I wasn't sure what to expect. Then again, it could go only one of two ways. Either I had a nice time or I would be miserable, regretting my foolish agreement with Riley and wanting nothing more than her to go away and disappear. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and straightened my tie, a slight frown tugging at my eyebrows. Why the hell had I agreed to this? I didn't have to barter or beg for sex. I could get it whenever I wanted. For free!

But I knew what it was and what it wasn't. It wasn't so much the offer of sex with a virgin as it was my curiosity about Riley Hunt and what – deep down inside – had prompted her to make such a gesture, such a sacrifice, not even for herself, but for her parents' sake. It was still something that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. After waiting a couple of days just to settle my thoughts, and perhaps to give Riley more time to question this whole proposition of hers, I had called her last night and made a dinner date with her. Tonight. Not much advance notice, but I wanted it that way. No use overthinking everything and I knew I would if I'd set the date later in the week. No, just do it, and the sooner the better. I'd take her to a nice restaurant, just see how things went. While I had no idea what to expect, I didn't consider myself a snob. Then again, Riley was not at all like the women I usually wined and dined.

Not that she wasn't pretty, and actually, I of all people know that beauty is only skin deep. My God, some of the women I had taken out had had so much work done to get their figures and their faces just so that I wasn't much impressed with the fake boobs, the plumped lips, the enhanced cheekbones… this desire to achieve the perfect body was a mystery to me. Why, I knew of at least one young lady who'd resorted to having two ribs removed just to make her waist look smaller! They weren't hesitant to tell me all the work they had done, the amount of money they spent on that work, or how great they knew they looked. They always waited for a compliment from me as well. I rarely gave it. They were vain enough without my adding to their inflated egos. I suppose if someone spent tens of thousands of dollars plumping this or boosting that, you would certainly want people to notice, but as the years had passed, I had slowly begun to realize that for the most part, women's bodies were all the same, despite a few marked differences – bigger, plumper, skinnier, or taller. Basic anatomy was basic anatomy.

With Riley, I knew from my first impression of her that what you saw is what you got. No pretenses. No efforts to impress. No fake boobs for her, no sir. No fish lips, no cheek or chin implants that I could discern, no corset to shape her figure. Not that she didn't make an impression on me just the way she was, because she had. I shook my head at my reflection again. Why were my thoughts so jumbled? I knew the answer. Riley didn't put on false airs or pretend to be something that she wasn't. All she wanted to do was help her family. It was just a shame that she thought she couldn't do something other than to offer her virginity to a complete stranger. Then again, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I kept coming around to that, shaking my head again and again. Mind boggling. Did anyone even do that anymore? Obviously, they did. Or at least Riley Hunt did.

I tried to ignore the sour feeling in my stomach, and part of my conscience, way back in the recesses of my brain, telling me not to go through with this, telling me to just give her the stupid loan. But if I just gave her a loan, how would I explain it? Not only to my board members, but to myself? I'd heard sob stories before, more times than I could count. Never, not once, had my mind been swayed by their tales of woe. So what was it about Riley Hunt's sob story that was so different? Idiot. I knew. It was her proposition.

Well, I was about to find out if she intended to go through with it, wasn't I? While I oddly anticipated and dreaded my lunch date with Riley at the same time, it was my overall curiosity that prompted me to go through with it. Not much surprised me anymore. Nothing intimidated me. But this… this was something that didn't happen every day. Such a situation most likely never to happen to me again. I still wasn't sure what I was going to do about it, but there was nothing wrong in information-gathering, was there? Recon if you will. Research. There was a good chance that I wouldn't want to sleep with her at all. I didn't sleep with just any woman, and not just any woman would do. There were plenty of women that turned me off, and not just sexually. While I had to admit that my baser urges often prompted me to sleep with women I had no intention of getting to know better than the shape of their body, I also knew that deep down inside, way, way deep down inside, I was always looking for that one woman, that one woman that could assuage that empty feeling deep inside me that I was looking to fill.

Someday, I did picture myself being married, perhaps even having children. Oh, not the ranch style house with a white picket fence so many envisioned, because I liked my mansion. But it was big, and it was awfully quiet most of the time, much like a museum as a matter of fact. Sometimes, late at night as I lay in bed, I wondered what the sound of little feet running down the polished wood hallway would sound like, the giggling and laughter of a child playing chase through the rooms. Don't get me wrong, I'm not obsessed with the idea of a wife or family, but I did know that I wasn't getting any younger. I suppose at thirty years of age, or right around there, most men did start thinking about their future, their legacies, and of carrying on their line.

My father had worked hard to build what he passed down to me, but who would I pass my success down to? One more time, I shook my head at my reflection in the mirror.

"You're an idiot."

My reflection wholeheartedly agreed. I rolled my eyes and left the bathroom, finished dressing, and then glanced at the clock. Now or never.

The restaurant was exclusive, expensive, and catered to the rich and famous. At the same time, it imbued a comfortable, cozy atmosphere, one where small groups or couples could expect privacy and seclusion. I hadn't been here in a while, and, ever aware that I was currently trending on social media, for God knows what reason, I had told Riley to meet me here. I sent over a cab to pick her up. I could've sent a limo, or at least one of my private cars, but again, didn't want to attract undue attention toward her. Our arrangement was not fodder for the so-called journalists who tended to turn to Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook these days for their gossip and news. At the same time, there were plenty of tried and true journalists in the area who followed me on occasion, and the last thing I needed was anyone catching wind of me "dating" a new face. While most of the women I went out with adored the attention, I had an inkling that Riley wouldn't appreciate it one bit.

I could just see it, a journalist or one of my following "friends" with a huge social group finding out that Riley and I were "an item". In less than a day, I knew the gossip, innuendo, and more than likely, taunts would be plastered over the Internet. Why was incredibly successful and rich Wyatt Cross out with a waitress whose father had been accused of embezzlement and fraud or something, and a disabled mother? She would immediately be labeled a gold digger, a hanger on, one who was only after me for my money. While it was true, in a roundabout way, my sense of decency and what was left of my concept of chivalry didn't want to see that happen.

I had reserved a private table in one of the side rooms of the restaurant in advance, and as the wait staff knew that I would tip heavily, not only for good service, but to keep their mouths shut, I felt comfortable that Riley would be able to come inside, enjoy a nice dinner, and some conversation without too much worry. I had already arranged for her to leave the restaurant through the kitchen and out the back, and I had options in place to either go back to my place or to hers. I had no intention of sleeping with her tonight, but as always, I also liked to always leave myself an option.

The restaurant was one that I had been to many times before, one of several I commonly visited; this one in a historic hotel built in the 1920s and on the National Registry of Historic Places. It wasn't just the locale that appealed to me, but their eclectic menu, which offered everything from gourmet pizza to exotic game meat including ostrich, alligator, and wild boar. When I thought of Riley Hunt, I thought of good old-fashioned home cooking; I believe she was a traditional woman, perhaps enjoying the simpler things in life, the foods that also reminded me of home, or at least my great-grandparents' anyway. You know, mashed potatoes and gravy, pot roast, fried chicken, simple foods. But I wanted to impress her, to show her a piece of my world, which I gathered she more than likely didn't have an occasion to enjoy very often. I certainly didn't get the impression that she would go for escargot, but I didn't think she was an organic vegan either. She was too much down to earth. I think. For all I knew, she'd order a hamburger, or a simple steak. Then again, maybe she'd go for truffles or eggplant Parmesan.

As I sat at the restaurant waiting for her arrival, I smiled, trying to imagine what she would order. Tuna wasabi or a shrimp Po-boy? A grilled caprese or fried octopus?

I found myself amused just coming up with ideas when I saw movement, a woman walking toward my table. I did a double take and immediately put the menu down, stood, and waited as the hostess brought her to my table, tucked into a quiet corner of a side room whose doorway was adorned with heavy velvet curtains that could be closed upon request. Because I had told her we were going to a nice restaurant, just so she wouldn't get caught off-guard with her choice of clothing, I knew that she would more than likely come in a dress, but oh, what a dress it was. My balls tightened. Her dress was your ordinary LBD, but this little black dress hugged every curve while at the same time being discreet without showing off too much skin. The little black number with capped sleeves and scooped neck bared some collarbone, dipped low enough for me to see the beginning of natural cleavage - I could tell because her breasts didn't look like firm cantaloupes - and then hugged her impossibly small waist, flaring along lush hips and slender thighs as it dropped down to end just above her knees. She wore simple, two-inch black shoes to complete the simple ensemble.

I extended my hand, palm up, and she placed her fingers in mine. I felt a tingle of awareness as her slender fingers lightly touched my palm. The touch was innocent and yet evoked a sense of sexual awareness, of heightened tension in my groin. I cleared my throat as I pulled the chair out for her.

"You look beautiful," I said, meaning it. She had swept her long blonde hair into a high bun, allowing her longer bangs and a few wisps of hair on the side to trail downward. She could've achieved that look in a few minutes or spent hours and I couldn't tell the difference. A light bit of eye shadow, a hint of blush high on her cheekbones, and lip gloss completed her makeup. A fresh, natural, not trying too hard look, a very nice look that complemented her natural beauty, fine bone structure, and facial contours.

"Thank you," she said, almost shyly.

I watched a deep flush rise in her cheeks as she sat down, nervously tucking one of those stray strands of hair behind her ear, looking everywhere but at me. I tried to put her at ease, as if we were out on a blind date, which, actually, was very much the truth. I ordered wine, told her to take her time looking over the menu and pick whatever she wanted. She nodded and tucked another invisible strand of hair behind her ear, her hand trembling slightly. I felt a twinge of pity for her, but just a twinge. She's the one who wanted to do this. She's the one that had broached this agreement. Nevertheless, I wanted her to feel at ease with me.

"So, Riley, did everything go all right with your father?"

She glanced up at me, a startled expression in her eyes, and then with another flush, she lowered her head as she nodded, pretending to study the menu.

"Good," I said. "Have any idea when the trial supposed to start?" She shook her head. "Riley, look at me," I said gently. She did. "I know this is hard for you, and stressful. But I want you to know you can back out of this if you want to. I'm not going to tell anyone about it."

She stared at me a moment, the pulse in her throat throbbing. For a second or two, I thought she would toss the menu back down on the table, stand up, and walk out the door. But she didn't. Instead, she slowly lowered the menu, started to reach for her wine glass, and then changed her mind. She looked at me, her expression somber, her face now pale.

"I'm not going to deny that I'm nervous, as you can probably tell. But I'm not going to renege on our deal. You fulfilled your end of the bargain, and I'll do the same." She paused, glanced around the restaurant, a portion of which we could see through the doorway, and then continued. "I'm not proud of myself for what I'm doing, Mister Cross… Wyatt, but my back is against the wall and I have no other options."

I tried to assuage her concerns. "I understand—"

"No, Wyatt, I don't think you do. This is not something I do. This is not who I am. I just don't… I just don't know what else I can do to help my parents."

I thought a moment, not wanting what I was about to say to be taken the wrong way. "Riley, you’re what, twenty years old? I understand why you're still living at home. Times are hard. You're working hard. But why do you feel responsible for your parents' financial obligations? Without knowing much about what happened with your father, and while I'm sorry to hear about your mother's medical problems, why have their problems become your problems and your responsibility?"

She said nothing for several moments, fingering the corner of the menu, and then she looked at me. It was at that moment that I saw tears shimmering in her eyes, her resolute expression, that slight frown of consternation, as if I should be the one to understand her rationale.

"My parents have always taken care of me, giving me what I needed." She offered a small smile. "Not necessarily everything I've always wanted, because of course, that's impossible." She paused. "Well, for most people anyway. So how can I do any less when they need help? My mom can't work, not outside the home anyway, and she takes in odd jobs that she can do at home on the days she's feeling strong enough, and my father, well, he works hard, but he's in his mid-fifties, and… well, you know about our financial situation."

"But that doesn't answer my question, Riley." I said gently. "Why do you feel it's necessary to sacrifice your… your virginity to offer payment for your…" I paused, waved a hand. "Why is this your burden to bear?" Even as I thought it, I knew that I could just give her the money she needed. I could do it out of the goodness of my heart, out of my own bank account and it would never be missed. But I didn't. Why? I guess because I wanted to see how far she'd go, and if I would agree to it in the end. I pushed the self-recriminations from my head. "Why doesn't your dad just let the bank foreclose on the house? I'm sure you could find another place—"

"It's the house my parents bought together, their first home. My mom didn't have me until she was in her forties. I am their only child, all they ever wanted to complete their life. They're not young anymore. My mother's wheelchair-bound. It's not so easy to just start over. We're in bad shape, granted, but we're not beaten just yet."

I suppose I'm not to blame for not understanding her life, her struggles. I've always had money and didn't know what it was like to live so close to the edge, struggling to just get by day after day. That I could just drive to a bank and give her a million dollars was beside the point. I wanted to know why she felt this was necessary. This was more than mere gratitude, mere obligation. She was literally selling her virginity to me. Why? Was it a matter of pride? That she wouldn't beg for anything? That she would offer in trade the only valuable thing she owned? Even if it was her body?

"And here I am," she continued. "I know how much I mean to my parents, and the feeling is mutual. They treasure me, Wyatt. My dad works very hard, pulling every extra shift he can to try to make things easier on me and my mother. It's just not enough. Now my mom can't work anymore, and they love their house. It's filled with good memories, good times. Even when my mom got sick, it was a place to come back to, to gather strength, a place for us to come together. It's not just four walls and a roof. It's not just a house. It's home."

I still didn't quite understand. I've never been in her shoes or her position. I had grown up privileged, never wanting for money or things. I wasn't terribly materialistic, but I took great pride in my home and I liked my toys, I won't deny it. I wasn't ashamed of it either. I worked hard too. Maybe I didn't dig ditches for living, but I wasn't afraid to dig a ditch. Seeing her devotion to her parents, this sense of responsibility, prompted uncomfortable feelings about my own family.

"Money isn't everything," I said, holding up my hand to interrupt her when I saw her open her mouth and shake her head. "Let me tell you something, Riley. My family is rich. Bloody rich. But my father died a while back, and to be completely up front, I have very little in common with, nor even affection, toward my own mother." She looked at me, her eyes wide. "And here you are, with very little money, to the point that you're offering to… and yet your devotion to your family is palpable." I paused, wondering if I should say what was on my mind, and then decided I better. If I was going to sleep with this woman, I wanted her to know me just as much as I wanted to know her. This was not going to be any wham, bam, thank you ma’am rendezvous if I could do anything about it. "To be honest, Riley, I envy you and your close relationship with your family."

There, that said, we seemed to agree on something. I then gestured toward her menu and suggested we order something. As the evening went on and we dined on filet mignon, white asparagus, and new potatoes, I realized that I was having a good time with Riley. She was good company. By the end of dinner, and as she shook her head as I suggested dessert, I was beginning to feel sorry that the evening was ending. I was even more surprised when I realized that I wanted to see her again after tonight. I wasn't going to take her back to my place. I wasn't going to sleep with her tonight. I wanted more. I wanted to know more about this vibrant, dedicated, devoted and loyal young woman more than it ever wanted to know any woman. Call it curiosity, call it admiration, call it what you will. I admired her.

I called for my car at the end of the evening, and we walked through the kitchen and emerged through a door that opened into a back alley. I apologized for the subterfuge and the smell, but we quickly climbed into my nondescript black Escalade, my driver prepared to take me anywhere we wanted to go. I asked Riley for her address and she gave it. Without a word, the driver took off, no one the wiser.

"Why are we going to my house?" she whispered. "I thought we were going to—"

I turned to her. "Riley, do you like liver?"

"What?" she asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Do you like liver? With onions, with ketchup, drowned in steak sauce?" She frowned at me for several moments, then shook her head.

"I loathe the stuff. Why are you asking me that?"

I couldn't help but grin, speaking softly as the Escalade turned onto the main boulevard. "I don't want you to think of me as liver."

My analogy fit perfectly. I didn't want Riley to think of me as liver. Problem was, I couldn't figure out why.