Selling Satisfaction (5 page)

A tingle hidden deep inside my stomach causes my face to become hot. It's not often I find a client that I'm actually excited to meet with. Not that I find any attraction to him, it's purely about pleasure. I have to respond and tell her no though, no matter how much it throbs between my legs for another release like today, it's simply against my policy. I already told Winston that.

Wish I could, sorry.

The truck dings when Everett opens his door. I slide my phone back into my purse and open my door as well, jumping out.

When we both walk through the entrance of our complex, I thank Everett once more and start my way towards the main elevator. I hope he doesn't think it was a date, because there is absolutely no way I'm allowing him to give me a kiss goodnight.

Waiting for the elevator door to open, Everett walks over and leans against the wall, staring at me vigilantly. "Does this mean we get to hang out again?"

"Friends hang out," I tell him, reminding him of the word
friends
. "So yeah. I suppose we could." Even if in my head I'm telling myself it's stupid to allow him into my life too much. It wouldn't be good for either of us to get too close, even if things stay exactly how they are.

"Good," he replies with a hopeful smile. I have to admit when he flashes his teeth at me, there is something charismatic about him. "Have a good night, Brenna."

"Yeah... um... night, Everett."

The door opens and I slide into the elevator before he can say anything more. I don't find relief until the door slides shut. I'm not sure if I'm making a mistake or not, but I have an unsettling feeling buried inside my gut. Things are going to get messy if I don't keep my guard up.

I walk into Kandy's office
, which is covered in more animal print than a taxidermy's office. It's accented with bright hues of pink, purple and other neon colors. Avoiding the barbaric appearance of her office, I sit down and watch as Kandy types away on her computer.

The woman herself is also wild. Younger than I imagined by the details of her record, but she certainly doesn't dress her age. Instead she's in a dress that I'd imagine a teenager to wear with hair piled on top of her head. Her glasses have zebra stripes on them, the same as her notebook, pen, and other surrounding items.

"Michael Ranson," she states out loud. It's the undercover name I've been given for the case.

"That's correct."

"Please confirm your date of birth then."

We go over a few random details that she already has but apparently has to confirm. She did just have her client list taken from her, so I'm sure she's taking extra precautions with everything, which is why I've done overtime studying my folder. I don't want to mess up even one single detail of this investigation, especially knowing how much I need to prove myself to Chief O'Riley.

Once she seems content, she allows the glasses to slide down to the bridge of her nose as she peeks over the rims at me. "Perfect," she states. Her smile a bit flirtatious. "Now, I have a small questionnaire for you to fill out. When you're done with that, I'll match you with one of my phenomenal ladies I'm sure will satisfy you like no other." Her voice drags out in an attempt to be seductive. She knows what she is doing in the terms of pimping out other females.

Picking up the questionnaire, I have to keep a straight face at the questions asked. Do I like anal play? Am I into bondage? Will toys to be used on me? What fetishes I may have? There are so many perplexed questions that if this were actually for me, I'd immediately walk away right now. I do, for the most part, answer them the way I would if it were me whom was seeking an expensive bedmate.

When I'm finished, I hand them back to Kandy. She smiles joyously at me while going over the answers, writing little remarks next to them. My face warms at the thought of her judging me, which is absurd. I'm a pretty basic guy, I enjoy some kinky things in bed, but nothing to those extremes. I know people walk in and mark off a good portion of those questions, so I shouldn't feel ashamed right now. Especially since I'm not actually renting a whore.

"I think I have the girl just for you!" Her enthusiasm rubs me the wrong way. It's like a dating service, except there are no fancy dinners or fun activities. It's straight to a dingy hotel room with an overused vagina. "Her name is Chasity. She's twenty, but don't let her age fool you. She's been in the business quite some time. Her preferences match almost perfectly to yours. She's also one of the best I have, which means her schedule is busier than the other ladies. Once I finish your background check and everything goes accordingly, I could have you two meet up in just three weeks. How does that sound?"

"Is there anyone else that I could get with sooner?" I hate sounding so fucking desperate, but it's an investigation. I have to get things moving. My assigned reasoning is that I'm recently single after nine years of a relationship, and that I'm desperately lonely. I want someone more for companionship rather than for the sex, but in time I want to move into the intercourse phase. It wasn't exactly easy to talk about, but I think it also played into my favor. She never once questioned my motives, but instead was a listening ear.

She doesn't hide her disappointment with my request but doesn't say as much. "Oh sure, there is also Mona. She isn't quite as vanilla as you, but my ladies always make sure your pleasure comes first... pun intended." She winks, finding amusement in her play on words. "Looking over her schedule, you could probably meet up with her at the end of next week."

"I'll take it," I tell her.

She marks it down on a piece of paper, then again on a calendar she has in front of her, all in code words. She is smart about many things I've noticed. I do my best at not over analyzing the things she does because I know it'll all take time, but I make mental notes of certain things that are easier to pick up on.

"Now, certain preferences do cost more. You're looking at three thousand for one hour with Mona on your first visit, same with your second, and if you're thinking that you're ready for the next phase by the third visit, it'll be four thousand six hundred." She continues about the rules and stipulations, what is expected of me as a client, and reasons to contact her. I listen to everything she has to say, agree to her terms, and sign all the documents required.

It's over an hour of my time that I'm in her office and am thankful once I hit the hot outdoors. I head to my office, driving a random route there just in case, then immediately meet with Chief to give him the information passed on to me from Kandy.

The second Saturday of each
month I get to go out and grab lunch with the one friend I actually have that isn't included in the same business as me. Hillarie was actually a waitress at a small local restaurant, Frizzle's. I used to go in nearly every day for lunch, and most days she waited on me. Before I was living in town even a month I told her I was looking for a place to live and she helped me find my condo. Within two months of living here, we found ourselves talking, connecting, and actually enjoying each other’s presence outside of her job.

After eight months of becoming friends she moved to Clearwater. Her mom got sick and needed Hillarie's help. It hurt more than I ever cared to admit when she left me, but we still keep in contact, which has helped. I've only gone to Clearwater once to visit her in the last two years, mainly because she actually wants to travel out this way- to see other old friends and such.

She knows what I do for a living and never once judged me for it. In fact, she said she envied me for having the confidence. Those were her words, not mine. I personally don't think it has anything to do with confidence. In fact, I'd say more the lack of. It's given me confidence over time, but that's not the reason I began.

It had a lot more to do with loneness, desperation, needs and wants, power. Control. My way of filling a void and getting away from the world I was forced to grow up in.

I pull into the parking lot of Applebee's and spot Hillarie's blue Nissan right off. She's standing next to it with her curly blonde hair and oversized sunglasses. I climb out of the car and give her a wave. She comes running over, platform heels and all. "Brennnn," she hollers as her arms wrap around me. "God, I've missed you."

"It's only been a month," I remind her with a laugh. "But I've missed you too."

She flashes her left hand in my direction, wiggling her fingers up and down. A gorgeous band of silver with a square diamond placed on top shimmers brilliantly. "What?" I gasp. Grabbing Hillarie's hand, I pull it forward to examine her gorgeous engagement ring more closely. "When did this happen?"

"Last week. It's been so hard keeping it from you, but I wanted to surprise you." Hillarie starts to cry a little as she takes her hand from mine and examines the ring herself. "It's so perfect, just like him."

"Him who? I didn't even know you were seeing someone." As excited as I am for her, we talk often enough that her dating someone is something I would have known- or at the very least, should have known. It terrifies me, even if just a little, that she's giving into someone so easily for the sake of a beautiful handcuff disguised to look like a diamond ring.

Together we make our way towards the entrance as Hillarie tells me about her fiancé named Travis.

"We met two months ago," she says, a bit of pink coloring her cheeks. I'm not sure if she's embarrassed that it took two whole months to tell me about him, or the fact that she knows two months isn't nearly long enough to dedicate a future with someone.

I don't interrupt though, as she tells me about how they met. "...and he has this huge yacht, which he took me out on for our first date. We got to watch whales out at sea, I even saw a shark. The sun was setting when he kissed me romantically. I could go on for hours telling you how amazing the entire date was, but I'm sure the love which exuberates between us would probably make you gag." She tries to make light of the situation, so to ease her guilt- or whatever it is- I simply smile along as she gushes a little more.

When we sit down at a table, I ask, "What are you thinking for a date?"

She bites down on her lip bashfully, a telltale sign of Hillarie's that she has some kind of nervous secret to gush about. "In the spring."

I want to yell at her.
This is too soon! Don't do it, please! Give it time, Hillarie. Set a date in three years from now, that way you know he's the one for you.
But I don't say a word of any of it. Instead, I slightly nod my head, trying to grin even though it's forced. "That's... great," I tell her.

I don't think she notices my hesitation on saying it, either that or she frankly doesn't give a fuck, because she nods her head heavily in excitement. "I know, it's all too surreal. I met my prince. I can't wait for you to meet him. You're going to love him, Brenn. I promise."

Her gushing gets interrupted by the waitress taking our drink orders. Whenever we go out to lunch, I always order a strawberry daiquiri and ask for them to keep coming. I never feel guilty about day drinking when I'm with Hillarie, because she does the same thing, and for the rest of the afternoon, we enjoy ourselves. It's Sunday morning that we'll both get hit back with reality- me with having no one in my life any longer, and Hillarie with having to drive all the way to Clearwater by herself.

"So what about you?" she asks when our drinks our served.

"What about me?"

"Anyone in your love life?" She sips on her cosmo as she waits for me to answer.

Of course there is no one for me, because we both know that I'm never crossing into the territory of relationships and love. "Money," I answer honestly.

Hillarie doesn't hide her eye roll. Although she doesn't judge me for my line of work, she does try to encourage me to make room for a boyfriend. No man in the world would be accepting of my career choice, and I'm not changing for a guy. It's not worth it. I know exactly how men are- cheating, lying, pompous assholes. Each and every single one of them. Just give them time and their true colors will show. I can't be brought in by kind words, hope for a beautiful future, and diamond rings. I can create my own happiness... and still get laid.

Crossing her arms, she rests them on the table and leans in. "You know I love and respect you, Brenna, but I want you to be happy."

"I am-"

"No. Truly happy. I don't want you to put on a facade, and I hate watching you lie to yourself. I'm one of your only friends. You never leave your place unless it's to work or shop. It's not... healthy."

"I'm fine," I reply coldly. The last person on earth I thought would try to pull me away from my life was Hillarie. I trusted her to know my story and leave it where it lays. I'm only thankful I didn't tell her anything about my parents. She asked... often... but I never allowed her in that much. For these reasons here. I was always scared one day she'd get to the point of not believing in me. Apparently a lot sooner than I predicted.

Taking her cosmopolitan, she sits back against the cushioned bench. "Sorry," she says before taking a long sip.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm fine." Apparently those are the only words I can collaborate at the moment.

Our food gets served but I'm not all that hungry. Squirting a little ketchup on the side of my fries, I casually eat a few, only to occupy my time. My favorite day of the month has been ruined, and now I can't wait to get out of here.

Placing her drink on the table, Hillarie starts in on her grilled chicken salad. Obviously not upset like me, not that she has a reason to be. She finishes her food before half my fries are even gone. I never touched my chicken tenders. When the bill comes, she reaches for it.

"I can get my own," I remind her.

"I know." She places her card inside and sets the black folder on the end of the table for the waitress. "But I feel bad. I didn't want today to be like this, Bren. You're the sister I never had and I love getting to see you. I shouldn't have said anything. I just worry about you. I care for you. I'm hoping for the day you wake to realize that this isn't a life style, it's a hobby that you need to hang up."

"Don't worry about me when you have your own issues." I reach for my phone, shoving it into my purse before pulling the straps over my shoulder. Sliding from the bench, I look over to see if Hillarie has anymore to add. When she doesn't say anything, I tell her, "Good luck with this...
marriage
. Thanks for lunch."

When I walk from the table, Hillarie yells my name out but I don't stop and I certainly don't turn around. I'm not surprised that when I reach my vehicle she hasn't come after me. I can't expect her to understand where I'm coming from or why I am the person I am. I only ever expected her to accept me as is. Instead she reminded me why I don't let people in.

Maybe, quite possibly, I'm over reacting, but the way I see it is, I closed my mouth when it came to her happiness, she can do the same with me. Why do I need a man to keep me happy? What is a relationship going to give me that I don't already have? It'll give me a full time career doing something I despise, children I don't want, a family that'll someday be separated, sex I already get, no more shopping sprees or random vacations when I deem fit, I’ll get cheated on and lied to. None of that is appealing to me. It isn't meant for me. If she wants to marry a random man because he has money, and be controlled for the rest of her future and entrapped by children, that is her prerogative. I wasn't going to argue her over it or even voice my concerns, so she should have respected me enough by not doing that to me.

*~*~*

The rest of the afternoon
is spent resting on the beach with music playing in my ears. The weather has been perfect this week and I want to enjoy it before it gets too hot and humid, as it always does each summer in Florida.

When a shadow intercepts my sunshine, I pull my sunglasses from my eyes and peek up. Everett stares down at me curiously. I pull the earbuds from my ears and stare back suspiciously.

"You know you've been out here a long time," he tells me.

"I do know this."

"How are you not burnt to a crisp?"

I sit up to reach for my bottle of water that's in the mini cooler I brought with me. Everett takes the opportunity to place his ass in the sand next to me. "It's called sunscreen." I take a long swig of water then reach for the pretzels I have. I haven't had anything to eat today except the handful of fries hours ago.

"You're not worried about skin cancer?"

I can't help but smile at his... concern. "Not really. I have regular physicals and all that. Plus, there are far too many other things in this world to worry about, and none of them are going to stop me from doing what I love. Especially sun bathing. It's why I live on the beach after all."

"Make sense." He runs his hand through his hair, looking over at the water. The horizon lost somewhere along the sun speckled sea, begging me to come dive in. I'm not big on swimming though, at least not in the ocean.

Then it hits me. "Wait, how do you know I've been out here a long time?"

Everett's hand slides forward, covering over his face. I believe it's hiding his smile. I bet he hadn't noticed his hint about his stalking habits. "I got home from work over an hour ago and you were out here. When I looked out the kitchen window and saw you still lying in the same position, I wanted to make sure you were still breathing."

"Well I am."

He turns to stare at me once more, looking me directly in the eyes like he tends to do when I'm less than dressed. Apparently I make him uncomfortable, but now I'm curious if that is a good thing or not. Maybe he isn't into females, it'd make a lot more sense, even with his previous eye fucks. Most guys would be trying to get into my pants by now, but not Everett. I respect it, but I'm also a little concerned by it all.

Without notice he reaches into my bag of pretzels.

"Hey." I push his hand away and laugh when all but two pretzels fall into the sand. "Rude much?"

"They looked good," he answers with a shrug. I'm noting his smug smile, too.
The bastard.

My eyes narrow at him. "You could've asked."

His only reply is a smile meant for a movie star. He is too much of a diversion for my own good. When I'm with him I forget that I'm not supposed to allow him in- that it's dangerous for us to be friends. He'll find out my secrets and he'll run.

"So..." he starts out casually, but I can tell he is nervous about something. “You hungry for real food?"

I pop another pretzel in my mouth. "Not really." I know where this is going and I'd rather not do dinner with him. It's too risky.

"Well not right now, but do you... do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Say six o'clock?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." I roll up my bag of pretzels, placing it in the cooler along with my water and sunscreen.

"Why?"

"Because we're just friends," I answer.

"And it's just food... being shared with friends. Nothing fancy. I'll make us tuna sandwiches if it makes you more comfortable."

Once I have my belongings all together I look over at him and can't help but snarl at his food suggestion. "Tuna sandwiches?"

"Better than steak and rice, right?"

"No," I tell him with a small laugh. Nothing is better than steak. "But less extravagant, that's for certain."

Everett reaches for my cooler when I stand. "What is it going to take to have you join me tonight? I only want the company, nothing more." He places his hand up in front of him, as a warning sign almost. Showing that he is keeping back from crossing any lines. Either he is a real smooth operator, or he truly does want to be friends.

"Are you gay?" I ask quickly.