Authors: Scarlett Black
Ceasefire (15 page)
Be
careful what you wish for. When it rains, it pours.
Whatever.
Use any cliché you can think of to describe a “too much, too soon” scenario.
It’s amazing how much time speeds up when you’re buried under so much stuff to
do that you open your eyes in bed, you blink, and it’s time to stumble back
into fitful sleep twenty hours later. Phone calls, meetings with the talent
and clients, paperwork, collecting money to show a bookkeeping record and then
handing it right back over, it all adds up. Michelle, bless her, helped as
much as she could, but she wasn’t properly trained in a lot of what needed
doing and it cost less time for me to do it myself than to teach her or clean
up after her mistakes.
She
refused to leave, however, because she was in it with me, no matter what.
Aaron bitched and moaned, whined and complained, but once Michelle showed him
the numbers we would be pulling if we could make it past the six-month
loss-leader period, he sulked in silence. Browsing the internet for manly toys
like jet skis and classic cars helped numb the wounds. They could afford them
before, but in six months, if things held up, he could start a
collection
.
I
paid Gertie double to keep Joey, and lied more and more to Dreama. My new job
as a salesperson for a large winery, I’d told her, kept me on the road for
long, long hours, traveling out of town for days at a time. She bought
it—though not without her usual upturned nose—and offered to watch her grandson
on the days that Gertie needed a break. Thank God he couldn’t form sentences
with enough coherence to explain the truth.
Just
a little while longer, I thought. If I can keep it up for another six months
and we’re consistently profitable, I’ll break the news to Dreama. She’ll find
out eventually. Better to hear it from me—and better for me to rub it in her
disapproving face—than for her to have the upper hand yet again. “Yes, Mother,
I run an escort service. Yes, it’s all your fault. No, you will not be taking
Joey from me. You have no one to blame but yourself. Twenty-two years,
Dreama. A pat on the back would’ve been nice once in a while.”
Six
months. I looked forward to the day.
But
at that point, I was so damn busy, I couldn’t even think about Dreama’s
reaction. There wasn’t time. I lost weight. I had bags under my eyes. My
diet consisted of whatever breakfast bar I managed to grab on my way out the
door.
And
it all began when Lucy called me back an hour after I made the offer. She accepted,
said she was excited, and even though there were logistics to work out with
Roman and her clients, she’d be under my wings within a week. I’d asked if I
could use her name to convince some of the others too, and she practically
begged me to do it.
“Kim,
honey,” she’d said, “please do. Those ladies deserve something better. You
tell them whatever you want, but be prepared for rejection. Some won’t have
the guts to leave the security they
think
they have with Roman, whether
I’m recommending it or not. You’ll get a few, though.”
I
made her promise not to give Roman any details whatsoever. No names, no
locations, nothing, to which she replied, “I’ve got more secrets locked behind
these lips than there are words in
War & Peace
. One more won’t
hurt.”
All
in all, slightly less than half of the women working for Roman jumped ship
within three weeks once they’d heard my offer and gotten Lucy’s blessing.
Every single one of them managed to retain every single client they had. The
one hundred percent retention rate absolutely blew my mind, until I realized
why.
It
was the suggestion to really open up the Pandora’s box of debauchery. At a
higher price, of course. Once their clients learned that they could
pay
whatever they wanted to
get
whatever they wanted, within reason, they
didn’t need convincing. Their real loyalties aligned with the women they were
familiar with, not the organization that employed them. That’s where Ellen had
been wrong.
Gone
were the days of abiding by Roman’s rules, regulations, and pricing
structures. Those piddling upsells that limited the choices from the buffet.
I
learned from a number of the defectors that some of them had already been taking
extra on the side to “go the extra mile” when the clients asked for it, but
they were so scared of Roman finding out that they kept their dalliances
limited.
They
were afraid of him. They said he was dangerous.
It
didn’t take long to learn that they were right.
But
with me, under my lackadaisical stipulations of anything goes, as long as it was
a fifty-fifty split, they relaxed and felt free to open themselves up.
I
won’t go as far as saying we created a sexual revolution around the city, but
we definitely demolished some inhibitions on both sides of the business relationship.
Then
it happened; something so incredibly unexpected that I had to question
everything I’d been doing.
***
Friday morning, light rain falling,
with my windshield wipers swishing back and forth lulling me back into another
dull mental fog, I fought to keep my eyes open. How many nights had it been
since I’d gotten more than four hours of sleep? I couldn’t even remember the
last time. Weeks probably. Yeah, it was the day Lucy accepted and shot Secret
Desires into the stratosphere.
I
don’t know why I chose the route I did on my way into the office. Maybe my
brain was so taxed that it lapsed back into old habits, trying to conserve
energy. Another two miles and I would’ve been at my old job where my layoff
had eventually led to my current situation. I grinned at the thought of taking
off my panties and giving Ronnie a show; such a desperate attempt to keep a
forty-hour-week position that paid in pocket change.
I
was so naïve. Young, really. I’d aged so much since then.
Granted,
I was currently going on double those hours, running my own company and earning
nothing for the effort, but the payoff, four months away, would be
so
worth it.
The
soft patter of rain, the rhythm of the windshield wipers—it was unbearable. I
needed coffee before I dozed off and ran someone over.
And
almost as if my needs were met by fate or coincidence, there it was. The
coffee shop where I’d encountered Finn on the morning of my layoff.
Hallelujah. Sweet, blessed, sugar-laden caffeine. I flicked on my blinker,
cut across two lanes of traffic—ignoring the angry honks from rush hour
drivers—and shot into the parking lot.
I
got out and didn’t bother to scurry inside. In fact, the rain that had now
morphed into a raging downpour would probably help my appearance. I hadn’t had
time for a proper shower in days. My hair was a tangled mop of knots and
split-ends. I doubt I remembered how to put on makeup. Lipstick? Out of the
question. Hell, even my teeth were lucky to get brushed.
You
could call it Casual Friday, but then it wouldn’t be any different from Casual
Thursday, Casual Wednesday, Casual Tuesday…blah blah blah. If clients wanted
to come into the office to arrange their appointments they met with Michelle,
who excelled in the area of spotless perfection, while I stayed hidden behind a
closed and locked office door. We fell into our roles with ease.
She
was the beauty. I was the brains.
I
pushed open the café door and basked in the orgasmic smell of roasting coffee
beans, steamed milk, and warm scones. Heaven, really, and I made a note to
take this route to the office more often. It’s those little pleasures in life,
those treats, that recharge the depleted reserves.
It
was early. The work crowds hadn’t packed the place yet. The campers and
stragglers hadn’t commandeered all the tables where they’d set up shop for
hours with their laptops or unnecessary rituals of reading every single word of
the newspaper.
Four
older gentlemen occupied a table to my right, dressed in their slacks, collared
shirts, and cardigans—the uniform of the retired, the Lonely Hearts Club. They
hunched over their coffees, discussing the previous night’s…whatever. Some big
game on television.
Television.
I remembered that. It’s kind of freeing when you realize just how little you
actually need to watch it when there are other means of filling your days. As
in, making sure the former nuclear physicist, who could also be a runway model,
isn’t late for her appointment with the esteemed senator from Louisiana—the one
that likes to dress up in a leathery horse costume and have her ride him around
the hotel room.
Another
two ladies, a younger couple, and that was it. Good. I’d be able to get a
table. Ten minutes to myself to relax, to breathe, to enjoy my coffee and ease
into the day. I needed it. I deserved it, damn it.
Five
minutes later, I sat with the largest cup of house coffee that I could order.
I’d graduated beyond sweetened, frothy drinks filled with whipped cream and
shots of flavoring. Nothing but the hard stuff for me, thank you very much.
Straight black, no chaser.
I
tried not to think about everything I needed to get done that day. I wanted to
clear my mind, maybe do a little caffeine meditation. All I wanted, seriously,
was to stare off into space and
not
think for a change.
The
jingling bell over the door snapped me out of my blissful, mindless reverie. I
glanced over, irritated at this stranger who had dared to interrupt me with
their own need for manufactured energy.
When
I realized who it was, I gulped, burnt my tongue, and choked as the scalding
liquid raced down my throat.
Finn.
My
God. Of all the chance encounters, he had to walk in right then? I looked
like I’d crawled out of the woods after having been lost in the wilderness for
weeks. I’d resigned to wearing sweatpants and tossing my hair up into a
ponytail because it was the quickest and easiest way to get myself out the door
in the morning. I wasn’t even sure the sweats I had on had been washed in
recent memory.
I
pulled my jacket zipper higher to hide my stained t-shirt. It occurred to me
that I could afford a housekeeper and to drop my laundry off with a service,
but when would I ever find time to set up an appointment?
Finn
paused at the entrance, said goodbye into his cell phone, and then walked
straight to the counter without looking at me.
I
sat glued to my chair. I didn’t know what to say. What would be the best
opening line after all this time? Would a simple, “Hi, remember me?” suffice,
or should I go for shock value? “Hey, you never called, so I became a
prostitute.” He’d think it was a joke, of course, but would he run away when I
told him the truth?
Don’t
be an idiot, Kim, I thought. That’s a stupid idea and you know it. Just say
hi.
My
heartbeat jackhammered inside my chest. He was more gorgeous than I
remembered. His hair was shorter, trimmed close to his head on the sides and
spiked with gel on top. (In the smooth, hot, metro
GQ
way, not the kind
employed by popped-collar boys who try too hard.) He wore a dark suit with a
cream shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and no tie. His laptop bag, hip but
expensive at the same time, hung over his shoulders.
Really,
it’s no exaggeration to suggest that this delicious treat could’ve come to life
and stepped right off the pages of a magazine.
And
there I sat, looking like a frazzled, exhausted, frump of a mess.
Finn
paid for his coffee and turned around, searching for an empty table.
I
waited for him to notice me.
We
locked eyes. His welcoming grin made it easy to smile back.
He
strolled over to my table, never taking his eyes off me. God, how I missed
those eyes. It was just one morning, ages ago, but I still remembered how they
made me feel on what had been one of the worst days of my life. My
professional
life, I should say. Dreama was responsible for nearly all of them in my
personal
life.
“My
God, where have you been?” he said, stopping behind the chair.
“Around,”
I answered, playing coy. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You
don’t even know, Kim. Mind if I sit with you?”
He
remembered my name. I could’ve fainted. I tried not to sound too eager. “Oh,
yeah, of course.”
Finn
lowered his laptop bag to the floor, took off his suit coat and then draped it
around the chair. When he sat and scooted closer, I got the slightest whiff of
the most delectable aftershave. I could’ve licked him.
We
sort of stared at each other for about ten seconds. Sure, it was the slightest
bit awkward, but I don’t think either one of us knew what to say. I had an
urge, about the size of an atom, to yell at him for never calling me back. I
let it go. I was so enamored that I would’ve believed whatever he told me.
“So,”
he said, giving me a shy grin that had hints of embarrassment hidden underneath
it. “It’s been awhile, huh?”
“Too
long,” I said. “Everything going okay with you?”
We
were both dancing around the obvious and we knew it.
He
did this cute thing where he nodded and shook his head at the same time, like
he wasn’t sure of his response. “Yeah, couldn’t be better. Couldn’t be
better. You?”
The
tongue-tied, stilted conversation wasn’t what I expected, or what I’d fantasized
about for so long. It sucks when reality gets in the way of fantasy. And I
couldn’t tell him the truth, which would completely burst the dream-bubble.
There was no way for me to predict how he’d react. It was better to continue
the mindless small talk until we were able to slog through. “About the same,”
I lied.
He
sipped his coffee, nodded. Damn, even the way he lifted a mug was sexy. “You
look great,” he said.
“Please,”
I scoffed.
“I’m
serious.”
I
giggled. “I look like shit, and you know it. But, you…you look—” I couldn’t
find the right words. Amazing? Fantastic? Lickable? “—I love your hair like
that.”
Smooth,
Kim, real smooth.
“Thanks.”
Finn swallowed and took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m just gonna come right out
and say it…and ignore me if I’m being conceited here, but I should probably
explain why I never called.”
I
shrugged, trying, and likely failing, to sound disinterested. “The thought
crossed my mind.”
“I
want you to know, I had the most amazing time with you that morning—”
“But
you’re married? Involved? Secretly wanted by the FBI?”
“What?
No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that—this seems too unbelievable to even
bother telling you.”
“Did
you get kidnapped or locked in some Vietnamese prison?” I was joking, but I can’t
say that these fantastical possibilities hadn’t wriggled their way through my
head on countless occasions.
“Not
exactly. Listen, here’s the truth—I got called to a meeting in New York that
afternoon. Total last minute deal for a client and I had to hop a red-eye
because they wanted me to fix their screw-ups in person. Anyway, the craziest
thing was, I got mugged five feet from my hotel door the next morning. Some
guy held a knife up to my cheek.”
“Oh
no,” I said, concerned for him, but thrilled that he’d walked away without any
scars. Who, other than a criminal, would want to ruin that beautiful face?
“Are you serious?”
“True
story. The guy got my watch, my wallet, and my phone. And since I didn’t have
it written down or stored in my head, your number went with him.
Poof
.
Gone.”
The
complete and total disbelief fluttered around inside my stomach like a bunch of
slithering snakes that had been doused in acid. I believed Finn’s story—my
anger raged at the mugger. He’d not only robbed Finn, he’d robbed
me
of
a year or more of my life.
He’d
stolen What Could Have Been. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to find the man who
did it and step on his balls with a pair of diamond-encrusted pumps.
The
most I could manage to say was, “That’s awful. Did they catch the guy?”
“Nope.
Just some thug that disappeared into the crowd. I reported it to the police,
but my stolen stuff wasn’t very high on their list of priorities.”
“That
sucks,” I said. In so many ways. “I can’t believe he got away with it.”
“Eh,
it’s just stuff. The worst part was, I didn’t have any way to get in touch
with
you
. I mean, seriously, I’ve looked—do you know how many Kims
there are on Facebook within a fifty-mile radius?”
“Oh
my God, that’s right. I only gave you my first name, didn’t I?”
“Yep.
And you wanna know what I did? Or, well, what I’ve
been
doing for the
past year?”
I
leaned forward on my elbows. “What’s that?”
Finn
waved a hand around the café in a big, sweeping gesture. “You’re looking at
it.”
“Drinking
coffee?”
“I’ve
been in here every morning I could possibly make it, hoping that I’d run into
you again, because it was the only chance I thought I might have.” He reached
across the table and took my hand. I felt that familiar shot of excited
electricity shooting across my skin and the tingling sensation in all the right
spots. “And finally, Jesus, here you are. I was
so
close to giving
up.”
My
eyes began to water. Small tears collected in the corners, waiting to drip and
roll down my cheeks if I would let them. “You came here looking for me?”
I
couldn’t believe it. So much could’ve been avoided. Had I thought to come
back to the café, in the same way that Finn had, maybe we would’ve reconnected
months earlier, if not a year or more.
Woulda,
coulda, shoulda.
What
would my life have been like?
I
could have saved myself from so much pain.
I
should have been here looking for him every day, too.
Yet,
what did that mean for my future? I didn’t want to lie to him, now that we’d found
each other again. I didn’t want things to start out that way. How was I
supposed to explain who I’d been, what I’d done? Would that change his opinion
of me? Would it scare him away? And my business that I’d worked so hard to
build—what would he think of that? Essentially, I was an upper-class madam, or
would
be. That wasn’t something I could readily admit.
Could
I close the doors and forget it ever happened? No. I had employees to
consider. Women that had taken huge risks to leave Roman and come under my
roof. I couldn’t let them down, not so soon, not after the massive gambles
they’d taken with their livelihoods.
I
didn’t see a way around it.
Not
unless…
Finn
shook his head and chuckled. “Sometimes I was here more than once a day.”
“Wow,
you were dedicated,” I said, dabbing at my eyes with a napkin.
He
squeezed my hand. “What can I say? I needed to find something.”
“You
found me. Now what?” I bit my bottom lip, waiting on his response.
“Well,
you could tell me what you’ve been up to for the past year, or we could get some
breakfast, or…”
“Are
you busy right now?”
Finn
checked his watch. “My first meeting isn’t until ten o’clock. Plenty of time
to—uh, to…whatever.”
I
knew we were both thinking the same thing. There was a glint in his eye that
he desperately tried to hide. He was too shy to admit it, and I’d waited too
long for him to waste time working up the courage.
Was
it too soon? Some would say yes, but they would be wrong. It wasn’t too
soon. We were a year
too late
.
I
said, “How does breakfast at your place sound?”
“That
sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
***
Finn’s
house was two miles away, nestled into a quiet little neighborhood where there
were white picket fences and bike lanes. Trees lining the sidewalks.
Birdbaths and fountains. Minivans and a calm sense of coziness.
His
place was smaller than the rest; a little bungalow with white siding and sky
blue shutters. A motorcycle rested underneath an overhang off to the right
side. The daring nature of the crotch rocket contrasted sharply against the eco-friendly
Prius that he drove. Fast and powerful versus Earth-conscious and practical.
It made me wonder about the dichotomy of his nature. Which was he? I’d take
either.
I
parked on the street and all but skipped up the driveway to join him. He put a
hand on my lower back and guided me up to the front door and inside. I barely
had time to notice the modern design of his furniture and the large,
flat-screen television mounted on the wall. His living room had “bachelor”
written all over it.
There
wasn’t time to analyze further. Finn spun me around, planted his lips on mine,
and we stumbled backward into the wall. His tongue darted in and out of my
mouth as I grabbed his waist, pulling him closer, lifting one leg to wrap it
around him. He pulled away and slowly traced his tongue around my lips. The
desperate aching between my legs became a roaring fire that needed quenching.
I wanted him inside me. I’d waited so long for it.
He
slung off his jacket. I grabbed his shirt, yanked it free from his trousers
and then up and over his head.
I
caught my breath. Finn was absolute perfection. Tight muscles carved into his
chest. Abs that you could count by sight. He was thin, but solid. Muscular,
but not freakish. I wanted him to melt in my mouth. “Goddamn, look at you,” I
said.
“Your
turn,” he said, helping me lift off my coat and top. My sports bra disappeared
with them. He softly caressed both breasts. “Beautiful.”
“More?”
I asked, pulling at my waistband, teasing him.
He
nodded, the growing lust in his eyes taking in every inch of me.
I
slipped everything off below the waist.
Finn
smiled.
I
hadn’t kept up with the pristine conditions downstairs like I used to—again,
time was the issue—and I hoped he wouldn’t be turned off. I said, “Okay if I
worry about taming the jungle later?”
He
answered by dropping to his knees, leaning forward, and kissing me where I’d dreamed
of having his mouth for so long.
I
thrust my hips forward, allowing him access, closing my eyes and gasping for
air. It felt amazing. Unbelievable. Thrilling. My legs went numb as the
rippling pleasure raced throughout my body. I grabbed his head, running my
fingers through his hair, guiding him, the ache for release building…building,
his tongue darting here and there, finding all the right spots, as my eyes
rolled back into my head.
And
then I pulled away, just in time. “Not yet,” I whispered, struggling to
breathe. Knees shaky and ready to collapse. “Bedroom?”
He
smiled. “That’s too far,” he said, picking me up, turning, and with two steps,
he dropped me on the couch. His pants hit the floor before I could offer to
help and then he was inside, filling me, as I pulled him close to my chest,
digging my fingernails into his back and pulling. Grunting, moaning, commanding
him to go deeper, harder, and faster.
I’d
wanted it for so long. It was pure, raw
need
. Ecstasy like I’d never
felt before.
He
stared into my eyes. I got lost in his. I could think of nothing else.
I
lifted my hips higher, pulling at the back of my knees, spreading myself as far
as I could go, and allowing him to thrust as deep as possible. I bit his
bottom lip, softly, but with unbridled craving, aching to let myself go. I was
close, so close, but I waited.
I
waited on him. We were in perfect rhythm. We were a union of two souls in
lustful harmony. I felt his muscles clench and his body go rigid as I squeezed
around him and came, unable to control myself any longer, crying out his name
as my body shook and quivered.
Finn
bent forward and hungrily kissed me as he tensed, tensed, and then released
himself inside me, falling forward, collapsing onto my chest. He kissed me
again—gently this time—and then whispered through exhausted breaths, “Amazing…I
don’t even have the words.”
“I
do,” I said, caressing his cheek, feeling him softening inside.
“What
are they?”
“It’s
about time.”