Brooke

 

Sitting at the bar of this upscale hotel in the middle of Manhattan, I take a small sip of my vodka cranberry. I let my eyes drift to the right and I notice an older couple laughing as they talk about their kids. To the left is a sad woman who looks to be drinking her troubles away. I take out my compact and appear to be checking my reflection, but my focus is on the table of high profile businessmen behind me. A small smile creeps onto my face when I spot him. Bingo. Time to get to work.

Sliding off the black-lacquered bar stool, I saunter past the table. My strapless gray dress hugs my body perfectly and it’s immediately noticed. He runs his eyes over my entire body as I make my way by and I give him my perfectly crafted flirty smile. I spend as much time as I can in the bathroom. Checking my makeup, washing my hands, checking my phone. Anything to give him time to wonder if I’m going to walk past again or if he’s missed his chance and I left.

My purple heels announce my presence before he even sees me again. Which is exactly what I want, because he looks up from his drink on the bar, and his brown eyes slam into mine. Check. I try to disguise a smile by biting down on my bottom lip. Check. Swaying my hips as I walk past, I watch his eyes widen as I peek over my shoulder. Check. I give him two minutes before he’s over here and eating out of the palm of my hand.

Just as I knew it, he stands next to me, giving me a toothy smile. “Is this seat taken?” He casually nods to the stool next to me.

“No, please,” I say, waving a perfectly manicured hand.

He starts talking, and I don’t even bother to listen. I know what he’s saying. I know when to laugh, when to respond, when to tilt my head as if I’m taking in every word. This isn’t the information I want. I don’t care about his everyday life. About the long hours he works or the buckets of money he has. He doesn’t need to try to impress me. He’s my client, he just doesn’t know it.

After an hour of pretending to listen, I cross my legs and take a small sip of my drink. He needs to make a move, I can’t be the one to pursue him. Everything about this is making them believe they are in control, that it’s their words and their actions that have me hooked. Men don’t realize how easy it is to get them to do what I want without saying a word.

Grinning, I let my eyes drift down his body while he’s still trying to impress me. Keeping my focus on what I’m sure is a small cock, he clears his throat and I snap my head back to his. Trying to hide my fake smile, I think of the time I had my toilet paper stuck to my ballet shoe on stage, which gives me the blush he thinks he’s caused. “Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, nibbling on the corners of my mouth.

He rests his smooth, weak hand on my thigh and attempts to gives it a squeeze. “Brooke, would you like to come have a drink up in my room?”

There it is. “I’d love to,” I reply, grabbing my purse.

Placing his limp hand on the small of my back he leads me to the elevator. We are both silent on the way up. There’s nothing to say yet, that’s not how this goes. He’ll start when we get into the room. He’ll tell me this isn’t something he normally does. He’ll tell me that he’s never been more attracted to someone before. He’ll explain that I need to remember this is only about sex because he doesn’t have time for a relationship. That as amazing as it’s going to be, he doesn’t want me to mix up my feelings.

Happens every time. It’s getting more difficult not to laugh when they explain all this because they have no idea the amount of absolute no interest I have. I’m not interested in them, in their money, in having sex. All I want is what happens after. I want them to spill their secrets, and they always do.

He’s taken off his clothes and removed mine and we are kissing in front of the bed. His hands are resting on my shoulders and his kiss is slow and boring. It’s nothing new, it’s how these businessmen are. Boring as hell.

Moving to the bed, he climbs on top of me and smiles while putting on a condom. Biting my lip, I move my hands up his lanky arms and he nearly comes on the spot. Leaning in to kiss me again, I just let it happen. When I first started doing this I figured maybe somewhere along the way I’d come into contact with a guy that was different. A guy who didn’t only screw missionary style. Who I didn’t need to fake my orgasm with. Someone who would be a challenge. It’s never happened and it has me questioning why I’m still doing this.

“Brooke, I’m so close, are you?” he asks as I watch his body start to shake.

“Oh God yes,” I moan out, tossing my head back.

It’s been five minutes, maybe less and he already crashes down on me in complete ecstasy. I wrap my arms around him as he buries his face into my neck, and I roll my eyes.

Laying on our sides, with the blanket pulled up of course, the real work is about to begin.

“I can see why you’re so successful. I mean if you’re as good with business as you are in bed, you were underplaying how powerful a man you really are,” I say, linking my fingers with his.

“Darling, you have no idea,” he says, puffing his bony chest out with pride.

I may not know now, but in a few minutes, I’m going to know it all.