RYAN
When you’ve heard such wise words from the mouth of a stranger, somehow all the conversations I have the next day feel like bullshit.
Jessie.
Her name is soft. Her voice is soft. Those curves I had the pleasure of seeing looked so soft. My hands clench in response to the urge I feel to grab onto her.
I’m sitting at the head of the table in the boardroom. It’s a day to review the financials and assess if we’re on the right trajectory. The CFO has been droning on for what feels like hours. He’s a good guy, Jeff, but he still hasn’t learned that I like to cut to the point. I trust he’s done the work to get to his observations and recommendations. I don’t need him to show me every table and chart his team have produced, and yet still he shows me.
I flick through my phone, answering emails, while Jeff engages the rest of the room in his preamble. I have no personal messages. People say it’s lonely at the top, and they’re right. When you’ve climbed as high as I have, there is a whole pile of personal relationships that have fallen by the wayside. Some for good reason, some for bad. I should have made more time to keep up with the friends that I had who were genuine. Those guys who were with me before I had two nickels to rub together. I feel like shit because I listened to the dark whispers of my own mind that told me people were only calling because of the money I was amassing, because they wanted favors or because they needed my help. I gave no one a chance to prove themselves, instead choosing to ally myself with the people on my financial and influential level.
I learned too late that most of the people who climb this high do it on the backs of others.
I also underestimated the amount of decency my ma raised me with.
I chuckle under my breath at that thought. Bearing in mind where I ended up last night and where I’m planning to return tonight, decency probably wouldn’t be Ma’s judgement of me right now. It’s better that mom’s are oblivious to the realities of being a man some of the time.
I think about Jessie. She was wearing a very distinctive scent. Something light and floral that made me want to press my face to her neck and inhale.
I know she was a little bit fearful of me. I could tell when I put my hand on her arm in the car that she was anticipating the worst. My gut clenches thinking about the kind of circumstances she might have found herself in. I saw the kind of men who were in that place she works at. When they call them Gentlemen’s Clubs, I think they’re pretty much missing the point.
The room goes quiet and I realize that someone has addressed me and I have no idea what they have asked.
I look up to the slide that Jeff is showing. It’s the forecast for the rest of the year. The line is running under the original expectation. Something I am definitely not happy to see.
“It’s not good enough,” I say. I don’t say it with anger, merely as a statement of fact.
“I know,” Jeff says, sounding defeated.
“Well, you know I’m going to ask for plans.” The room goes quiet and now I’m feeling pissed off. “You have plans?”
“We need commitment to make more investment,” Jeff says.
I frown. Marketing is already making the company’s biggest annual expenditure but what we’re doing with that money doesn’t seem to be working. “More money isn’t the solution,” I say. “Make the money you have work harder.”
The room is still quiet. I stand, leaning my hands on the table. I don’t want to see any more slides. I don’t want to hear any more excuses.
“Tomorrow,” I say, looking around and the men and women who are supposed to be working towards making this company a success. No one makes eye contact. They know there’s no point. I’ve got a bee in my bonnet and any comments now are only going to set me off.
I sigh. “Tomorrow,” I say again, and then stride from the room.
Once I’m back in my office I gaze out of the window. My view is probably the best in the city but I haven’t really appreciated it in a long time. Look at anything too long and it becomes mundane. I think that but I’m not sure I really believe it. I could have looked at Corina forever, but I didn’t get a chance.
Jessie.
That girl has something. She’s not as refined as Corina. Her features are softer, nose more of a button and cheeks a little rounder. Her eyes are blue — not clear like the sea but clouded like the sky. Clouded with sadness. I know that now. I see my own grief reflected in her and I’m not sure what it means that I want to see her again. I’m not sure what I want from her and that puzzles me because I always know what I want. My decision making is razor sharp and that means that I don’t meander through life, acting without reason. I pick my route and I follow it.
I feel like I picked Jessie, but that doesn’t make sense. She’s a stripper. What the hell would I want with a girl who works at the Kitty Cat Club?
Sex.
I can buy any kind of sex I want. Women who are experts at pleasing a man, but I find that I don’t want that. I want something real and awkward and not quite right. A woman whose heart is as wounded as mine. A woman who understands. I think that’s what this is. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like I’ve found a matching person and my mind wants that match more than anything. My body too.
I decide to leave the office early. My PA looks at me strangely as I pass her, asking for the rest of my meetings to be cancelled and my calls to be sent to voicemail. I don’t want to be disturbed with work tasks while I’m like this. I feel like I need to keep in this zone so I don’t lose it. I don’t want there to be any reason for me to talk myself out of going to see Jessie later.
At home I work out for an hour, pushing myself until I’m dripping with sweat and my muscles are pumped and warm. I set the shower even hotter than usual, scrubbing myself vigorously until my skin is pink and clean. I feel like I’m preparing myself by sloughing off the past so I can try and move into a future. I don’t want to feel trapped as I do any more.
It’s then that I make a decision.
It feels big.
A stepping stone to something that’s been on my mind for over a month. I’ve been floundering and uncertain, but I don’t feel that way now.
The last thing I do before I leave is go to the safe. I take out fifty grand in cash and slip it into an envelope and then into my jacket pocket. It has to be enough that refusal will be next to unlikely.
I drive myself to the Kitty Cat Club. My chauffeur is probably wondering why he’s suddenly getting evenings to himself, but I don’t want him to know where I’m going and I definitely don’t want to draw attention to myself. I’ve left my watch at home. I’ve dressed in clothes without designer logos. I’ve tried to make myself blend in but I know I won’t. It doesn’t matter what I do; I always seem to get noticed. Maybe it’s the way I carry myself. I can’t really change that.
The same bouncer is working tonight. This time he looks at me with less threat and more interest. Probably wondering what I’m doing here two nights in a row, although I can’t imagine it’s unusual.
Inside I head to the bar as I did last night. There’s a different barman but I order the same drink. Something in me wants to keep things just the same. I look around for Jessie but she’s not sitting where I first saw her last night. She’s not on stage either and I find that I’m relieved about that. I know she must strip out here too but I’m not sure I want to see a room full of men leering at her.
Am I seriously jealous of a stripper getting attention from other men? I shake my head as I sip my drink. I need to get a grip and find out where she is.
“Is Cindy in yet?” I ask.
I see the barman’s eyebrow twitch and he nods. Maybe he likes her for himself. It wouldn’t surprise me because she’s a beautiful girl. “She’s in one of the private rooms.”
My gut clenches, imagining her twirling around that pole as she did for me last night. I stopped her before she took off her bra but she might be doing that now for another man.
I know what I need to do to stop this gnawing feeling. I need to book her for the rest of the night. I want her dancing for me and no one else.
I don’t have to wait long for her to emerge, and when she does my heart pounds in my chest. She’s wearing pink polka-dot lingerie and looks so young. Her panties have little ribbons at the sides that I imagine pulling loose so they just fall away from her sexy ass. Jessie’s also wearing a frightened expression. Red mist clouds my vision. My hand clenches around my drink. She goes to walk past me without even noticing I’m sitting right there and I reach out to take hold of her wrist as gently as I can. “Jessie,” I say softly and she turns, looking startled, fixing her pretty eyes on me. They widen slightly when she realizes who I am.
“Don’t use that name here,” she says quickly.
I nod, understanding too late that she’d want to keep real life and Kitty Cat life separate.
“You okay?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath and nods her head.
“If someone did something…” I say. My meaning is pretty clear without spelling it out. I’d fucking floor someone who hurt this girl even though I barely know her.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, easing her wrist from my grasp. “I have to go. I’m booked out for the night.”
I nod and allow a small smile to curl my lips. Jessie blinks and narrows her eyes. “You booked me?” I nod again. “For the whole night?”
I stand, feeling like a giant next to her tiny half-naked frame.
“You better show me where we’re going.”
She nods and turns, taking small careful strides in front of me. Her shoes are ridiculous black patent heels that I know must be killing her feet. Her thighs and calves are strong, hips swaying with every step. I’m half hard before we get to the room. My hands itch to span her waist and feel the heat of her skin. I could bury my face between her legs and taste her sweetness. Make her beg for my cock, but I can’t do any of that here. All I can do is watch and imagine. Maybe she might let me drive her home again and maybe…
The room is different this time. Blue sofa, blue walls. It seems cold in a way but with Jessie in the room, I feel like I’m going to burn up.
“Take a seat,” she says, fumbling to start the music.
I slump down into the low sofa, not wanting to think about how damn dirty it must be. As Jessie turns, her eyes glaze as though she’s put on a mask so she can do her job. Her mind seems elsewhere and it gives me a lump in my throat.
When she takes hold of the pole and spins round slowly, I want to tell her to stop but I find that I can’t. My throat is tight but my eyes are greedy to see her lithe body do what it’s trained to do. She’s strong but still soft, her curves complementing the muscles that enable her to hold herself in back-arching positions that have me in awe. Fuck. My hands itch to touch her. My eyes yearn to see what’s under the tiny bra and panties she’s wearing. There is little left to the imagination but the parts of her that are covered that I crave the most.
She spins and seems as light as air. Her hair fans around her like a halo of spun gold and even as I think that I feel a little crazy. The money in my pocket weighs heavy and the more Jessie dances for me the less I feel confident about carrying out my plan.
Failing is never an option, so when Jessie is finally back on her feet I ask her if she’ll take a seat for moment.
She eyes me nervously. I guess guys have said the same kind of shit to her before with the intention of touching what they’ve greedily watched.
I hold my hands up. “These are gonna stay over here,” I say and try to crack a smile. It’s hard because this isn’t just about what I’m going to ask her. It’s about so much more.
She leaves the music on and takes a seat tentatively.
“I was thinking about what you said last night.”
She shifts, looking down at her hands. I can tell she’s uncomfortable but I need to explain this. I need her to trust me or she’s never going to say yes. “Which part?” she asks.
“What you said about the guilt of living.”
She nods. “Is that how you feel?”
“It’s how I used to feel. I think I’ve made peace with that part.”
Jessie looks thoughtful. “So which part are you still having trouble with?”
Now it’s my turn to shift nervously. “I feel guilty for wanting to look at you.”
Her cheeks pink and she lowers her eyes. It’s just about the most adorable thing I’ve seen in a long time. “Looking isn’t a bad thing to do,” she says. “It’s nature. We can’t do much about our urges.”
“What about for wanting to touch you?”
She looks up at me, her eyes trying to read what I mean. I keep my hands resting on my thighs so that she doesn’t get the wrong idea. I’m not going to paw her here and now.
“It shows you’re moving out of the deepest stage of grief,” she says softly. “Try to look at it as a good thing.”
“Do you feel like that?” I ask her.
“Desire?” she asks softly.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure that this kind of thing is part of the service.”
“You mean you don’t want to answer.”
“I mean that maybe I should dance for you.”
“I love it when you dance,” I tell her. “But I’d rather ask you another question, if you’re okay with that?”
She looks over to the pole as if she’s contemplating what to do next.
“Okay,” she says. “One more. Or security is going to come down here wondering what the hell is going on.”
JESSIE
I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand these feelings I’m having for this man. It’s not right to feel drawn to someone so quickly. It feels reckless and dangerous, as though my heart has been curled up with injury and now suddenly its flung itself open and is beating fine. I’m sitting here craving his touch.
The low wall lights in this private room cast his profile in an amber wash; straight nose, full eyebrows and those lips. His expression is more relaxed than I expect to find. Gone are the lines of worry and the veil of sadness that clouded his eyes.
I wish I knew what was going on inside his head. I listen to the sounds of our breathing and the distant beat of the music from the club. Life is going on outside this room but it feels remote. Existing here feels as though I’ve stepped into a bubble, away from my usual existence. I don’t think I realized how much I was just going through the motions until now. As stupid as I feel for admitting it, I feel safe here and the prospect of opening the door to this shabby room and slipping back into my life fills me with dread.
Life has taught me one very harsh lesson; counting on there being a tomorrow is a dangerous business. My husband had plans before he died, lists of things he wanted to do, books he wanted to read and places we were going to travel to. He hated his job but didn’t make the effort to find something that would have fulfilled him more. Everything was put off until another day, until there just weren’t any more days.
“Jessie,” Ryan says softly, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “Will you come with me tonight?”
My heart skitters at his invitation. What is he thinking? That he can buy my time here but invite me out for freebies when I finish work? I’m stupid for feeling a little stab of hurt. I know what I do for a living and I know what people think about it too. No man is going to come to a place like this and want to make me his girl. No one is coming here to find a wife. His eyes are searching my face and I know I have to answer. “Where?”
He pauses, focusing on a strand of my hair that he’s rolling between his fingers. I can feel the tension in his body as he contemplates what to say. His hesitation makes this feel like he’s about to say something important. Something that he’s considering carefully. “I’m taking some time off,” he says. “A month. I hate being alone. Will you come and stay with me? As a companion, or more if you would be willing. I’m willing to pay you fifty thousand dollars cash for one month of your time.”
I almost choke. Did he say fifty thousand dollars?
“A companion?” I want to laugh because that isn’t what I was expecting him to say at all. I feel as though I’ve entered into an episode of Downton Abbey without knowing it. Sitting here in my underwear, I don’t exactly feel like companion material, and as a customer of the Kitty Cat Club, Ryan shouldn’t be the kind of man who would suggest that.
“You sound amused,” he says, and I think I see a little color rise on the soft parts of his cheeks just beneath his eyes. I get a sudden urge to kiss him there, to feel the heat of his embarrassment on my lips, but I don’t. Instead, I lean back into the sofa and look up at the ruined ceiling.
“A companion,” I say again. “Fifty grand.” Just the sound of that rolling off my tongue sends a shiver over the skin of my arms. Fifty thousand bucks is money that would change my life. It’s money that would get me back on my feet. It’s also way more money that I can believe anyone would be prepared to pay for a month of my time, without me having to do some seriously terrible shit.
“What would I need to do?”
He looks me dead in the eyes as though he wants me to see that he’s genuine and trustworthy. All things that I’m doubting at this precise moment. “You would need to stay at my home. Accompany me to social occasions and on trips. Spend mealtimes and weekends with me.”
“And?”
He runs his hand through his hair, a stress-tell that I find endearing and completely unexpected. Why is he nervous? I’m just Jessie, and if he has fifty grand to spend on hiring me to keep him company for a month then he must be pretty important at doing something.
“It’s been a long time since I had someone,” he says gently.
I blink slowly at that admission. He’s the kind of man who could find a different woman every day of the week, so knowing that he hasn’t been making the most of his god-given talents makes me feel sad. “It’s been a long time for me too,” I say softly.
The moment hangs between us like a fragile line of spider’s web. Two lonely souls contemplating something that will take us both somewhere we’ve been before but lost to the perils of life.
Things like this just don’t happen to people like me. This is Pretty Woman territory. Or Christian Grey-esque.
“Fifty thousand?” I say again.
He nods and reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. My eyes widen as he tugs out a stack of bills. “I have it here and I’ll give it to you now. I know we don’t know each other enough for you to trust me, but I hope that if you have this upfront that it will be enough for you to know I’m genuine about the proposal.”
He hands me the envelope which feels heavy in my hands. Heavy with the weight of a decision.
I’m a stripper not a whore. I might sell my body in a way but looking is a whole lot different from touching. This is not a decision that I can make sitting in my underwear next to this man who both intrigues me and terrifies me in equal measure. I feel a little lost. I wish I could call my sister and tell her, but she doesn’t know what I do and how would I explain any of this? As long as I keep this job a secret it feels like a blip in my life that I can move on from without it tarnishing my future. If I take Ryan up on his proposal would the next month feel the same? I could agree to what he’s asked of me and tell no one. If only I knew, could I get away with it?
But this isn’t just about my reputation, it’s about my heart too. I know what I’m like. I can’t get involved with someone sexually without my heart somehow getting sucked in. I think women are made differently like that. Men can see sex as a purely physical release. They can reduce it to a transaction in the way that Ryan has and think nothing of it. I look at Ryan and I can’t work him out. I think he’s a good man. Well, as good as a man can be who finds it necessary to pay to see women take their clothes off. I know he’s been through a lot; things that I can empathize with. But I don’t understand this. He’s a good-looking man. He has presence and charisma. I’m sure with all his natural attributes and the addition of his obvious wealth that he could get a woman without paying for it. What is driving him to do this?
“Are you going to say something?” he asks.
I want to find out the answer to my question but I just don’t feel able to ask it. Is it stupid that I’m considering saying yes to this outlandish proposition, one that will most probably involve me having sex with this man, but I don’t feel comfortable enough to ask him a simple question? I know the answer. It’s completely ridiculous. But this is about fifty thousand dollars, money that will get the monkey off my back.
My life really needs changing for the better.
His eyes are soft when I finally look to them for reassurance. He puts his hand to my cheek and gently strokes back a lock of my hair. My hearts skips at the tenderness, and I know in that moment what my answer will be.
“Yes,” I say softly, and that one word feels like the most important that I have spoken since the day I said ‘I do’.