he says, holding a hand out for me to take. It’s a strong hand—
not pretty, not freshly manicured, not free from scars or calluses; this hand has known hard labor and that makes him even more appealing to me. I shake his outstretched hand, noting that his initial touch sends an unexpected rush of warmth through me.
“Victoria Powell.”
“Nice to meet you, Victoria. Can I join you for a drink?”
“Actually, I was just about to leave.” I answer hesitantly because my mind is telling me to leave, but my body is begging me to have a drink with the man.
“I think you should stay and have a drink with the guy who just saved you from that asshole, and we’ll call it even.”
“Oh, I see,” I drawl, making a face of mock horror. “So, you didn’t come to my defense out of the goodness of your heart? You expected a payment.”
“Very few things in life are free, Victoria, but in this case, all I’m asking for is a little company.”
“I suppose a drink wouldn’t kill me,” I say, clearly siding with my body.
A sexy grin forms on his mouth as he signals the bartender for drinks. “Attagirl.”
“I haven’t seen you at one of these things before.”
“You’ve attended that many that you recognize the regulars?” He looks at me with questioning eyes.
“I’ve been to my fair share.”
“I see. No, you’re right, I don’t attend many of these at all. I’m actually here in a professional capacity.”
“A professional capacity?” I question. My interests have been piqued. “How so?”
“Overseeing security tonight.”
“Ahh. I see. So then how would it look to whoever hired you that you’re sitting here with me?”
“It’s all good; my job here is just about done. Everyone is in place and everything has run smoothly; my presence here is no longer really necessary.”
“Hmm.”
“How long have you been working security?”
“A few years. Spent some years in the Marines, did some freelance work when I got out and one thing led to another.” I watch him closely as he speaks, divulging information about himself. I watch the way he moves—no big gestures and no big effort—just calm, easy, and confident.
“Fascinating.” I say the first thing that comes to mind because I am, indeed, fascinated by this man. I would love to know everything about him. How old he is, where he’s from, what side of the bed he prefers to sleep on, how long it would take him to become just another disappointment. I try not to be cynical, but when you’ve known nothing but a steady stream of letdowns, you come to expect nothing more. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hope that someone will eventually surprise me, but I guess I just find it highly unlikely. I’m thirty-seven years old with no prospects, no family, and no children. If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be completely alone in the world.
“Are you going to tell me anything about you?”
“Nothing to tell.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“I should reall
y be going.”
“Avoiding talking about yourself—that can’t be good.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I question, taking offense.
“People who don’t like to talk about themselves usually have a lot to hide.”
“What are you, an FBI profiler?” I challenge him, half annoyed at his comment. “I have nothing to hide. I just don’t know you well enough to give you the intimate details of my life.” No statement has ever been more true or more full of shit. The irony of that is not lost on me. The truth is that I have plenty to hide, but I also don’t know him well enough to trust him, and I probably never will. Only a handful of people know my secrets, and I’m not looking to add to that number. My discretion is the thing that has helped my business to grow this much over the years. It’s also the thing that has kept me away from the long arm of the law.
“I just know what I know.”
“And you think you know me.”
“No, but then again, I don’t think many people know you.”
Talk about hitting the head right on the nail. Am I really that easy to read, or is it just that he has some sort of insight on me? “Now you’re getting somewhere.”
“Have dinner with me.” It’s not a question; it sounds more like a command. And though I’m not the type of girl to cave to the demands of others, I really want to relent to his.
“Where did that come from? It’s kind of out of nowhere.”
“Why beat around the bush? You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask for it.”
“And you want me?”
“I want dinner…with you.” I watch the bobbing of his throat as he swallows a swig of his drink, and instinctively, I swallow too, feeling almost like prey being hunted.
“No.”
“No?” He questions with an arch of the brow.
“No.”
He places his drink back on the bar and gives me a slow nod. “All right, I can take a hint. I’ll back off. It was a pleasure to meet you, Victoria.”
