by Pam Godwin
“Perform…? You mean sex?”
I nod. “How else are they going to assess my qualifications?”
“God, no. Not like that.” His face pinches. “After a background check and medical exams, all that’s left is a conversation with the intake representative.”
Sounds painless, but I’ve only been unemployed for an hour. I should exhaust other options first, like finding another bartender gig. Except I’ve been actively looking for a better job for the past year. Opportunities are pathetic.
“I need to think about it,” I say.
“Yes, of course.” He grabs his phone. “I just need a way to contact you. What’s your number?”
I dig through the pocket of my jacket where it hangs on my chair and remove my phone. The screen doesn’t respond, the battery dead. My electricity’s shut off, so charging it is a problem. Then I remember the prepaid plan ran out this morning. I intended to refill it tomorrow, but that won’t be happening.
With a heavy exhale, I drop the useless thing on the table. “Give me your number, and I’ll contact you if I’m interested.”
His lips form a flat line. He’s probably considering the fact that once I walk out the door, he’ll have no way to reach me and might never see me again.
“No job means…” I return the phone to the pocket of my jacket. “No more cell service.”
“How are you going to call me if you don’t have a phone?”
I lift a shoulder. “I can use a neighbor’s phone.” Except I might not have neighbors after tomorrow.
“Say yes to the interview, Decker.” His fingers clench and relax on his phone. “I can call the Infidelity rep right now, schedule the medical appointments and interview. No further contact is needed.”
“Don’t I need to fill out an application?” One that will ask about my prior work experience and criminal history. My pulse kicks up.
“You can do it on my phone after I make the call.”
“I don’t know.” What kind of man am I to even consider this? I feel like I’m losing control of my life, and I fucking hate it. “I need to think—”
“Five thousand dollars for a couple hours of your time.” His jaw sets, eyes tight with impatience. “What exactly do you need to think about?”
He’s right. My scandalous past might prevent me from being hired, but if what he’s saying is true, I’ll receive enough money to get by until I find a real job.
“They’ll pay me for the interview, even if they don’t hire me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath. “Make the goddamn call.”
A victorious smile spreads across his face, but there’s no smugness there. This guy is genuinely happy. For me. It’s mind-boggling.
He stands and paces away from the table with the phone at his ear. I drain my beer while he sets up the appointments, ends the call, and returns to the table.
“Well?” I fold my arms across my chest.
He removes a business card and a pen from the pocket inside his suit jacket and jots down times and addresses on the back.
“Medical and psychological exams tomorrow morning.” He hands me the card. “Interview the day after. If something comes up, my office number is on the other side. Let’s get that application going.”
Twenty minutes later, I click submit on the electronic form and return the phone to him.
“You’ll be at the interview?” I stand and pull on my leather jacket.
“I’ll be there as your sponsor.” Having already paid the bill, he walks with me to the door. “Wear a tie.”
I own exactly one suit, worn to dozens of interviews over the past year. I despise the damn thing, but I’ll get over it.
Outside, we pause on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in our coat pockets and breaths mingling in white clouds between us.
“It’s fucking cold.” I tense against the shivery night air.
“Do you have heat at your—?”
“I’ll manage.” I back away, in the direction of the subway. “Hey, thanks for dinner.”
“Yeah. Anytime…” He stares at his feet, jaw wriggling as if working up the nerve to ask me something.
I can guess it involves me going back to his place.
“See you in a couple days.” I turn and tread down the dim street, saving him from an awkward rejection.
That night, I stretch beneath the blankets on my small mattress, flipping the business card between my fingers. The frigid darkness of my five-hundred-square-foot studio apartment aggravates my fraying nerves. At least I still have warm water for tomorrow’s shower.
The medical tests in the morning will be a waste of time. I don’t touch drugs, have never had sex without a condom, and don’t suffer from mental illness. It’s the background investigation that’ll put the brakes on a twenty-grand-per-month job offer. If Infidelity’s clients are as high-profile as Evan claims, they won’t go near me and the shit storm I was caught up in. My name was cleared of all involvement, but my reputation is fucked so badly I’ll never work in the industry again.
At least I don’t have to contemplate having sex with an undesirable woman. I’ll go to the interview, collect the five grand, and forget about Infidelity.
As I set Evan’s business card on the floor beside the mattress, a worrisome thought hits me. He never asked for my last name. Wouldn’t he need it to set up the interview? I included it on my application, but that was after he set the appointments.
I stab a hand through my hair. If he already knew my name, he knows the rest. All it takes is a Google search on Decker Gabrielli to fall into a wasteland of negative press. Yet he set up the interview anyway? Without asking for the details surrounding my fall to shame?
My breaths quicken. Does that mean he’s not concerned about it? That Infidelity might actually consider me? Christ, if they offered me a job, would I even accept?
Twenty grand a month.
Free rent and food for a year.
Three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of sex with a repulsive woman.
I don’t know whether to laugh or freak the fuck out.
CHAPTER 4
DECKER
Two days later, I stand outside a curved building that matches the address Evan gave me. Scrutinizing my reflection in the blue-glass door, I straighten my tie and brush out the suit jacket. The buttoned collar strangles my neck, my skin itchy and overheated despite the wintry blasts of wind. I’m so fucking ready to be done with this charade.
While yesterday’s visit to the medical office was painless, I spent last night mulling over the damn interview. The nurse called me Mr. Gabrielli. If she had access to my full name, Evan did, too. No doubt he investigated my past. Maybe he’s optimistic about Infidelity hiring me despite my slandered reputation, but I remain more conflicted than ever about whether I’d accept a sketchy job offer.
The landlord gave me until tonight to pay her the overdue rent or turn in my key. I’ll have few dollars left after I hand over the interview money. That’s if Infidelity cuts me a check before I leave today. I have no fucking clue what I’ll do tomorrow or the day after. I haven’t been able to focus past this interview.
I step inside the large lobby and spot Evan in the sitting area. His smile’s as bright as his eyes.
“You know about Adam Lamont,” I say in greeting.
His grin falters but doesn’t fade. “Yes.” He leads me to the wall of elevators.
“Then you know my association with him.” I keep my voice low, eyes on an older man who waits for an elevator a few feet away. “You know what Adam did?”
“Yes.” Evan slides a hand down his tie. “I also know he’s in prison, and you’re not. Did the judge make a mistake?”
“Fuck no.” I grind my teeth and whisper harshly, “But I was his partner. That shit was happening right under my nose, and I didn’t stop it.”
“Because you didn’t know, right?” Evan gives me a hard look.
A familiar fist of shame clenc
hes inside me. I should’ve known, should’ve paid better attention.
The elevator closest to the older man opens. We follow him in, and Evan pushes the button for the 37th floor. Since we’re not alone, I keep my mouth shut during the ride up.
We arrive at our floor, and Evan leads me to the receptionist behind a glass desk. Infidelity scrolls in huge curly letters across the wall behind her. When I filled out the on-line application at the restaurant, Evan explained that the privately-run Fortune 500 company is a website that offers a number of services to exclusive clients.
But the service I’m interviewing for isn’t one they promote on the web.
I lean a hip against the desk as Evan speaks with the receptionist. She takes down his name and makes a call, her gaze flitting repeatedly to me, her cheeks flushed and lashes lowered coyly.
“You don’t even have to try,” Evan whispers while she’s on the phone.
I shrug. If the girl knows why I’m here, she’s probably imagining me fucking random clients who have stopped by her desk.
A moment later, a middle-aged woman rounds the corner and extends a hand to Evan. “Good morning, Mr. Daniels. So good to see you.”
“Ms. Flores. Thanks for fitting us in.” He shakes her hand and turns to me. “This is Decker Gabrielli. Decker, meet Karen Flores.”
She stands taller, her shrewd gaze sweeping me from head to toe. Not in a pervy way. More like she’s taking my measure. When she returns to my face, her smile is warm, her expression open, perhaps even enthusiastic.
She’s not bad looking for an older lady. Her stiff skirt suit is a bit off-putting, but there are some wicked curves beneath the polyester.
“Mr. Gabrielli.” She grasps my offered hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“The pleasure’s mine.”
Instead of flinching at the pressure of my grip, she returns the squeeze with impressive strength.
“If you’ll follow me…” She leads us down a hall, through a labyrinth of private offices and cubicles, and swipes a badge over the sensor beside another elevator. “How are you doing, Evan?” Her voice is soft, asking more than her words imply.
“I’ve been better.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. “I miss him.”
I don’t really know Evan, but my gut tells me his kindness is genuine. I hope Infidelity doesn’t give him false hope in his second agreement. He deserves happiness.
“We couldn’t have predicted…” She straightens her suit jacket. “When we hired him, his ex was out of the picture.”
“I know.” He smiles sadly. “There’s no blame here.”
When the doors open, we file in, and she presses the button labeled I. The only other option is O—the floor we’re on.
“I and O?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that some kind of secret binary code?”
“Mm,” she answers, which isn’t an answer at all.
The elevator moves, and the popping sensation in my ears suggests we’re speeding toward the top of the building.
“Does it stand for in and out?” I clasp my hands behind my back. “Could be an interesting innuendo. Do you repeat that in your head every time you’re in here? In and out. In and out.”
Evan stares at his feet, shaking his head, while Karen bites her lip, her expression otherwise neutral.
“No?” I wink at her. “I bet you think it from now on.”
“Charming, Mr. Gabrielli,” she says as the elevator stops on I. “Right this way.”
I step into another swank lobby with another glass desk, receptionist, and an Infidelity sign on the wall. Instead of corridors leading off into a maze of offices, there’s only one door, secured with a keypad.
Passcodes are only necessary when there’s something worth protecting. Like secrets. I bet the I and O in the elevator represent inside and outside the true Infidelity, and I’m now standing in the inner core of the company.
Karen enters a code and leads us into a classy office with a large desk, leather chairs, and rich wood cabinets. A wall of windows frames the glitter and stone of Manhattan’s financial district. At another—less desperate—point in my life, I might’ve appreciated the view, but I’m not here to be impressed and wooed. If Infidelity doesn’t pay me for the interview today, my ass is homeless.
I trail after her toward the desk. “About the payment for today—”
“The receptionist will have a check for you on your way out.” She lowers into the chair behind the desk.
“Thank you.” Tension loosens from my shoulders, making the tie feel a little less tight.
“You’re welcome. I suspected there might be some urgency given your situation.”
Situation. That’s one word for it.
“If you’re thirsty, help yourself to the wet bar.” Karen opens a laptop and taps the mouse pad. “There’s water, coffee, and spirits.” She nods at the built-in cabinet on the far wall. “Since you’re a bartender, I assume you’re particular about how your drinks are made.”
It’s ten in the morning. Does she think I’m a lush?
Anxious to get this over with, I sit beside Evan in the chair facing her desk. “I’m sure you’re aware that as of two days ago, I’m no longer a bartender.”
“Yes.” She slides the laptop to the side and clasps her hands together on the desk. “Decker Gabrielli. Twenty-eight years old. High school diploma. Average grades. No college. Recently fired from Blue Dixie.” She tilts her head. “Not the most impressive résumé. Which makes the success of your business venture remarkable.”
My chest clenches. “If you call it a success, you haven’t done your homework.”
“Oh, I’d say Contender Sports did extremely well. Three store fronts in just a few years. Investors lined up at your door. Prime real estate. You had a gym right here in Manhattan, did you not?”
“Yeah.” Resentment bubbles up, gnawing just as sharply as it had a year ago when I lost everything.
“It was an ingenious idea,” she says. “While many would love to learn MMA fighting—”
“Combat sports, not cage fighting.” I glance at Evan’s unreadable expression and return to Karen. “We taught boxing, Muay Thai, and wrestling to serious students. Some were on track for the Olympics.”
“My mistake.” She narrows her eyes. “My point is that most people aren’t willing to spend money on themselves, not to learn a new skill like boxing. But the sky’s the limit when it comes to investing in sports activities for their children. That’s one of the reasons your business did so well.”
It’s also why it failed. I hold her stare, despite the shame tightening my throat.
“Your business partner, Adam Lamont,” she says, focusing on the laptop screen, “was sentenced to seventy-five years in prison for three counts of sexual abuse and sodomy with children under the age of ten. You were exonerated of all involvement.”
“Tell that to the parents who pulled their kids out of my schools.” Within months of the initial charges, I went from three-thousand students to zero. Resentment surges through my veins and roughens my voice. “Doesn’t matter that the charges weren’t against me. I ran a sports school geared toward children with a pedophilic instructor. That is on me.”
“I understand how that would negatively impact your ability to bring in new business.” She gentles her voice. “It also explains why you have no personal references on your application.”
I smirk to stifle what would’ve been a disgusted expression. Since discovering that my best friend is a child molester, I’ve deliberately kept everyone at a distance. “I’m not as trusting as I used to be.”
“Understandable. But from a legal standpoint, you’re innocent. Ergo, Infidelity doesn’t consider you a risk in a high-profile relationship.”
“What are you saying?” I straighten in the chair, my mind spinning. “Are you actually considering me?”
“Mr. Gabrielli—”
“Decker.”
“Decker, tell me why Infidelity should hire you.”
<
br /> I’m not prepared for this and grapple for how to respond. “You want the bullshit answer or the honest one?”
“Honesty is the only answer.”
When I meet Evan’s burning eyes, I’m certain he’s silently begging me to filter my words. But I don’t want this job, for so many reasons.
“You shouldn’t hire me.” I recline in the chair and prop a foot on a knee. “I’m here for the five grand. Nothing more.”
“I see.” She purses her lips. “Will you go back to bartending?”
“I’ll find something.”
“And when your next boss sexually harasses you? What happens then?”
My foot drops to the floor, and I glare at Evan.
“I didn’t…” His eyes widen, head shaking. “I didn’t know the details.”
“I saw the video feed at Blue Dixie.” She drums her fingers lightly on the keyboard.
“How the hell did you get that?” My pulse speeds up. Who are these people?
“We’re resourceful.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I saw how and where the owner put her hands on you, so I’ll overlook the aggressive way you handled it. That said, Infidelity has zero tolerance for abuse. If you touch a client out of anger or in any way that could be construed as assault, you’re finished.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested in your—”
“What is it about Infidelity that has your mind made up?”
“I have enough shame in my past, don’t you think? Do you know how difficult it is to get a job when your name is smeared? Everyone knows how to Google, even bar owners. They do a quick search, find my name associated with a convicted child molester, and toss my application in the trash. Why bother researching the truth when there’s a hundred other applications on their desk?” My hands fist and relax. “I don’t need to add sexual services—or whatever it is you employ here—to my already vile résumé.”
I expect her to close the laptop and send me packing. Instead she steeples her fingers against her mouth and studies me for a silent moment.
Eventually, she bends forward, elbows on the desk. “I assume Evan gave you an overview of exactly what we do here, but I’ll make it crystal clear. We do not sell sexual services. Our clients are the elite of the elite, and they pay for a companion who represents their sophistication, a partner who won’t embarrass them in public, and a relationship that’s mutually enjoyed in private. That’s why compatibility and pairing the right personalities is crucial, and we’re very good at it.”
