CHAPTER TWO
First, Second, and Third
Felicity
10:53 p.m.
“So explain how this works again?” I asked, placing the number thirteen sticker on my chest and heading farther into a mansion filled with people of every age and race.
For my first and only night out at Sugar Party, as they called it, Cleo had spent almost two hours curling my hair and putting on my makeup. Thankfully she hadn’t gone overboard and chose to go natural. She was dressed in pink, and Mark wore jeans, a causal shirt, and a jacket. Apparently it was to work his young, broke college student angle. He even thought of bringing a sketchbook to add intrigue. Even with all of that, it was funny how they were more excited I had finally come out with them than the fact they themselves were here. Mark winked at a man in the corner next to the grand stairs, who had his long hair pulled into a bun and was holding a beer.
Mark made sure to put some distance between us, and I raised my eyebrow at that. When we walked out to back near the pool, he said, “So basically, at these parties, you just want to be seen. Usually the two types of people who come up to you are the super cocky ones, which isn’t really a bad thing other than the fact that you have to listen to them talk about themselves for hours, or they tend to be oppressive and might scare off others.”
Yeah, that’s a no. “Or?”
“Or you get the older, sweet ones who casually try to start a conversation.” Cleo jumped in, waving to a man who had to be in his sixties. He was more Hollywood sixties. I liked his fedora, though. “Anyone else will contact you via the website if you catch their interest tonight. So catch their interest! Now that you’ve been briefed, let’s regroup in half an hour.”
She strode off toward the dance floor under the canopy, working her way through until she was in the center where the light was brightest.
“Good luck,” Mark said, moving toward the edge of the pool. He took off his jacket and placed it on a chair before he lifted his shirt, exposing his sculpted abs to the world. He even went so far as to take off his shoes and jeans and jump in, getting a series of full cheers and whistles.
I was so out of my league here. They were both professionals at this, and I couldn’t help but recall the number of watches, purses, shoes, and even cars they both had. Mark and I had joked that the reason Cleo didn’t steal anymore was because she’d found a new way to get what she wanted. But I didn’t want this.
For a split second, I thought it might be fun to explore my wild side again, but I remembered now why I didn’t. Bad things happened when I wasn’t in control of myself. Turning back the way I’d come, I returned to the house, my heels clicking against the marble flooring. I couldn’t leave just yet, seeing as how I’d come in Mark’s car. But no one said I couldn’t have fun.
Heading up the stairs, I ran my hands along the railing. Cleo had said the house belonged to big director, or was it a CEO of some kind? Either way, it was nice. Classic high ceilings with white crown molding, and on the walls were large movie posters from the sixties: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly; Psycho; Midnight Cowboy…it went on and on. I found myself mesmerized by them as I went farther and farther away from the stairs and down the corridor until I was standing in front of a set of double doors.
I glanced back, but no one was there. My hands hovered over the knob.
“It’s just a door.” To a room no one else was near, in a house I didn’t own, in the middle of the night.
I twisted the knob and entered. All that build-up was for nothing. It was just a piano room. I wanted to shut the door and forget about it, but I couldn’t. It had been so long that my fingers itched for the chance to play again.
Would I even remember how?
Just thinking about it made my eyes water.
Closing the door behind me, I moved over to the white grand piano. It overlooked the pool, but I didn’t pay attention to that. All I could see was the instrument, and all I wanted to do was play. I took off my heels and dropped my purse on the floor and sat. After I lifted up the key cover, I ran my hands over the top of the keys.
“Miss me?” I whispered as if it were my old piano. Then, with a tiny smile, I pressed down on C. Biting my lip, I took a deep breath and slammed the keys, the music vibrating through me. And just like that, it all came back. I played—fast, slow, loud, soft, angry. I played, just like I used to. It felt…it felt amazing.
I had no idea how long I’d been playing when I froze mid-chord, lifting my hands off the keys. The clock on the mantle chimed as it struck midnight.
“That was quite rude.”
With a jump, I turned around to find a man dressed in a pair of black pants and a black button-down shirt, leaning into a corner of the window.
He couldn’t be real. He was too handsome to be real. Black hair, green eyes that shone in the light streaming in from the window, the first couple buttons of his jacket undone, exposing his neck and the top of his well-sculpted chest. I had seen attractive men before, I had seen men who knew they were attractive, but he looked like sex. Like he had just had it, he was going to have it again, and he had mastered it.
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
His gaze traveled down the length of my body before stopping at the number stuck on my breast. Something changed in his eyes, like I had pissed him off somehow. He glanced out the window at the others by the pool.
“You do know the only way someone can take care of you is if they see you, right?” he said more harshly than he needed to.
Judgment. That was what I was sensing.
“First of all, you’re at this party too. Secondly, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been doing that since I was child. Thirdly—”
“If that’s true, then why are you here?”
“I don’t have to answer to you.” I bent down to grab my shoes and purse. Without saying another word, I moved to the door, but he blocked my path by stepping in front of me. He was so close I could smell the spice of his cologne.
“Thirdly?” he questioned.
“What?”
“Your last decree before I interrupted you?”
Shit, I’d forgotten. “Thirdly, you aren’t my type,” I lied, skirting him and flouncing out the door. I was sure I heard him snicker, but I was proud of myself.
When I made it downstairs, Cleo and Mark were speaking to each other. Cleo was texting on her phone.
“Guys?”
“Felicity!” Cleo gasped and grabbed on to my arm. “What happened? Where did you go?”
“What do you mean?” It felt like I had just seen them.
“Remember we were supposed to regroup? But when we looked for you, and we didn’t see you in the crowd, we thought you’d left,” she replied.
“No. I thought she left, you thought she’d been kidnapped and stuffed into a suitcase,” Mark joked, looking back up the stairs and then to me. “What happened up there?”
“I was just looking around,” I lied again, this time with a smile, and slipped my shoes back on. “You know me. I was able to sniff out the library and curl up to read Dickens. If it weren’t for the clock chiming, I wouldn’t have come down.”
“Seriously?” Cleo groaned. “We want to leave, but no one has seen you yet. You were outside for, like, two seconds.”
“Leave? It’s only been about an hour.”
She shook her head. “Rule number two: never stick around. You start to look desperate. Get their interest and then disappear. Maybe we can—wait, what happened to your number?”
“What?” I glanced down, but the number was gone. I checked the floor to see if it had fallen off. “Oh well. Guys, really, I tried, but let’s call it a night. I don’t want to make either of you look desperate.”
Grinning, I placed my hands around their arms.
“I heard a tone in there,” Mark stated.
“Yes, exhaustion. Now come on.” I pulled them toward the door.
They thought I hadn’t had a good time, but in reality, playing the piano—playing any instrument for the first time in years—was worth anything. I wasn’t sure what that said about me though.
2:12 a.m.
Falling onto the bed, I crawled around on top of the comforters, trying to get comfortable. Because no one had eaten, Mark had driven us to Sam’s Morning Night Kitchen. It was basically what it sounded like: breakfast at night. They talked about all the people who, in just an hour, had come up to them. I made them promise not to check their profiles until we got home.
At least the plumbing would be fixed. Cleo’s sugar daddies always either came to the house themselves or sent someone to fix something for her. Why? Because she said she liked to renovate her home. We owed our new kitchen and bathrooms to her. The patio was all Mark’s people though, fountain and all.
Don’t be stupid.
But I was really curious. Reaching for my laptop, I sat up and was on the sugar baby website before I could stop myself.
When I logged back in, it said, “Welcome back, baby.”
“Somebody really needs to change that.” I giggled. However, my smile faded when I noticed the red circle with a number one inside it, telling me I had a notification. I had a match. One match.
What were you expecting?
Rolling my eyes, I moved to close it but stopped. What could it hurt to find out the one sorry bastard who wanted me?
“Holy shit,” I whispered when his image came up. It was like someone had taken the picture out of a GQ ad.
Name: Theodore J. Darcy.
Age: 31
Height: 6’3”
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
And the kicker, the absolute cherry on top, his net worth: thirty-one billion.
Source of wealth: family money, film director, writer, producer, and CEO of Darcy Entertainment.
Attached to his profile was a message. “First, I wasn’t at the party. The party was at my house, courtesy of my annoying little brother. Secondly, don’t put yourself in positions where someone can mistake you. Thirdly, you’re an awful liar. I am your type. Meet me at Darcy Headquarters, 5420 W Avon St, Burbank, at 3:00 p.m.”
Oh, this son of a bitch.
Don’t put myself in positions where I could be mistaken? How about don’t fucking judge someone? Just as I was about to hit send, I erased it instead. I didn’t want him to know he’d gotten a rise out of me.
Instead I sent a much simpler and clearer message: “No.”
Smiling, I closed the laptop and placed it beside my bed.
God, I felt good.
3:01 p.m.
I grinned at my phone like I had won the lottery, and I had no idea why.
“Felicity. Felicity!”
“Huh?” I jumped off the counter and dropped the rag in my hand. My manager, Manny, an upcoming “actor,” glared at me as he handed me the coffeepot. I would like to note that the only credit he had was being a zombie in one episode of the The Walking Dead.
“Do you think you can stop daydreaming for a moment and serve the customers? You know, since it’s your job,” he snapped at me.
“My shift is over.”
“Not until Rosemary comes in.” He stomped off, grabbing his phone.
He must have gotten rejected for another part. Manny was usually an ass, but he only got really bitchy when he was overlooked for a part because of what he claimed to be the “unrealistic ideals of men in the media.” He was short, slim with no muscle definition despite his best efforts, and had bad vision. Not exactly your typical leading man.
“What can I get you?” I asked, not bothering to look up while I refilled the coffee cup.
“Why weren’t you this obedient when I messaged you?”
I nearly dropped the coffeepot onto the table. He took the sugar packets, pouring way too much into the cup while I stared at him. He wore a navy-blue fitted suit and a dark shirt with the top buttons undone. A smirk formed on his lips as he leaned back in the booth and glimpsed up at me, his green eyes all the more clearer in the daytime.
“What…? How?”
“What am I doing here? I came to see you. How did I know you worked here? Facebook.” He answered before I could even ask the questions or before he could put the coffee cup to his lips.
“Sorry I’m late, Felicity. You can clock out now,” Rosemary called out to me when she entered.
“Thanks.” I waved.
“Perfect timing,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. He nodded at the booth across from him. “Sit.”
“Mr. Darcy, I don’t work for you. Nor am I your pet. Please stop giving me commands. As you heard, my shift is over, so if you would excuse me….”
“Why did you go to a sugar party—”
I kicked his foot. “The sugar? It’s right there.” I tried to cover for him since he had drawn a few people’s attention by speaking louder than he needed to.
“Sit,” he repeated.
Damn it. Annoyed, I slid into the booth.
“Wow, you really are an ass.”
“I wouldn’t be one if you listened to me.” He shrugged and took a slow drink.
“Yeah, I’d rather you be an ass than take your orders.” I crossed my arms and leaned back. However, when he looked at my breasts, I immediately dropped my hands.
“I thought you said you could handle it,” he shot back.
“I said ass, not pervert.”
“Every man who stares at your breasts is a pervert? That seems a bit harsh.” He was enjoying this. Ticking me off. He was getting off on it.
“What do you want, Mr. Darcy?”
“Why were you at that party?”
I groaned. “This again? What does it matter—?”
“It matters because I want you, but I need to know what you want in return. If it isn’t money or someone to provide for you, then what is it you want?”
I was stunned. “Wait, what?”
“I need to know what you want—”
“No, go back to why it matters.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The ‘I want you’ part?”
“Yes. You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes, because I came all the way down here to have crappy coffee for the hell of it.”
“You’re not kidding,” I said more to myself than to him. “Why?”
“Why, what?” He looked at me, confused.
“Why do you want me?” And how could he say it so easily, like he was ordering shoes or something?
He put the coffee cup down and looked me over again. “I’m not sure. No, that’s a lie. When I saw you last night, I was jealous.”
“Of what?”
He smirked. “The piano. You were like a vision in white, yet you only had eyes for my piano. You gravitated to it, dropped everything in your hands, stepped out of your heels, and gave yourself over to it. You played with your back arched, eyes closed, and mouth ajar. I thought, ‘If she’s this passionate with music, how passionate would she be in my bed? How much could I make her back arch? Would her lips part for me? Would her eyes open as I buried myself in her?’ The more you played, the more I wanted you.”
I crossed my legs, swallowing slowly. I had never heard anyone make playing the piano sound so pornographic.
“You…you thought a lot about it, it seems.”
“You gave me a lot to think about,” he countered, his coffee all but forgotten as I watched at him. “So, Felicity…why were you at that party?”
My name sounded sinful rolling off his lips, and for some reason, I couldn’t speak. I was caught in his gaze. My skin felt hot, and he was doing nothing, nothing but staring at me and only me. I doubted anything could make him turn away, and that made me ache between my legs.
Lust.
Sex.
It was pouring off him in waves, and he knew it.
“Were you bluffing before? All I need to do is financially pamper you…?”
“No.” I finally found my voice as I sat up straighter. “Sex. I missed sex. My friends told me all about the wild times they’d had, so in a moment of desperation, I gave in. Happy?”
“You have no idea.” He grinned. “Let’s have this conversation elsewhere.”
“I have a cleaning shift at the Monroe Academy High School after this,” I said softly, and he didn’t look bothered.
“It looks like I’m going to have to financially care for you just to make sure you have time for me,” he replied. Standing up, he stretched out his hand. Confused, I took it and stood up. He laughed. “I meant give me your cell phone.”
“Fuck, sorry.” I pulled out the phone in my pocket and handed it to him.
“You must really miss sex. You haven’t argued with me once,” he said as he dialed what I could only guess was his own number before handing me back the phone. “I’ll see you tonight. And Ms. Harper?”
“Yeah?”
He took a step closer and whispered into my ear. “I don’t share with anyone, ever. Until we’re over, I’m the only one you see.” He stepped back. “Don’t work too hard.”
As he walked away, I found myself slowly sitting back down in the booth. My heart was racing, and my cheeks were hot.
Until we were over? When had we started?
He was sexy, cocky, arrogant, and possessive…and I liked it way more than I was willing to admit. What made it worse was I was sure he knew it too.
Grabbing my cell phone, I texted Mark and Cleo.
I think I just became a sugar baby.