Three Hard Lessons (32 page)

I refused to go over to Evie and Logan’s place, but the reminders of Dominic were everywhere. The first time I got into my car, I couldn’t enjoy the feeling of the steering wheel in my hands. All I could do was think about the man who had sat in the passenger seat last time I’d driven.

Thursday morning I woke from my restless sleep in my big, empty bed.

That night, I sat down and took a hard look at my finances. If I could make around ten grand during my weekend managing, which should be easy, I’d have enough breathing room to last to the end of my lease.

Or enough for a ticket back to Tokyo. I pushed the thought away.

On Friday I woke at forty-thirty in the morning, my internal alarm clock ringing.

His response was fast, as if he’d been waiting for me. I filled my lungs with air, then typed out the response I knew he’d interpret as consent.

Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.

“Hey,” I said, my throat tight.

There was a sigh on the other end, one that sounded like relief. “Hey. How are you?”

I closed my eyes and my hand tightened on the phone. It’d been eleven and a half days since I’d last heard that rough voice. There were a million different responses I could have given him, but went with the safest. “I’m tired. It’s really early here.”

“I know. You didn’t have to get up. I mean, when you’re ready to talk, I’m ready. Whenever.”

“Okay,” I said. “Talk.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t say I’m sorry enough that I didn’t tell you. I lose my shit around you.”

“The Payton effect?” I groaned. “Seriously, this is your excuse? Your idiot decision-making is
my
fault?

“Yeah, the Payton effect. You don’t know what you do to me. You’re all I think about. When I’m with you, I don’t know, it’s like everything else doesn’t matter. It’s only you. I can’t focus. And when you’re not here? I can’t fucking breathe.” His voice dropped low and hesitant. “I wanted you to feel the same way about me, and I think that’s part of why I put off making a decision, maybe subconsciously.”

“What?”

“You’re smart, and gorgeous, and confident . . . in Chicago? Some better guy is going to come along and steal you away. I wanted you in Japan so I didn’t have any competition. I’m fucking weak.” His voice was heavy with guilt.

Holy shit. “Are you insane? I mean, fucking insane? Who’s going to compete with you?” There was silence on the other end of the line. “That’s right. Nobody. Nobody who pushes me, and ignores my rules like a giant pain in the ass . . . and I mean
all
of my rules, including the one about love.”

There was a sharp noise of surprise.

“But you fucked up. Believe me when I tell you I don’t
do
lies. Test that rule again, and we’re done. As in, forever. And that,” I began to shake uncontrollably, “that would destroy me.”

“Me too. I won’t lie to you again, I promise. Never again.”

“Good.” There was a tightness in my chest I hadn’t noticed until now, as it began to ease.

“Payton,” His voice was strong. “I love you. Real.” He exhaled into the phone. “Always real.”

I wouldn’t say those three words for the first time through the phone when he was on the other side of the world, so I gave him three different ones. “It better be.” They were meant to be confident, but came from me shaky. Desperate.

I turned onto my side on the bed, and hearing his voice in my darkened bedroom, I could pretend he was beside me. Maybe I’d finally be able to find sleep when we hung up.

And I’d need sleep.

Tonight I was going to make enough money to get my ass back to Tokyo, determined to get rid of all the unspoken things between us once and for all.

I sat in my front seat, put on a final coat of mascara, and ran through the schedule once more in my head. I’d parked out front of the club at nine – an hour before the girls would arrive. When I stepped out and locked the car, I tugged at my coat. Beneath, I wore my black pants, a royal blue top with a fitted black tux jacket over it, and high heels. My sexed-up version of professional.

Julius was waiting for me at the front door, a huge smile on his face.

“You happy to see me again?”

I grinned as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Of course. You weren’t working last weekend.”

I went room to room, flipping on lights and confirming setup.

Joseph’s chair was comfortable when I sat in it and booted up his computer, hooked my earpiece in, then turned on the monitors and ensured the drives were recording. Joseph was right, the place did run itself. The girls arrived and checked in, and
once I finished pairing sales assistants with the girls, I scanned the member appointment list.

“Tara?” I asked into the comm system. “Mr. Red’s on the schedule.”

“He does Claudia. She won’t see anyone after him.”

I marked a line through Claudia’s name. I was more than a little curious to see Mr. Red’s face. Most of the schedule was booked. “Whose girl is willing to take an unannounced guest?”

When there were no immediate takers, Tara joked, “How about you, Payton? Room Six is open.”

There were some friendly laughs from my former coworkers, but I scowled. “No.”

“Rachel says she’s up for it,” a female voice said through the earpiece.

“Okay, thanks. Let’s go ahead and get into position. Julius?”

“Yeah, girl?”

“Can you show our first client in?”

Mr. Red showed up just after midnight. He checked in with Julius, had a glass of whiskey at the bar, and then Marquis escorted him to Room Two. I watched it all unfold on the monitors. Mr. Red’s real name was Rosso, the Italian word for red. He was a media mogul who controlled half a dozen cable networks, and had one of those name-brand personalities, like Trump, or Cuban. Ironically, I’d worked for him before I came to the club. That job I hated, the one that had driven me here? Rosso owned the company.

Black Friday, when I called in and asked to be put on the schedule, Joseph had asked if I wanted to see Mr. Red. How fucking different would my life be if I’d said yes? Dominic would have been escorted into someone else’s room and we’d never have met.

Tara wandered into the office shortly after the deal had been struck and sat at the monitors beside me, her eyes on the flickering screens. Mr. Rosso had dropped five grand on Claudia. I’d never taken less than seven from him. I watched the screen as he pulled his cock out and shoved it in Claudia’s mouth, face-fucking her on the table. I had the strange déjà vu feeling of wanting it to be over, even though I wasn’t the one servicing him.

My phone buzzed on the desktop and I glanced at the screen. Dominic?

“Hey,” he said, his voice curious when I answered. “Where are you?”

“I’m working, why?”

There was a long pause. “Working where?”

I hadn’t told him about what I was doing because I didn’t want him to know I’d have enough money to purchase a plane ticket. The goal had been to surprise him. I sighed. “I’m at the club.”

“You’re . . .
where
?” It didn’t come out angry, it came out horrified.

Wait, did he think I meant I was working as one of the girls? My face heated with annoyance. Yeah, I hadn’t actually said the words out loud, but he knew I loved him, right? That I belonged to him, and wouldn’t even consider . . .

“Dominic, wait, it’s not like that.”

“How exactly is it like?” Now there was anger in his voice.

Oh. So, I guess he did think I was seeing clients again. My stunned, hurt silence probably didn’t help.

“Did you take any offers tonight?”

The hurt was burned up and replaced with rage. It flooded in my veins and overpowered my brain. “Nope, not yet.”

He exhaled in a sharp burst. This was a lie by omission and I let it hang for a moment because the bitch inside me wanted to see how much he liked it when the tables were turned.

“Then again,” I added, “my price has gone way up. No one can afford me.”

“I can.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “Okay, stop by and make an offer.”

It was deadly silent on the other end of the line, until his deep voice rumbled. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

chapter

TWENTY-EIGHT

I tried to call him back, but Dominic didn’t answer, not my calls, or my texts. My heart pounded. He was here in the States? What the hell was going on? I fidgeted in my seat, not sure what to do. Was he really coming to the club and planning to make an offer?