Rome

The door starts to open, and I hold my breath. This is the unknown part of the night. Experience tells me I’ll know within the first thirty seconds how my night is going to pan out.

“Hello, I’m Rome.”

I suck in a groan and paste on my best working smile. I’m so glad I broke my own rule and didn’t ask her to kiss me on arrival. The first thing to bombard me is feet of blonde extensions, down to her ass in fact. Yuck! I’ll have to be careful I don’t accidentally get a handful of that hot mess and rip it right from her scalp.

“Oooo, aren’t you a handsome one? I’m Cherise.”

Of course you are, I think to myself as she cooes at me with over-inflated collagen lips, and my skin begins to crawl. Then she reaches out and runs one long fingernail down the side of my face. It’s more like a talon than a fingernail—long, false, and painted a garish magenta with too many sparkly bits. Yuck!

Yeah, I know exactly how the evening is going to go.

“I have a car waiting if you’re ready to head out?”

“Of course, sugar. Let me get my purse.” She ducks inside for a moment and then is back outside, and when I fully see the dress she has on, I wonder who the professional is? If Cherise is going for insanely short, tight, and trashy, then she’s nailed it.

She should be on a street corner in that get-up. There’s nothing left to the imagination. In Cherise’s defense, she has a decent body for a woman in her late forties, but really, a little more class would have certainly been appreciated.

Stop it, Rome. I mentally chastise myself. It isn’t my place to judge the people who pay my bills. This is not how I roll. I can always find something pleasant about every woman I “date.” Often women presenting like Cherise are low on confidence and compensate by being overtly in your face with their charms.

I offer her my arm and give her another smile as I walk her down the path to the waiting limousine she requested.

The driver holds the door open, and I guide her inside before sliding in beside her.

She looks at me expectantly, and I rack my brain for a genuine compliment I can open with, to get the date moving—all part of the game. Everyone has a decent feature, and for Cherise, it is her eyes.

“You have the most spectacular blue eyes.” I’m probably overselling it, but they’re definitely her best feature, and I’m going to work with that.

“Thank you, darlin’.” She places her hand on my thigh and gives me a not so subtle squeeze. I have to fight the urge to pull away from her touch. It instantly feels wrong. I haven’t been on any assignments since Carlene, and I realize immediately I’ve been more than happy to keep it that way even if I haven’t admitted it to myself.

“I have to say, I was a little miffed when Vance wasn’t available. He’s been a long-time favorite of mine, but now I see variety is really the spice of life. If you fuck as good as you look, you’re going to blow my mind.” Her hand slides further up my thigh, and I clamp mine down over it firmly to stop her progress.

My stomach turns, and my dick shrinks up into my body, as if trying to avoid any potential contact with her roving hands. The thought of fucking her is way less appealing than a root canal.

“Aren’t you the forward one!” I flirt back, trying to figure out how to hose her off and not offend her.

“I learned a long time ago to be upfront in what I want. Not a lot of men can cope with that. You strike me as a confident man, one who knows his way around a real woman.” Cherise starts to slide her dress up, her lack of underwear blatantly obvious.

Oh, my God, she’s a ball-busting man eater. “In fact, I think it would be a great start to the night with your mouth on my pussy.”

No! No! No! my brain yells. My mouth on her pussy would definitely be a very bad thing. Very bad indeed.

A horrible feeling of guilt and betrayal washes over me as images of Carlene flood my brain. Her scent, her eyes, her genuine personality and natural beauty.

I can’t go there now. There is no way I’ll get through the evening if I let myself get distracted with thoughts of her.

Charm, Rome, charm. I will my mind to focus on the task at hand.

I lean over to her and whisper, “Cherise, I know exactly what sort of woman you are. You love being in control and calling the plays. Not tonight, not with me, sweetheart. I’m going to make your pussy weep for me, but we’re going to do it my way.” I watch her breasts heave and pupils dilate as desire courses through her. Thank God I can still deliver a line because my cock is definitely on strike.

Fuck, I just hope I can play her along and keep her happy and her hands off me long enough to get me the hell out of this situation.

“You’re too used to getting your own way.” Her mouth opens to speak, and I shake my head no before she has the chance to utter a word. “With me, you’ll act like a perfect lady while we’re out at dinner. You’ll do as I say and take what I offer. Do you understand me, Cherise?”

She nods in compliance, clearly excited by me taking control of the situation, and I breathe a slight sigh of relief. I’ve bought myself a little time, now I just have to figure out how to smoothly extricate myself from the situation because there is no way I’m going down on this woman, let alone fucking her or kissing her.

We arrive at an upscale restaurant, which is thankfully quiet. I occupy Cherise with witty banter and plenty of sexual innuendo. None of which I have any intention of acting on.

After a reasonable amount of time has passed, I excuse myself on the pretense of needing the men’s room.

I place a quick call to Garrett, one of my guys. I know he should be finished with his previous engagement by now.

“What’s up, man?” he answers on my second ring.

“I need you to take over a client for me”

“Huh?”

“I’m with a client and something’s come up and I have to get out of here. I need you to come over and take over for me. Unfortunately, it’s going to be an all-nighter, but I’m going to pay you double for your trouble.” I purposely chose Garrett because I know his ex-wife has put the screws on him for money. He also isn’t close enough to me to feel it’s his prerogative to lay shit on me about dipping out on a client.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Give me ten minutes to shower and change clothes and I can hit the road.”

Relief runs through me. “Thanks man, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll text you the address and go break the news to Cherise.”

“See you soon.”

Music to my ears.

Carlene

Jackson’s words from the other day served as a swift kick up the backside for me. Nothing like having your twenty-two-year-old son play parent.

He is right.

I’m not acting because I’m scared. Not only about whatever it was I shared with Rome, but also with every other area of my life. I left Colanara and all the troubles associated with it, only to settle on the Gold Coast and promptly curl up in a ball and hibernate.

Sure, I’ve been existing, but I haven’t been living. I’m reasonably happy but far from fulfilled or content. I knew this and I’d discussed it at length with Rome many times during our trip—I just hadn’t done anything about it. By existing and not committing to anything, I’d protected myself from feeling deeply about anything.

Now is the time to take some action.

Not only have Jackson’s words kicked me into action, spending time with him has also clarified what I want to do.

Kids.

They’re my thing. I lost so much time with my own and now I have both means and time. I could make a real difference in the lives of some young people. That’s what I want to do, the only thing to make sense to me.

Now I’m spending hours in front of my laptop, doing research on different avenues and options. I’m going to put together some ideas for a business plan then go and run it by my accountant and a business advisor he’s recommended. I’m not exactly sure what angle I want to take yet.

Deciding on this field was a big enough step for me to have actually taken. A decision as to the field is, in itself, a win and a huge weight off my shoulders, given my previous lack of progress since my move to the coast. It feels good.

Today, I’m investigating foster agencies and what the process is for creating a private foster facility. I know this is possible. However, I just don’t know what’s required. With a cup of herbal tea as company, I get to my Googling.

Two cups of tea and five pages of notes later, my email program pings a notification. Immediately I get butterflies in my stomach when I realize it’s an email from Perfect Gentlemen. Is my reaction weird and crazy, or what?

I click on the email wondering…no, hoping Rome has reached out.

Carlene,

Just letting you know, Rome has instructed me to refund all payments you have made to Perfect Gentlemen. I have processed the refunds and the money should be in your account within the next couple of days.

In case you don’t have it, here’s Rome’s cell number.

+1 202 555 1022 I know he’d be happy to hear from you.

He said you two became close friends. ;)

Best Regards

Roxie

P.S. Call him already, I can’t stand his moping much longer!

A mix of emotions races through me. Annoyance that Rome would even think about returning the money. We entered into this as a business arrangement, and I fully expect to honor my end of the arrangement. I have never been a freeloader, and there’s no way I’m expecting, nor am I going to allow, Rome to pick up the bill for my holiday.

The initial annoyance fades, to be replaced by a warmer feeling when I realize perhaps I matter to him enough for him to feel compelled to return the money.

Distance and his career still stand in the way, commonsense yells at me.

Just call him. The inner romantic rebel in me screams right back. You know you want to, she teases and tempts.

It turns out, I’ve had his number the whole time. I figured he would have a phone he only used for work. I’ve had his number the whole time—how stupid of me. Yet again, I’ve used it as an excuse. The reality is, I’ve been too afraid of what might not be to focus on what could be.

As inexperienced as I am with dating, even I know when I’m being pushed. And it’s exactly what I need. Just as Jackson said. Is Rome really as miserable as me?

Calling might be a bit drastic but what could a little text message hurt? I’ve sent my kids thousands of them.

I pick up my taunting phone, which has been sitting beside my laptop, all the time holding the information I needed, and run my thumb over the screen. Then gnaw at my bottom lip as I wonder what on Earth I should say?

What should I say about the money, and for that matter, our claytons relationship. I chuckle to myself, Claytons was “the drink you were having when you weren’t having a drink.” We’re having, the relationship you were having when you weren’t having a relationship. Where did that come from? Talk about a blast from the past. Claytons was a huge marketing campaign decades ago. I’m seriously showing my age, which just makes my hesitation all the more ridiculous. I’m not a kid anymore. Suck it up and get on with it, Carlene.

Finally, after minutes of agonizing, I get to typing my message, and I decide to start with the safe topic—business.

Rome, I can’t accept the money. I will be returning it. That was the arrangement. It’s not fair on you any other way. I took up your time and prevented you from earning money.

Now to add something about the relationship part…I want to be cute and witty, but I’m hardly either in real life. It just isn’t my strong suit. Besides, text messages are notorious for being incorrectly interpreted, which worries me even more.

I settle for something safe and totally boring but almost guaranteed not to be misinterpreted.

How are you? I miss you. Can’t seem to stop thinking about you.

I suck at this, and the crazy uncertainty gnaws at my belly some more. Before I can change my mind, which I have been teetering badly back and forth over, I press the send button to remove the option. It’s in the lap of the gods now.

I immediately return to my researching. Getting distracted thinking too much about Rome would be all too easy to do. God knows, I’ve wasted enough hours over him already.