His Sugar Baby Page 4

  Fuck, I want to punch something. I want to turn back time and have never seen the tax form. I wish I never crawled through the internet to figure out what the modeling agency really did. I can’t change what I’ve seen, so, I either go back to Anne, or I move on to another woman.

  Back at my desk I pull up the website again and click past Anne’s profile. I slowly go through profiles, one after another, none of them appeal. I close the website again. It’s still there on my other screen, the tax document of who she was and now, very technically, is again.

  Fuck. I search until I find it. Tabatha Marks is the madam of what appears to be one of the top five escort companies in not just Las Vegas but in the entire country. The clients had to be vetted, not just any man or woman was allowed in off the street. Every mention of it comes with accolades of how well it’s run and how the women are the best the men have had from an agency. Jaw clenched, I punch in the number for Tabatha Marks.

  She picks up on the second ring. “This is Tabatha. How can I help you?”

  “Tabatha, I hope you can. My name is Grant Dexter. I want some information on a woman who used to work for you, Anne Thomas.”

  There are a few minutes of silence, then I hear the tapping of her computer keys. She’s looking me up. Her response isn’t quite what I thought it would be. “Mr. Dexter, there are many Anne Thomas’ in this world. What makes you think she worked for me?”

  “I know she did. I’m looking at a tax document that says she did. I’m considering a sugar baby arrangement with her. I want to know more about her.”

  “Like what? Know more about her in what way?” Her voice is filled with boredom, as if I’m bothering her.

  Maybe it’s what pushes me to release the anger and frustration that’s been boiling since I saw it. “Like what turned her into a hooker willing to fuck some random guy for a couple of hundred dollars an hour.”

  She’s quiet for so long I think she’s hung up on me. “It must be nice in that high-rise million dollar condo, looking down at the world. I bet it was even nicer growing up in a world where you can make a million dollars at only sixteen. You had the option of M.I.T. or some other ivy league college you could pay for. Not everyone has those options.

  “Anne grew up in a world where she was told she wasn’t worth anything more than being an obedient little wife, pushing out baby after baby while she served her husband and god. When you look down from your windows do you see the people on the street. Have you ever seen the people who had to actually sleep on the street? Some people only have the option of selling their body or going hungry. Have you ever gone hungry, Mr. Dexter?”

  Now she hangs up on me, which is good because I have no response. Her words humble me in a way I’ve never been before, and I deserve. They also make me dig deeper into Anne. Except I hit a wall. It takes a while to figure out why. Anne changed her name when she went to work for Tabatha. Before then her name was Faith Anne Snyder. What I find hits me harder than I expect, than I want it to.

  Chapter Four

  My email indicator goes off. I’m not proud of the way I lunge across the couch for the phone. Please don’t let him be a weirdo, please don’t let him be a weirdo. Tapping my way through the screens on my cell phone, I get to my email. His email is short; he liked my profile and would like to have dinner with me tomorrow so we could get to know each other beyond our profiles.

  I click on his profile and sigh with relief, he’s hot. He’s only nine years older than me, younger than I would have expected. Bright blue eyes glow out of his picture, and he’s dressed in a suit that screams made just for him. His profile says he’s six-foot one and he calls himself a tech nerd. He doesn’t look like any tech nerd I’ve ever seen. He has an olive skin tone that glows against thick hair the color of chocolate, with a light curl to it. Staring at his chiseled jaw and cheekbones and his thick pouty lips, I sigh. The man looks like he’s an Italian film star or something.

  I Google him and stop breathing. Holy fuck, a genius billionaire. I keep reading, a reclusive, genius billionaire who didn’t do the party scene or jet set. It’s a little disappointing. I’m not into the party scene but I do enjoy the traveling. I’m disappointed because it means he’s more interested in the sexual aspect an agreement like ours would be. Which, considering how attractive he is, doesn’t make any sense to me.

  Then, the more I keep reading I understand completely. There are numerous Facebook posts from former girlfriends, with the women all complaining about pretty much the same thing. Grant had cared more about work than them and refused to even consider marriage. Grant Dexter is a workaholic confirmed bachelor.

  I should be jumping up and down with happiness. I’d be ignored all day until he wanted me in his bed at night. It would give me the time I need to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life. Instead, I’m a little disappointed at the idea of not spending more time with someone who seems so interesting.

  Trying to keep it cool, I respond that I would like to get to know him better, too. I’m free tomorrow evening. Immediately, he responds he’s glad and if I give him my address, he’ll pick me up at eight. I send him the address of the Airbnb condo building I’m staying in. It has a doorman for security so he can just text me to let me know he’s there.

  My phone pings with a text.

  Any preferences for a restaurant?

  Wow, major points for asking.

  I haven’t been to many of the restaurants here

  My favorite food is Italian

  His response comes quickly.

  Italian it is

  I know a place I believe you will like

  See you at 8 tomorrow

  With a happy squeal, I bounce off the couch. I was beginning to get worried I wasn’t going to find a new sugar daddy at all in Chicago. As of today, my profile has been up for two weeks and I’ve been in Chicago for a week. I’ve only had one other response and he was a weirdo. Yesterday, I Googled the weirdo to find out what I could about him.

  My phone rings and I wonder if it’s Grant. It’s not, it’s Tabatha. I haven’t talked to her in years. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. We don’t talk for long, just long enough to cause my legs to go out from under me.

  Hanging up, I sit wondering what the hell is what. If it had bothered him so badly me being an escort, the hooker he called me, what made him to change his mind? Had Tabatha’s words really made a difference? Closing my eyes, my head goes back. If he had been able to find out about Tabatha then he knew. He knew everything.

  Curling up on the couch, all I feel is empty. Grant Dexter knowing everything about the past I tried so hard to forget feels like he has stripped me naked without my permission. I never talked about the time before Boston. Robin had asked, once. When I told her I didn’t want to talk about it she never asked again. When men asked—which wasn’t often—they were content with small town and boring, and I wanted to escape from it all. No further questions were asked, it was an age-old scenario.

  I never talked about my time as an escort, but not because I was ashamed. I had done what I needed to do. I couldn’t change it and I don’t think I would if I could. There weren’t many other things I could’ve done at the time that wouldn’t have ended in all kinds of bad. It happened, and I just want to leave it all behind me. I’ve kept the one and only reminder I want to keep. Closing my eyes, I refuse to think about the past. I’m not willing to go back there.

  I wake up the next morning on the couch. My mind is no clearer than when I fell asleep. Shuffling into the kitchen, I make coffee then take a shower while the coffeemaker does its thing. Normally, I take my shower at night letting my hair air dry since I already use a flat iron and don’t like to use more heat than I need to. My day feels upside down as I step out of the shower. Drying off, I go through to the small bedroom and apply lotion. I take out only a loose shirt I might put on later, or not. I’m content to be naked.

  Even though I’m not happy about Grant Dexter digging into m
y life, I understand the billion reasons behind it. Men with as much money as Grant Dexter do what they can to protect their wealth and themselves. With the write-ups on him, it was clear he was a bit of a control freak, no surprise really. If he was going to have a woman in his life who was only there because of an even exchange of money for sex and time, then he’d want to know everything about that person—down to their shoe size. Just because he knew about my past didn’t mean he’d get me to talk about it. He already knew, that was more than enough.

  It’s two minutes until eight o’clock. I’m nervous, which is weird because I don’t get nervous about meeting men. Yet, I’m worried about my weight for the first time in years. For a long year I gained and lost the same twenty pounds in order to be more appealing, until a regular client told me to stop. He had requested me at the size twelve I was for a reason. He found me sexy with curves.

  As much as my time spent working as an escort wasn’t something I had wanted to do, I came away from it with much more than money. I was more confident in not just my own appeal, but in who I was. So much so that even in the years since, when I had gone up to a size sixteen, I didn’t let it bother me. Only now, I’m wondering if Grant will find me as appealing as he thought I was from my profile picture.

  My phone pings, and I pop up from the couch. One last check in the mirror before I text him I’ll be right down. My dress is a black sheath that goes to a few inches above my knee with a long sleeved lace overlay. I keep it simple with black Jimmy Choo three-inch heels.

  Grabbing my small clutch, I check it’s all there: a twenty-dollar bill, compact for loose powder, lipstick, and a small vial of pepper spray. Locking the door, I slip the key and phone inside the clutch.

  The doorman greets me with a smile and holds the door open for me wishing me a good evening. Grant is there, holding the door open for me to the Town car. A man hasn’t held a car door open for me in forever, usually they let the driver do it. His smile makes me catch my breath. He’s even more gorgeous in the flesh.

  “Your picture didn’t do you justice. You are so gorgeous my cock aches to strip you bare.”

  His blue eyes are glowing, his graphic words should offend me. I’ve never liked it when a man talked dirty, and have no idea how to myself. I should run back up to the condo like the devil is chasing me. Yet, my whole body tightens in anticipation of the promise in his eyes and I slip into the car.

  The driver in the front seat nods at me.

  Grant gets into the car as I put my seatbelt on. As roomy as the car is it feels smaller when he gets inside. He stares at me. “I don’t want to eat dinner. I want to eat you.”

  I gasp at his words, his hungry intent. My body responds faster than I do, liquid heat pooling low inside me. I’m stunned at my response, at how badly I want the same thing. No man has made me this needy this fast, with only a few minutes of intense eye fucking and a few words.

  While I knew the evening would likely end this way that would come after I knew more about him. Shouldn’t it have taken knowing more about him to be this attracted to him, I wonder. Fighting to clear my head, I laugh weakly. “I’m not on the menu, yet. This isn’t the way I thought we were going to get know each other. Can’t we please go to dinner first?”

  His eyes are everywhere on me, they darken as they meet mine. “I’m only hungry for you. Your pussy is wet for me, you want me just as badly as I want you. Why waste time in a restaurant when we’ll learn each other much better in bed?”

  I open my mouth, needing to argue with him. Before I can say a word he cups me there, no. How dare he touch me as if he already owned me? Except he does own me because my hips rock into his touch, begging for more. His hand is so big, so hot. I want it everywhere. Even as I moan at what he is doing to me I’m angry, at him, and myself.

  My hand goes up to his chest, god he’s so hard as his muscles flex beneath my touch. It’s supposed to push him away only my finds its way up to his neck, pulling him down to me. “You bastard.” I whisper as a thick finger slips inside me, dying in embarrassment for him to find me wet. I plead, with my last breath. “Not this, not so soon.”

  “I’m the bastard you are so wet for your panties are soaked. I’m the bastard who made those beautiful grey eyes of yours turn to liquid silver.” His mouth is at my ear, his teeth nip at the soft fleshy skin and my body clenches in needy response. Every hot breath in my ear vibrates through me leaving me panting. “Are you really going to make us both sit through dinner?”

  There’s a noise from the driver, oh my god. I jump, my eyes on the driver. My face is hot in shame as I feebly push him away. To my surprise he moves easily, he’s not happy though, and it shows. He looks at the driver as if he wants to make the man disappear then back to me.

  I watch as he sucks his middle finger into his mouth. “Sweet, so sweet. I can’t wait.” Turning his attention back to the driver. “What are we doing just sitting here?”

  “Sir, we arrived a few moments ago. You appeared to not want to be interrupted.”

  Oh god, kill me now is all I can think as I fumble out of the car. My knees are wobbly as I fight to stand. Suddenly, Grant is there, his hands go to my waist pulling me up against him. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll get another driver to take us home, you’ll never see him again.”

  Completely freaked out by how badly I want to cling to this man and not let go, I try to pull away. Grant doesn’t let me go. “How could you do that? Do you normally talk dirty and grab women by the, by the—”

  He laughs at my attempt to say it. “Pussy? Well, I’m no president. I have to say, no. I normally don’t.”

  “Why me? Is it because I used to be a hooker—because I’m—”

  My words are swallowed by his mouth on mine. Those soft lips of his feel hard as they burn into my skin. His velvet tongue invades, claiming every inch as his. He tastes of mint, of black cherries, and desire. Then it’s over, leaving me clinging to him again to stay standing.

  “I did it because you wanted me to.” He laughs at my outrage. “I did it because I could smell the wet heat of your pussy and it was making me fucking nuts. This is all your fault. I’ve never taken one look at a woman and wanted to fuck her until neither one of us could stand. I’ve never met a woman who looked at me the same damned way.”

  He looks annoyed at his admission, which is how I know it’s true. “Oh.”

  Shaking his head, he smiles. “Oh,” He mimics me. “I generally don’t refuse an invitation as appealing as your body is giving me. But if you want to do the song and dance of dinner, fine.”

  “Please, this is all a little overwhelming.” I beg.

  With a look of surprise he studies me, before nodding slowly. “Okay, dinner.” His hand at my lower back, he steers me up toward the restaurant across the street. “I’ve heard good things about this restaurant. I’m looking forward to trying it out.”

  “I’m pretty easy to please. As long as they care more about the food than being edgy and Avant Garde. I would be happy with spaghetti and meatballs.” I laugh self-consciously as he keeps staring at me.

  His blue eyes glow. “You have the sweetest laugh I have ever heard.” His sincerity is clear, and I blush. With a shake of his head, he chuckles. “I don’t know about the edgy thing. I’ve never been here. I don’t eat out much.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I prefer staying home over going out. I wear the suits, but I prefer jeans and tee shirts. My housekeeper is a fantastic cook. I’m content with her cooking.”

  “I like trying new and different foods, but I’m happy to not wear the heels and spending time getting ready.”

  As we step inside, the host is smiling in welcome and we are led to a corner booth. My sweaty palms make it difficult not to fumble with the menu. With my stomach in knots, the last thing I’m thinking about is food.

  The waitress is smiling at Grant like she won the lottery. I want to smack her face. I’ve never been jealous in my life, yet I feel it, hot and p
ointy, inside me. Once again, I’m confused by everything happening and want to run fast and far. The only problem is I don’t have anywhere to go. I also can’t think of anywhere else I want to be, other than here with Grant.

  Pasting a smile on my face, I ask about the calamari, if it was cut fine or thick.

  “You like calamari?”

  “I love it.” He makes a face. “Have you even tried it?”

  “No, I’ve never tried it before. The idea of eating squid doesn’t appeal.”

  “If you don’t try something new you never know just how good it can be.” To the waitress, since it’s thin, I order the calamari, and the braciole. He orders minestrone soup and lasagna.

  “Wine?” The waitress asks.

  “No, for either of us,” He looks to me.

  I don’t drink, but I’m annoyed at him speaking for me. “I want a glass of Pinot Noir, the house wine is fine. I’d also like an Italian soda, raspberry please.”

  She looks at Grant. He doesn’t even blink. “No wine, just her soda.”

  The waitress vanishes. “How dare you tell me what I can and can’t drink?”

  “I dare because when I fuck you tonight I don’t want you full of liquid courage.”

  Holy shit. I look around, a few people close by look our way. “I can’t believe you said that. Will you lower your voice?”

  “I said it because there all these things about you that don’t quite add up the way they should. I won’t lower my voice if it takes me speaking at a normal tone to get you to behave.”

  “Behave?” He did not just say that.

  “Don’t start arguing with me. You wanted to eat dinner, we are eating dinner. You arguing with me is making my cock hard all over again, make a choice.” I snap my mouth closed and become fascinated with the fork on the table. “That’s what I thought. Now, tell me how it is you worked as an escort for years and still act as if you’ve never been soaking wet, wanting to be fucked in the back of a car before.”