by Cynthia Dane
“Let me guess. You don’t respond to your professional name outside of work. Fine. What’s your real name, then? I don’t have time for games right now.”
Leah held her bag to her chest. “My name’s Leah.”
“What the fuck do you want with me, Leah? Money? Were you taking a page from that crazy asshole’s book and threatening to sue me?” Sloan pulled her checkbook out of her inside pocket and a pen from the car door. “Would three thousand dollars get you to leave me the hell alone? I hear that pays some monthly rents around this bloated market.”
“Three… three thousand dollars?” That was more money than Leah made in a month!
Something was not adding up!
“More than you thought you might get, huh? Considering how much you charge per thirty minutes, it should be a nice bit of inflation.” Sloan continued writing out a check.
“Charge?”
Sloan stopped writing and gave Leah and incredulous look. She was the type of woman who looked hotter the angrier she got, wasn’t she? As long as she’s not angry at me! Whoops. I think she is. “Are you, or are you not, the woman I saw Saturday night?” Sloan laughed in disbelief. “Unfuckingbelievable. Your hair may be combed and you’re wearing clothes that fit you, but Jesus. I’m not blind.”
“We did meet up Saturday night. Yes. On my birthday. That you were hired to attend.”
Sloan remained dumbfounded. “What?”
“You’re a… um… a…”
“I’m a businesswoman, Leah. Margaret Sloan. Co-Chair of Sloan & Giles, from Chicago. Not that I expect you to have heard of it.”
“You’re the biggest cunt in America, right?”
“Oh, so you remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things… that don’t make a lot of sense right now.” Leah sighed and sank into her seat. “Like how you fingered my cunt.”
“I sure fucking did. I paid for the privilege, didn’t I?”
The car stopped at a light. Leah was almost at a loss for words.
“Are we having a misunderstanding here, Leah? Mandy? Birthday Girl?”
“You’re the sex worker.” Leah’s lips were dry, yet she couldn’t move her tongue over them. “Not me.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was my birthday. Didn’t my friend hire you to, uh, entertain me?”
Sloan slammed her checkbook closed, eyes so wide that Leah feared they would pop out of her pretty head.
“I am not a sex worker. I hire sex workers. Like you!”
“I’m not a sex worker, either!”
Silence strangled them. Sloan looked toward the privacy petition and promptly whipped out her iPhone. Leah had never seen a woman punch in commands so quickly, and her sister was a whizz at texting.
“Do you know what happened with the girl I hired Saturday night?” Sloan barked into her phone. The more aggressive she spoke, the more Leah shifted in her seat – because it was too exciting to bear. Damn, she’s dangerous. I need to get out of this car before I’m sucked into something bad. She had started her teenaged years on the wrong foot. Why not fuck up her thirties too? “What are you talking about? She didn’t show up? Then who the fuck did I finger, Ayla?”
Two seconds later, Sloan slammed her phone down onto the leather seat and changed her tone. Although she spoke with a softer voice, Leah did not feel more comfortable. If anything, Sloan had truly reached terrifying peaks.
“Miss… Leah…” Every word coming through those thin lips was carefully contemplated. “I am absolutely mortified by what has happened.”
“You are?”
A deep breath racked Sloan’s already shaking body. “I thought you were the sex worker I hired. A woman in a pink dress was supposed to meet me at the club that night.”
“Really? I thought you were an escort my friend hired for my birthday!”
Sloan made a face. Really. She was offended that someone might “mistake” her for a sex worker? Oh, but she had no problem hiring them for her own sexual pleasure? Typical. Things started making sense, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“I can assure you that I have never in my life been paid for sex. I’m usually the one doing the procuring.”
“Wow.” Leah looked around the Mercedes again. “That explains a lot. So I guess that means this is your car, huh?”
“What kind of escort service would send a woman around in a car like this? Not even the Chateau goes to these extremes.”
“The what?”
Sloan rolled her eyes. “Never mind. You wouldn’t have heard of it.” She pulled her checkbook out again. “I want to sincerely apologize for the mix up, Ms. Leah. It appears that we were not meant to meet Saturday night.”
Leah sucked in her bottom lip. “But we did.” Thank you, Jesus! You finally came through! “We met. Stuff happened.”
She said it with a sheepish smile. Maybe this was Leah’s big chance. Chance for what? A relationship? Yeah, right. Sloan didn’t appear the relationship type. This was a woman who happily called herself the Biggest Cunt in America and got her kicks with escorts, probably because she didn’t have the time for traditional dating. She’s a woman who knows what she wants, isn’t she? What she wanted in her everyday life. What she wanted from her career…
Ooh. What she wanted in the bedroom!
It had been years since Leah last outwardly flirted with a woman, let alone one so far out of her league. Yet Sloan had no problems kissing, handcuffing, groping, and fingering Leah the other night. Maybe she wasn’t out of her league, after all! Maybe it was worth leaning in toward her and batting eyelashes like the coy princess she pretended to be in her fantasies.
“You’re right. We did.” Checkbook in one hand and cell phone in the other, Sloan looked as if she didn’t know which path to take. She eventually dropped her checkbook and brought up the contacts list in her cell phone. “Again. My sincerest apologies. I will… I shall refer you to my lawyer, if you can get me in contact with yours.”
Leah was only slightly taken aback. “Pardon me?”
“I think it’s best if we part ways now. For legality’s sake.”
“What?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t know what you want from me. At first, I thought you might be after a different kind of pay day. Now? It’s one thing for you to besmirch me in a supposed hit and run judgment, Leah, but it would be quite another for you to suggest that what happened was somehow… unethical.”
It took Leah a few moments to realize what she meant. “I… I don’t think that you… oh my God, no!” How could Sloan suggest that? The last thing I’m thinking is that Saturday night was a sexual assault! Hell, Leah had wanted more! She couldn’t have consented any harder if she took out an ad in the paper to declare it to America! “I don’t think it was unethical at all! I thought it was… I thought it was fun.” Her chin had pointed toward her lap by the end of her sheepish declaration. “Like I said, I thought you were someone else. Looks like we both mistook who the other person was.”
“Yes, and now we’re in this… wait, you liked it?”
“Well, yeah! You were there! You think I was faking it?”
“I’m not sure what I think right now. Other than I paid for something I never actually got from that person. How shady are the agencies in this town, anyway?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Leah’s hands curled in her lap. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m gay. Obviously, you are too. Or so I’m assuming.”
“Quite.”
“We’re two gay women who were brought together under a giant misunderstanding, but there was no harm or foul, right? I don’t want anything from you, Ms. Sloan.” So that was her real name. You bet your ass I’m looking it up later. “I don’t need you to pay me off, and I’m not going to sue you for anything. Please don’t worry about that.”
“You say that, but how am I to trust you? I don’t think you understand the kind of shit I’ve dealt with before. There’s always someone trying to take something from me.” Sloan gaz
ed out her window as they made yet another lap around the block. “Money… dignity…” Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “My pride. Excuse me if I’m not quick to take your word.”
“I could put it in writing.”
“Still not good enough. I think it’s best for our lawyers to settle this matter in a legally satisfactory manner.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
Sloan sighed. “I bet you don’t. So, then, what do you propose? How in the world are you going to settle my nerves?”
I know how I’d like to do that. If Leah suggested that, though, she would be the one getting sued instead! “Do something that would absolutely discredit me in court.”
Sloan leaned her elbow against the car door. Her body language kept her far from Leah – not even her legs were crossed in her guest’s direction – but the glint in her eyes suggested she was open to more conversation. “Like what?”
“Like…” Leah couldn’t believe she was being this bold. Her! Leah! The woman who couldn’t stand up to her boss or take her mother’s criticisms without wanting to curl up in bed and pretend the world didn’t exist! “Be seen with me in public? Your lawyer would destroy me in court if we’re seen having a nice dinner together after the supposed incident in question.”
“Diabolical.” Sloan pushed a button next to her window. It turned on the intercom to the driver’s seat. “Take us to that place Preston Bradley recommended for dinner, Sean.” Her finger slipped off the button. “Fine. If you want to play games, Leah, we can play some games.”
Leah grinned.
“But let’s make one thing straight. I always win the games I play. I wouldn’t be as good at what I do if I didn’t.”
Leah barely heard that. All she heard was that they were about to get dinner. Together.
Chapter 5
This is either genius or will guarantee my demise.
Sloan didn’t know why she was entertaining a woman dressed in a gray blouse and a pair of department store trousers that looked one inch too big around the waist. What prevented Leah from wearing clothes that fit? With curves like that, she deserved to show them off in dresses, trousers, and skirts that contoured her body instead of hiding it. But that wasn’t any of Sloan’s business. Not until they reached an exclusive restaurant that required Sloan pulling three favors so they could get a decent table.
It had a spectacular view of the Willamette River, but Sloan didn’t give a shit about taking Instagram photos – like Leah, who angled her old phone and repeatedly hit the shutter button as if this were her only chance to ever get twentieth-story shots of a river.
Sean, the driver and federally trained bodyguard who watched after Sloan when a single man sufficed, provided his preliminary background check of Leah while they perused the wine list. Sloan selected a Willamette Valley red that she heard good things about back in the Midwest. If it’s good enough to catch someone’s attention in Chicago, then it must be something worth trying when in the area. That often went for women, as well.
“Wow…” Leah was still glued to the window next to them. “I’ve lived in this city my whole life, and I’ve never seen a view like this.”
Sloan checked her wig and makeup before addressing that observation. “Tragedy, considering I only visit about once every three months and see views like this every time.”
“What brings you to Portland that often? You said you were from Chicago, right?”
I want a cigarette. Unfortunately, Oregon was so anti-smoking that there wasn’t a sliver of hope that Sloan could find a place to light a quick cigarette. “Business. I maintain many real estate investments around here.” She raised her hand to summon their server. “I’m head of my company’s investments, so that’s what I do all year. Travel the world and bust balls until I get the results I want for my money.” I’m still shocked that the men begging me for my money treat me like they do in the boardroom. Case in point? That shitshow during lunch. Preston Bradley and Julian Marcus couldn’t have been bigger pigs if they tried. When the one wasn’t trying to slyly hit on her, the other was insinuating that she didn’t have as good of a handle on her money as she claimed.
Her blood boiled. She may have calmly ordered her dinner, but inside? Nothing but a bottle of nerves about to burst, shrapnel burrowing into the walls.
“That sounds so interesting.” Leah propped both elbows on the table. Christ. Nobody taught her any manners, I see. Yet with her heart-shaped face nestled between her fists, Leah looked like a sweet little cherub. Sloan glanced at her phone again. Sean’s preliminary report said that Leah had no criminal record and had lived in Portland her whole life. She went to culinary school and works for some midlist bakery. I see. Culinary school was certainly different from the usual educational paths most of Sloan’s dates took. Everyone was a sociologist and budding psychologist these days. Cosmetology school was the dream for some of Sloan’s old “girlfriends,” if she could call them that. She didn’t begrudge them for their quaint dreams, however. The world needed hairdressers and makeup artists. It also needed chefs. Good ones. Hopefully, this restaurant had one.
“It’s work, is what it is.” Sloan held her wineglass up for a toast. “Cheers.”
Leah was giddier than a puppy when she toasted her glass against Sloan’s. In the corner of the room, Sean snuck multiple photos of the couple having a pleasant dinner. What? I took her advice. If nothing else, that was a good thing to suggest.
Yet nothing made sense. This wasn’t a date, right? Sloan was looking after her best interests, and nothing more. Her personal assistant, Ayla, was already on the case of the missing escort. How in the world did her stupid security mistake this woman for an escort? I should’ve known the birthday girl thing wasn’t an act. Even though she couldn’t keep her fingers out of Leah’s pussy. Or her face out of this woman’s cleavage, for that matter.
She has a great body. I’ll give her that. Sloan could do without the giggles and the look of awe in Leah’s eyes, however. How old was this girl? She took one last look at her phone and read 30 next to age. Thirty! Leah wasn’t a “girl” at all! She was a grown woman acting like a fucking fool!
Damnit. She had a crush on Sloan. Crush on her money? On how she had sex? Probably some terrible combination of both. Oh, well. At least Leah was honest about it. Sloan hated it when the women she dated played coy with their intentions. Leah had the opposite problem. She was a little too open-book.
“So, Leah.” Now was a great time to test that assumption. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Like what?”
Like how you feel totally comfortable being in a five-star restaurant while wearing… that… “What do you do, if you’re not an escort? Are you married?”
“Married! If I were married, do you think I would have…” Leah blushed. “No. I’m not. I live with my family. Cheaper that way.”
Explains some of her nature. Leah was probably one of those insufferable millennials who used words like “adulting.” “And your career?” Yeah, right. Women like Leah didn’t have careers. They had jobs. Dead-end directions that kept the working class fixated on survival and their attentions dutifully swayed from the playgrounds throbbing high above them.
“I work at a bakery. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“You’re a baker?”
“I guess. I went to culinary school. Always dreamed of having my own cake decorating place, but…”
At least she had been honest so far. Perhaps Leah was simply what she appeared to be. Insufferable, but safe. “Artistic and edible. Some of the best chefs in the world take that approach.”
“Do you like to cook?”
Sloan scoffed. “Absolutely not. I pay other people to do the housework.”
“I don’t think of cooking as housework.” Leah picked at her napkin, still folded on her plate. “It’s something fun that also happens to be practical.”
“If you say so.”
“I know most women don’t feel the same way,
but men get to, right? Men are celebrated for cooking and baking. Something women are expected to do all the time, whether we like it or not, is an interesting hobby or respectable career as soon as a man does it.” Leah glanced at Sloan. “I saw it all the time in culinary school.”
“Suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Sloan hadn’t expected to jump right into gender politics. God knew it was one of her favorite subjects, but she tended to have a more… aggressive… approach to her arguments. “Even if I were interested in it, I wouldn’t have the time. So, I eat out, or have a chef cook for me.”
“I sometimes thought about getting a job like that. Wonder if there are many families in Portland looking for a private chef.”
Sloan shrugged. Like she knew.
“So…” Leah’s fingers twiddled in distraction. “About Saturday night…”
“You mean your birthday.” Her thirtieth. Seriously?
“Yeah. My birthday. About it.”
Sighing, Sloan uncrossed her legs and leaned forward against the table. A candle flickered between them. Close enough for the light to tease the tips of Leah’s bangs, but still too small to illuminate their table. “What is it?”
“Do you…” Leah lowered her voice. “Why would you think you were paying for something but only do so little? I mean, I liked it, but did you get anything out of it?”
The question was so personal – and honestly, so out of left field – that Sloan couldn’t help but chuckle. “My desires are my own and not up for dinnertime discussion, but yes, I got plenty out of it. I got exactly what I wanted.” Tits. Pussy. A woman handcuffed to her chair and completely lost to Margaret Sloan’s whim. Sloan didn’t need to be touched to get off on it. Besides, making a full night out of it would’ve been exhausting after the day she had.
Leah released her pent-up breath. “Thank God. I thought maybe I had turned you off or something.”
“I admit, your hair kept getting in the way. Looks much better today.”
Sloan thought that would offend Leah. Instead, she chuckled into the bottom of her wineglass and said, “I had danced so much before… yeah. That. Anyway, it was my first real birthday party in years. I decided I didn’t care what I looked like, as long as I was having fun.”
