Money Shot (43 page)

Her buzzer rang at eight o’clock sharp. Chelsea replied on the intercom that she’d be right down, as there was no way she was letting this guy come to her apartment. As she walked down the three flights of stairs in heels, it occurred to her for the first time that she’d never given Greg her address. She didn’t know whether to be creeped out, or impressed that he’d gone to the extent of tracking her down.

Chelsea stepped from her building to find not Greg, but a stranger standing next to a shiny black Lincoln Town Car. The man said, “Right this way, Miss Broussard” as he opened the back door and she saw Greg smiling from the opposite side of the back seat. Not returning the smile, she entered the car.

Two hours later, they were finishing the most amazing meal that Chelsea could remember, with course after incredible course of delicious sushi. Greg had been charming the entire time. He was smart, funny, and great company, and apart from a brief “I enjoyed our first meeting and really wanted to see you again,” he hadn’t mentioned the depraved restroom sex. This, of course, had made Chelsea want to have sex with him again. The longer he went without talking about it, the more she wanted him. Every notion she’d had earlier of upbraiding him for his prior lack of courtesy had disappeared and she now had a pleasant sake buzz and a tingling between her legs.

In the back seat of the car afterward, Greg smiled and asked if Chelsea had enjoyed her dinner. When she said she’d loved it, he responded, “Good. I have a surprise waiting for you, something that will change your life. But first things first: Show me your tits.”

Chelsea glared at him. The expensive dinner and promised surprise didn’t matter, she was not his sex toy. He waited expectantly. Chelsea couldn’t think of what to do, so instead did the first thing that came to mind and said, “Show me your cock.”

Greg casually unzipped his fly and pulled out his limp cock. Astonished, Chelsea looked at it, then back up at Greg as she burst out laughing. She glanced at the driver, who was staring straight ahead as he drove. “What the hell…” she said, looking defiantly at Greg. She slowly removed her coat, then lowered the top of her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the dress slid down to her waist, exposing her breasts.

They were even better than Greg had thought, full and perfectly shaped, her nipples hardening in the cool air. He stared at them, then finally said, “Excellent. They’re great.” Chelsea’s heart pounded, but to her chagrin he kept his hands to himself. Just as she noticed his cock beginning to stiffen, the car pulled over to the curb and Greg abruptly said, “Okay, you can put them back.” He tucked his cock into his pants and zipped up as Chelsea eased back into her dress and coat.

“Here’s your surprise. Come with me,” Greg said with a smile, climbing out of the car and extending his hand. Chelsea exited, noting the driver’s blank expression as he held open the door. They were in front of a high-rise office building on West Madison. Greg led her to the door and they walked in, the security guard at the gate nodding and greeting them with, “Good evening, Mr. Morand, ma’am.”

So he works here,
Chelsea thought.
This sly fox wants to fuck me in his office—that’s a life-changing surprise?
Still, the idea of being laid out on Greg’s desk and fucked was hot and she was beyond ready for some good sex. This time would be different; he would have the time to tend to her needs and nobody would be watching.

Chapter Three

The elevator ride was filled with tension. Greg still held Chelsea’s hand in his, but attempted nothing more—not a kiss, even. As they rode in absolute silence, she imagined Greg sweeping his hand across his desk, sending everything on it flying, then bending her over it as he’d done in the men’s room at the bar. Chelsea’s body was humming with desire by the time they stopped at the fifty seventh floor.

Greg led her to an office suite with the name “International Investment Partners” etched into the double glass doors. He punched a code into the alarm, then held the door open while Chelsea entered. She felt her pulse race as they walked down a dark hallway and Greg opened another door for her. The light was on inside, and when Chelsea stepped in she gasped.

It was a conference room, with a large oval table in the middle with seating around it for twenty people. At one end sat four men, all dressed in suit and tie, ranging in age from their forties to one possibly in his mid-sixties. They turned in their black leather chairs and looked at Chelsea as she walked in, no one saying a word. Three of the four had tumblers in front of them and a bottle of scotch sat on the table. Their faces gave no hint as to who they were or why they were there. Chelsea stopped short and turned to Greg. Before she could utter a word, he smiled and said, “No need to worry. Have a seat. We’d like to discuss something with you.” Chelsea glared at him, then demanded, “I don’t want to be here. Take me home.”

“Excuse me, my dear,” came a voice from behind her. The oldest of the men was now standing. He had gray hair and a beard and was quite distinguished looking. He continued, “I assure you we are all gentlemen here, and no one will cause you any trouble.” Chelsea had a thing for older men, but the present circumstances had her too distressed to pay much attention to such things.

Another man spoke, a tall man with a shaved head and a goatee. “On the contrary, Miss Broussard, we are here to change your life. Please have a seat.” She looked at their faces. The other two men included one who looked youngest, with an athletic build and an extremely handsome face and dark brown hair that was a bit longer than the others. The last was the shortest of the bunch, maybe fifty years old, with thinning blond hair and a warm smile. And Chelsea could tell by looking at them—their clothing, their watches, their demeanor—that these men were all very, very wealthy.

Greg held out a chair for Chelsea. She cautiously took a seat, placing her hands on the table’s beautiful gleaming mahogany surface. The chair’s leather rubbed against her thighs below the hem of her dress. “Can I get you something to drink?” Greg asked, walking toward a table with several bottles of premium liquors. “A martini?” When Chelsea declined, he took a tumbler and sat next to her at the table, pouring himself some scotch.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Chelsea said.

“Let me start by introducing everyone,” the older man said. His name was Raymond, the tall bald man was Everett, the handsome one was Tristan, and the short one was Levi. “... and you’ve already met Gregory.” Greg smiled at her. There was something on the face of every man in the room that told Chelsea they knew about her brief men’s room rendezvous with Greg. She squirmed in her seat and said, “Under different circumstances, I’m sure I’d be delighted to meet all of you.”

Raymond looked at the other men, then continued, “Gregory has told us about you and had nothing but good things to say. We wanted to meet you tonight to make you an extraordinary proposition, one that may very well alter the course of your life from this point forward.” He smiled and asked, “Shall I go on?”

Chelsea nodded.

Raymond said, “Gregory said that you… um… have a rather adventurous streak. That is why we wanted to meet you.” Chelsea turned to Greg and glared. The bastard had indeed told them. She turned back to the others and said, “This situation is making me very uncomfortable and I’d appreciate it if you’d get to the point.”

“Of course. We understand,” Raymond responded. “The five of us became acquainted because we share certain predilections that are not generally considered proper, especially for men of our stature in the business world. To put it simply, we enjoy things that we absolutely cannot share with our girlfriends, or for Everett, Levi and myself, with our wives.” Great, at least the bastard who had fucked her, then wined and dined her and brought her here, wasn’t married.

“I will now get down to brass tacks,” the older man continued, “and we ask that you hear our offer in its entirety, after which point you are welcome to leave if it does not interest you.” Chelsea again nodded her assent.

“We need a companion for certain occasions and outings,” Raymond said. “Some of these will involve activities that you are probably not accustomed to, but at no point will your health or your life be in danger. For many people, these things might even be considered normal behavior. And you would be well compensated for your involvement.”

The truth of the situation suddenly dawned on Chelsea. She looked around the room, then said indignantly, “I’m not a whore. You need to find another girl.”

Tristan spoke up, saying, “Chelsea, you misunderstand. Every man in this room could afford the best prostitutes in the world if that’s what we wanted. We want you to be a companion in some shared adventures. We will take you to places you didn’t know existed, often in other parts of the world. You would be treated with the utmost of respect. Of course, we’ll pay for everything.” He smiled at her and Chelsea couldn’t believe how devastatingly handsome he was. Why all of them? Why not just
him
, for God’s sake? She would jump at
that
chance.

Levi said, “However, you were right about one thing: There will be sex involved, and you will be expected to participate. We will ask you to do things many women might find distasteful, though something tells me
you
would likely relish them.”

Chelsea locked eyes with him.

Greg interjected, “Let’s cut to the chase: Chelsea, we want you to be our slut.”

Chelsea heard the word and decided this was not something she wanted to be a part of, then Greg added, “It’s a four-month commitment for which you’ll be paid a hundred thousand dollars.” A quick look around the table told her he was serious.

She took a breath, then said, “I’ll have that martini now.”

As Chelsea drank to steady her nerves, Everett laid out the terms to which she would have to agree:

She would be available to them for four months, starting immediately.

Her compensation would be a hundred thousand dollars—twenty-five thousand at the end of each month.

She would have free use of a luxury apartment and a car and driver would be made available to her.

The apartment was for her use and none of them would ever request to meet her there.

But it was the last item that really got Chelsea’s attention: When the four months ends, a career position would be lined up for her in the travel media industry, making at least double her current salary. That position would be hers for a year, and if she proved capable she could remain there afterward. When she asked how they could arrange such a thing, their chuckles told her it would be a simple matter. They were even wealthier than she’d imagined.