To be quite honest, I’m actually a bit relieved that the Russian mob tries to affect gangster living based on what they see from The Godfather and such. I mean, we could be fucking sitting at a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach to sign these papers if they had suggested it instead of Del Frisco’s right in the heart of Times fucking Square. I mean, what would they even serve at the Russian place if we had to schlep all the way over there? Borscht? Dumplings? I’m no fucking Cossack, if I’m going to be doing a deal with the mob, let it be at least at a world famous steak house where they pour good wine.

We’re seated at a large table by the window, overlooking Broadway. Ever since the mayor turned Broadway into a 24/7 pedestrian zone, it’s gotten a lot weirder and crazier in Times Square. Ever walk by and see the women with just the body paint? The angry Elmo? The Naked Cowboy? Thankfully I don’t have to look at a naked fucking cowboy as I decide what cut of meat I want to be putting in my mouth tonight.

Gerard is sitting next to me and Luca Giannoni and his employer, Dimitry Mozorov are sitting across from me. Mozorov is red-faced from the vodka he’s been drinking and with his dark suit with red tie and grey hair on his portly body he looks like a fucking corporate Russian Santa Clause.

“Ever since Luca here told me about your late father’s empire, the Simulated Pleasures business is one that’s caught my eye,” Mozorov is saying with a thick Russian accent. “I’ve looked at the 90 day charts and I’m impressed at how this small operation has such high margins, Mr. Hawke. You should be commended.”

I take a sip of my scotch and laugh sardonically. Sure, I should be fucking commended. For causing the love of my life to quit the job she was using to get on her feet and then selling it off to mobsters after she left. I’m a real fucking saint.

“How about we wait until after dinner to sign the papers?” Gerard asks the table and I look at him with surprise. This is the same guy that several days ago was asking me why I was dragging my fucking feet?

Mozorov shrugs. “Whether we eat first or eat later makes no difference to me,” he says, grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Tomorrow morning, we will be new owners of Simulated Pleasures and a new day will dawn for the callers.”

“What is it that you plan to do?” I ask, more out of morbid curiousity than anything else.

Mozorov looks at Giannoni and nods.

“Since it doesn’t matter much if we tell you now that you’re going to sell, we can be a bit more upfront with our plans,” the lawyer says. “We plan to cut the percentages that the operators make in half,” Giannoni says to me, taking a sip of his wine. “Then after a period of time, we play to make them salaried workers.”

“How do you know they’ll stay?” I ask.

“We plan to start them off with lucrative contracts that they agree to, with steep payments to the company if they decide to quit,” Mozorov answers for him. “It will work similar to the way your gentlemen’s clubs operate eventually, where we’ll just provide the infrastructure and expect them to pay us to use our services.”

“The operators will be responsible for advertising themselves and doing their own promotion, significantly lowering the total costs to the company,” Luca Giannoni says as he drains his wine. “And should the operators not be able to turn a profit for themselves, the only way they’ll get out will be through a sizable payment to the company to break their contract.”

They’re going to fucking prey on the women doing the work. Not on the johns. But the women. Jesus fucking Christ.

But there’s nothing I can do, unless I pull out of this deal. I’ve effectively screwed over the entire company. I don't even know how many women are working as phone sex operators. I never cared. I just wanted to get rid of the operation so blindly that I never thought there was a human element to it.

I look over at Gerard. Somehow, despite the fact that what Luca Giannoni described as a form of employment extortion, he doesn't seem too troubled; it’s like the man has suddenly lost touch with his fucking conscience. Doesn’t he fucking care that while we eat beef tartare and drink wine we’re coming up with a deal that will screw over countless hardworking women all over the city?

“Is any of this fucking legal?” I ask out, not caring anymore.

Mozorov shrugs. “Who cares,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “If we get in trouble we just cancel all the contracts and close up shop. Guaranteed by then we’ll have turned a tidy profit.”

Jesus. These organized crime people should start working on Wall Street if they haven’t already. They’re both fucking snakes in the grass.

Sorry, I’m just in a fucking awful mood. It’s like life has me by the balls and is squeezing as hard as it fucking can.

I take a sip of my scotch and stare out the window.

“Actually, Mr. Mozorov, I don’t think you’ll be successful at what you’re proposing,” a voice says and I turn my head toward it.

What the fuck! It can’t be.

All of us have turned to the fucking angel standing in front of us, dressed in a tight white skirt and black top that shows off her tits. She’s made up to look like a fucking doll and just seeing her makes my cock twitch in my pants. She extends her arm toward Mozorov.

“Ashley Lane, formerly of Simulated Pleasures,” she says to Mozorov. “May I sit down?”

Hand it to Mozorov, he rolls with the fucking punches and takes Ashley’s hand and gently brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to meet you, young lady,” he says as Gerard rushes out of his chair and ushers her in to sit next to me. Gerard gets another chair and sits down. And did I just see a look pass by between him and Ashley? But they’ve never talked before, so it couldn’t matter.

Ashley turns to me. “How’ve you been, Arsen?” she asks me.

I give her my cockiest, smirkiest smile, trying to act cool.

“That good, huh?” Ashley asks sarcastically. Fuck, she’s here to bust my balls too, I guess.

But out of nowhere, she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. I look down to see this and when I look back at her, she’s smiling.

But it doesn’t last. She turns toward Luca Giannoni and Mozorov and begins to speak.

“Gentlemen, I know you’re wondering what I’m doing here in the first place,” she says and smiles at them. They can’t help but grin like dirty old men looking at her. “And the truth is I needed to tell you something that if I didn't would probably mean you would be buying this company without all the facts.”

Now both men are interested. They lean in.

“The fact of the matter is, that I started work at Simulated Pleasures about three months ago,” Ashley says. “I used to be a dancer at Scorcher's, but I wanted something where I didn’t have to take off my clothes. And before you say anything, yes I went to college. But I got a degree in Art History.”

“Ah, that makes a lot of sense,” Gerard says and Ashley gives him a look of annoyance at his subtle put down of her degree. I can’t help but crack a smile.

“At the same time, I met Arsen maybe a few days before I started working at the company,” she says.

Both men nod, waiting for her to continue.

“Here’s something you don’t know about the two of us,” Ashley says and leans in as if telling them a secret. “Arsen used to call in and talk to me on the pay-per-minute line.”

Mozorov doesn’t understand. “Why couldn't he just call you directly?” he asks.

Ashley shakes her head. “He didn't want me to know it was him,” she says. “And I didn’t. I knew him as King Henry. And he hid his identity from me.”

Mozorov looks at me. “Why would you do something like that?”

I shrug. “She didn't want to date a bad boy at the time and I wanted to fuck her,” I say, wondering if he’ll understand. “When at first she wouldn't give me the time of day, it’s the only thing I could think of to still talk to her. It just kind of took on a life of its own, I guess.

The Russian gangster stares at me for a second. Then he nods. “I guess kind of sweet, no?” he asks Ashley, turning to her.

“At first I was mad that he lied to me,” Ashley admits and then pauses to look at me. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realize it was just another side of him that I was falling in love with.”

Now it's my turn to fucking freeze. Is this really happening?

“And while it took me a while to make peace with it, gentlemen, the thing you have to understand is that the time Arsen spoke to me added to my totals. And so the program automatically sent me more people to talk to because it thought I was that good—able to keep people on the line for a long time. And I was so hot from talking to him, maybe I was actually able to keep people paying.”

“So…all the profitability that we see, is because of the two of you?” Luca Giannoni asks, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Ashley nods and I jump in, ready to make the final sale.

“Maybe it’s not 100% me and Ash,” I say to Luca, “But the fact that I’m calling specifically for her and I don’t care how much it costs me is causing the computer to send more clients to her.”

“And I have so many regulars now, gentlemen, that if I were to leave the company, it would start being unprofitable fast,” Ashley interjects.

“That’s actually true,” I tell the two men. “After Ashley quit when she found out, the company began a stretch of negative revenue days that hasn’t picked up yet.

“And just to let you know, I’m not coming back if Arsen sells Simulated Pleasures to you,” Ashley finishes off. She turns to me and looks me in the eyes. “I think it should stay with him. Something that maybe we can build together.”

“So without this girl, we’d be buying a money-losing venture?” Mozorov asks Luca. His lawyer only nods.

Mozorov turns to me and looks me in the eyes. “Is there any way you can see yourself forgiving me for getting out of this deal, Mr. Hawke?”

And there you go. The tables have fucking turned.

I lean back, taking Ashley’s hand in mine. Her eyes are on me. They’re filled with love.

Gerard is looking at me as well. His eyes are filled with admiration.

Luca and Mozorov are looking at me, their eyes filled with hope. That I have mercy in my soul.

I look across the table.

“I think if you can pay for dinner, we can call it a day,” I say with a smirk.

“Done,” Mozorov says, raising his glass and holding it out.

“Deal,” I say raising my scotch glass. We clink and drink.

I turn to Ashley. I don’t even fucking care that there are people around me as I look into her eyes.

“Ash,” I say. “I’m sorry…”

But she doesn’t let me finish. Instead she places her index finger over my lips. She holds it there for a second, and then gives me a smile.

I can’t fucking help it at this point. I reach over and bring her face closer, drawing her in for a kiss.

When we come up for air, the people around the table are smiling.

And the world has been made whole again.