Rex

It’s nice to see Felicia relaxing and smiling after what she went through earlier. Two hours ago, it looked like I was going to have to talk her down off a ledge. The expression she had on her face was so incredibly tortured. I honestly hope I’ve never made anyone feel that way. A torrent of names and faces instantly floods my thoughts. I always tried to keep my clients satisfied, but since I stepped back, I’ve been completely overwhelmed with requests. That’s the main reason I believe the RH Signature line will be a smashing success.

As if on cue, my iPhone buzzes against the granite countertop. It’s my other business phone, and I know there are dozens of texts and calls that have gone unanswered. They keep calling and texting despite the fact that I’ve repeatedly told them that I’m no longer performing that service. Since it’s Friday, messages will continue to stream in for the next several hours. I walk over to the fridge and pull out the box from Blue Apron and begin unpacking the salmon, sweet potatoes, and green beans. I toss the spice packet aside, preferring to season the salmon with Lawry’s Season Salt, a dash of pepper, and lots of honey. This has been a favorite of mine ever since having it this way in a restaurant as a teenager. I toss the sweet potatoes into a pan with olive oil and cinnamon, then into the oven while boiling the green beans for a few minutes to blanch them.

“Wow, you’re busy out here,” she says, coming around the counter to join me. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You can watch the almonds and butter for a few minutes while I open the wine.” I hand her the wooden spoon. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I feel better after washing that streaked makeup off my face, but now you’ll be subjected to the real me,” she replies, giving me a skittish look. “I know, kinda hideous.”

“Far from hideous. I like seeing the real you. That’s why I mentioned how beautiful you look,” I repeat, looking her straight in the eyes. “You have gorgeous hazel eyes and naturally dark eyebrows and lashes, not to mention flawless skin. Why would you feel the need to cover it all up?”

“I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen, I guess,” she replies, seeming as if she’s actually contemplating my question. “I don’t wear lipstick very often though. I don’t think it looks right on me unless it’s a really light shade.”

“Well, you look fantastic with or without makeup,” I assure her, popping the cork on the wine. “So don’t feel the least bit insecure about washing it off. Be careful not to burn my nuts. I don’t have any extras.”

“Are we talking about these almonds?” she asks, giggling and shaking her head. “Of course I won’t burn your nuts. I will treat them with kid gloves.”

Watching her giggle and shake her head while stirring the almonds and butter, a strange feeling comes over me. It’s one of those déjà vu moments where you feel like you’ve been there before, but you know it’s not possible. It reinforces the feeling I’ve had since the moment she first walked into my office. That somehow, she is the piece that has been missing from the puzzle. The one that makes the picture complete.

My phone buzzes again while I’m pouring a glass of wine. I cringe at the sight of Felicia picking it up off the counter and looking at the screen. She turns toward me while slowly setting it back down on its face. “I’m so sorry I saw that. It’s just a natural reaction to pick up a phone when it buzzes. That text was definitely meant for you.” She turns the burner off and sets the pan aside. “Your nuts are perfect.”

“Thanks.” I hand her a glass of wine, wondering what she had just seen. Judging by her reaction, it had to have been something graphic.

Felicia

That was incredibly awkward. I picked up his phone only to be greeted by another woman’s eager beaver. Something that has never been on my bucket list. Rex reaches over and grabs the phone off the counter. He lets out a small groan upon seeing the image. “Kathy Summers,” he says, but I don’t immediately recognize the name. “Her parents started the largest home building company on the west coast. She’s been trying to get my attention, and she appears to be getting a little desperate. She’s one of those women who is used to getting whatever she wants.”

“I see. So she thinks sending pictures like that is the way to get a guy?” I ask, lifting the glass of wine to my lips and taking a sip. “What was that part about five thousand dollars?” I ask, thinking that’s a rather large sum of money.

“She’s loaded, so she’s willing to pay five thousand for a visit,” he replies dryly. “She raises it by a thousand each week and sends me increasingly risqué pictures even though I’ve told her several times that I’m no longer doing that. As soon as the RH Signature line is ready, I’m going to send her the link and tell her she can have me whenever she wants for a one-time price of just one hundred and forty bucks.” He raises his glass and clinks it against mine. “Just how freaked out are you right now?” The look of vulnerability in his soft brown eyes leaves me a bit hesitant to answer.

“Hey, I know you’re a playboy, and what you do in your spare time is none of my business,” I reply, sounding colder than I intended. “I mean, you started a sex toy company and you’ve obviously been with lots of women. I’m just a little shocked that women would pay that kind of money to sleep with you. Although it does explain the expensive cars and how you can afford this place.”

“It’s not as shallow as you think,” he counters, straining the green beans and combining them with the almonds and butter. “After I ruptured my patella and was told I would never play football again, I had to re-evaluate my entire career path. I decided to pursue a double-major in psychology and physiology, appeasing both of my parents.”

“How did you end up so incredibly off-course?” I blurt out, again not intending to sound like a bitch but failing miserably.

“It’s a long story. Let me plate our dinners and I’ll tell you all about it,” he says, checking the salmon for doneness. “Perfect.” He proceeds to arrange the delicious looking salmon, diced sweet potatoes, and green beans almandine. Everything looks and smells incredible.

“This all came from Blue Apron?” I ask, thinking maybe I should consider a subscription.

“Kind of,” he says with a grin. “I use their basic ingredients but add all of my own seasonings. I have my own way of making things. Whenever I follow their recipes, I always wish I would’ve stuck to my own. Since this is my first time cooking for you, I wanted to make you some of my favorites.”

“Trying to impress me with your cooking skills?” I tease, picking up our plates and bringing them to the table. “Well, it sure looks amazing. It might even make up for seeing that girl’s yoo hoo.”

“I’m not sure it’s that good, but I hope you like it,” he says, sitting down next to me. “Just a second. I’m going to power that thing down,” he adds, getting back up to shut off the ever buzzing iPhone. “I can’t wait to get rid of this thing.”

“So all that buzzing is from women who want to sleep with you?” I ask, more than a little off-put by the sheer volume.

“Yes, unfortunately.” He tosses the phone into a drawer and comes back to the table, retaking his seat. “Things got completely out of control after a couple of my former clients did a YouTube video discussing their experience. They reposted it to Twitter and Facebook and tagged me on them. That’s when I decided I needed come up with a more leveraged business model. I never liked the idea of not knowing whom I was having sex with.”

“But you obviously did a lot of it,” I reply, not understanding his conflicted attitude. “Are you trying to tell me that you were a reluctant gigolo?” I can’t help laughing at his expression. That word is obviously not a descriptor that he likes.

“Once I realized I would never have a chance in the NFL, I sort of withdrew from everything,” he begins to explain. “Of course, my mother loaded me up on antidepressants, trying several different ones, but nothing helped.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard they don’t work for everyone.”

“They only made me angrier.” He takes a piece of salmon, stabs a couple of sweet potatoes, and pops it into his mouth. “Try them together. It’s amazing.”

I follow suit, and much to my surprise, the combination is sheer heaven. “I’ve never been a big fan of sweet potatoes, but these are delicious.”

“Everyone always covers them with marshmallows and crap. All they need is a sprinkle of cinnamon and a little butter.” He takes another bite before sighing. “Anyway, when Mom realized I needed to talk things out, she sent me to a friend of hers, Cindy, who is a psychologist. She’s a really nice lady. We could talk about anything, and we did.”

“Like what?” I ask curiously, seeing the glint in his eyes that went along with a curled lip. “Let me guess, you were like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate,” I add, having a little fun with him.

“No. She maybe thought about it, but I think she was terrified of my mother.” He laughs out loud. “Mom has a way of doing that to people.” Strike two rings through my mind. He’s a gigolo with a mother who’s a bitch on wheels. “We just talked about the fact that I felt lost without my goal of being an NFL quarterback. My only other interest was women, one of the football cheerleaders, in particular.”

“So, she suggested being a gigolo as an alternate career path?” I giggle, enjoying the role reversal. Now he’s the one with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, I don’t want to hear that word again or you don’t get another glass of Moscato,” he warns me before continuing. “She talked with me extensively about pursuing psychology and eventually suggested that if I really wanted to help women, I should become a sex therapist. That’s when I told her about my special ability with women.”

“Which is?” I ask, already sure of the answer but wanting to hear it directly from him.

“For some reason, I can make any woman orgasm,” he says, throwing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “It’s a gift, I tell ya.”

“Probably the best gift,” I concur. “It definitely ranks well above being able to throw a touchdown. Hell, I don’t think my ex even tried to do anything for me. Maybe Becca will be able to teach him a thing or two.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. Most men aren’t all that trainable, which is why I got so overwhelmed.” He lets out a long breath and takes another sip of wine. “It didn’t start out that way. After a lengthy conversation about my talents, Cindy asked if I would be open to working with one of her clients. Off the record.”

“So she set you up with your first customer?” I smile at the thought of his therapist setting him up with prospects.

“She did.” He gets a distant look in his eyes. “I’ll never forget that first one. She was a sweet lady, probably about thirty-five. I don’t know who was more terrified, her or me. But an hour and a half later, she walked out on cloud nine. Cindy said she couldn’t stop thanking her during their next session. For the first time in her adult life, she realized that she was normal. She went on to get married about a year later.”

“Fixed by orgasms, huh?” I lean back and cross my arms. “It sounds a little trite, but I totally get it. Although I still haven’t had an orgasm with an actual guy.” I feel the warmth instantly hit my cheeks.

“The night is young,” he says with a wink. “More wine?”

“Whoa, you still have more explaining to do before I consider anything. Besides, I don’t have an extra five hundred bucks, much less five thousand.” For some reason, I don’t stop him from filling my glass almost all the way to the top. Normally, I would’ve fled the scene about five seconds after seeing that text from Kathy whoever, but I can’t help being drawn to him. “So how many clients have you helped?”

“Well, Cindy kept sending me referrals along with a few other therapists. Most days, I would have a gig. I never liked having more than one in the same day.” His expression turns serious and he places his hand on mine. “I always knew the day would come when I had to explain this to someone special.”

“You think I’m special?” I involuntarily twitch at the assertion.

“I know you’re special,” he says with a sad expression taking over his face. “My clients were mostly average women who were lacking in their sex life. Women like Kathy Summers were a rare exception until after word got out online. Once random women began calling, I knew I had to get out. I honestly didn’t want to be a gigolo.”

“So you really were in it just to help people? Kind of like the Mother Teresa of sex,” I chide, knowing that he’s playing me to a certain degree.

“I’ve never been equated to Mother Teresa, but I just wanted you to know that in my mind, I did it for the right reasons. That’s why when things got out of control, I shut it down. I even told Cindy that I didn’t want any more referrals.” He leans forward and continues to look into my eyes.

“Okay. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say,” I admit, not wanting to say the wrong thing. It’s not like he has to justify anything to me. I’m not even an actual employee at this point. Just a lowly intern.

“You don’t have to say a thing. Your face says it all.” He stands up, grabbing both plates and exiting to the kitchen. I’m not sure exactly what he saw on my face, but I imagine it was some sort of judgment. That’s something that I got from my mother, a judgmental tone complete with facial expressions. I have never figured out how to shut it off.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, joining him in the kitchen. “I don’t mean to be judgy. It just comes naturally, a result of growing up with my mother.”

“Our mothers will probably click instantly,” he replies, taking my hand. “I just want you to understand that I wasn’t simply a gigolo, as you like to call it. I’ve never had an STD, and as of five months ago, it’s relegated strictly to the past. I’ve been totally celibate ever since.”

“Five months and your phone still lights up like a Christmas tree?” I reply, seriously dumbfounded. “I thought maybe you were still doing it on the side.”

“No. Tonight is nothing compared to how it used to be. Most of them have taken the hint and given up,” he states, pulling the phone out of the drawer. “I haven’t turned on the ringer since it was new.” He clicks the power button, and at least a half-dozen texts and missed calls come through. “I save all of them so I can contact them for marketing purposes. I figure I might as well get something out of it.”

“I think you’ve already gotten plenty out of it.” I pan the windows with the incredible view. “Can we go out on the deck?”

“Of course. It’s a beautiful night.” He grabs the remainder of the wine and gestures toward the door. “We don’t get many like this.” The look he gives me sends a shiver down my spine, and not in a bad way. It’s a look that instantly creates tension between my thighs. I’ve never been around anyone who can do this to me. He’s never had an STD, so that means he’s always been careful. He hasn’t done it in five months. Most of all, he claims to have a perfect track record. Based on the dildo test, I might be up for seeing if he can do it for me. Did he say he’s actually been celibate for five months?