SARA
After forfeiting my day off from work, hopping on two buses, and hiking two miles uphill, I was seriously irritated as I finally approached Fox Wood Manor where I would be working as relief party hostess for six hours. The only thing that kept me going was the ten thousand dollar check I would collect at the end of the night. My car had broken down a few hours before I left my apartment, the reason I needed the money. I had no choice but to take public transport. Not that I wasn’t used to taking buses or trains, but I hadn’t planned to show up on foot, flustered and late, to one of the biggest gigs of all times.
The guests were already trickling in when the humongous building finally came in sight. The manor sat on many acres of green, lush, well-maintained lands, and the exterior was lit with a million sparkly lights.
“Nice,” I murmured to no one in particular. It must be nice to be rich and be able to afford to host extravagant parties in places like this. It was an annual gala held by the rich for the rich, and even though I didn’t know what the ball was for, I knew they raised a ton of money; at least the morning papers always described how successful those events were.
I looked on as cars of all sorts pulled up to the curb, all chauffeur-driven. Men impeccably dressed in suits alighted from the cars with their supermodel-couture-clad female passengers clinging to their arms. Most of the women wore flowing, expensive gowns, and I imagined they were perfect society ladies married to or dating the cream of the crop. I hadn’t even been inside, but I already knew I didn’t belong in that crowd.
I had been previously instructed to go into the building through a side entrance designated for employees. Technically I wasn’t an employee, but relief staff from a party staffing agency. But I wasn’t a guest either, so going through the main entrance wasn’t right. Besides, there was no way I could fool anyone into believing I was on the guest list, not with the plain black dress I had picked off the clearance rack in the outlet mall. It wasn’t so bad—at least it hugged my body in all the right places—but it did look as cheap as it cost and called me out as an imposter. My long hair, though, was nicely curled and probably looked better than most of those ladies'–thanks to my roommate, Elle, who was a hairdresser and never let me leave the apartment without making sure my hair looked great.
I had on two-inch heels, a little shorter than my preferred heels, but I was going to be standing all night and anything higher would have been pure torture for me. Of course, if I had known I was going to have to walk two miles, I would have worn my sneakers or flat shoes instead.
I found the side entrance easily and walked into a man who had a name tag that said “Mr. Gordon, Floor manager.”
“Hello, I’m Sara Faye from Seaton Staffing,” I introduced myself to the man and reached out to shake his hand. He was probably in his late fifties, and dressed in a well-cut suit that might have made him easily pass for one of the rich moguls, if he wasn’t so old.
“Oh, yes, welcome. I’m Mr. Gordon. Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Car trouble, and I had to hike the golf course.”
“Yes, the famous walk. I’m sorry about that. I can certainly have someone give you a ride home when your shift is finished.”
“Oh, that would be fantastic. I’ve been worried about how to get home.” Truthfully, I had planned to ask for a ride since the bus services stop hours before the event was over. I couldn’t really afford a taxi home until I cashed my check and paid my share of my rent that was already two months late. But I didn’t let the man know any of this.
“I’ll make sure you get home safely.” He looked at me from head to toe. “But let’s get you into a decent outfit first.”
I suddenly felt self-conscious as I brushed off invisible specks of dust on my cheap dress. Either it looked so terrible he had to make me get rid of it, or they had a dress code which I had to abide by and my boss had not informed me. He started walking away, but I was still rooted to the spot, lost in thought.
“Come on, Ms. Faye. We don’t have all day,” he called, disappearing down the hall.
I hurried behind him, my heels sinking into the soft carpet that lined the hallway. I wished I could sink my toes into the carpet and feel the warmth, but there was no time for such luxuries. Maybe on my way back I would spare some minutes for play, as I didn’t need too much time to change into whatever uniform I had to wear–probably a skirt, a blouse, a blazer, and one of those neckties that hotel staff always tie to the side of their necks.
“Pick any dress that fits best,” he said as he walked up to a door and opened it. He stepped aside for me to enter the room.
“Nice,” I said, trying to conceal my excitement. It was as if I had walked into a boutique. There were at least a hundred fancy dresses, each one threatening to outshine the next.
“It’s arranged by size,” Mr. Gordon said, pointing out the obvious to me.
“I can wear any of these?” I asked in disbelief.
What kind of staff was I supposed to be? When I was volunteered by my supervisor for this extra shift at work, I had been told I was going to be greeting the guests as they arrived, but based on the styles of the dresses I was to choose from and wear, I had a feeling I may have signed up for a lot more than that.
“Yes. Try something on. There is a dressing room and a bathroom right there.” He pointed at a room tucked away in the corner. “Just in case you wanted to freshen up. You may also want to touch up your makeup.”
“Sure,” I said, trying my best to act like it was normal to shop in the most expensive boutique I’d ever seen for free.
“I’ll be outside waiting for you. Choose carefully. You get to keep the dress after the party. You’ll find shoes in the other room. It was restocked this morning, so you should be able to find your size,” he said, pointing to a room that had a sign Shoes.
I stood for a few seconds, unsure where to start. I was in a room with dresses that cost more than my yearly salary, and I could wear any of the dresses and got to keep it afterwards? Suddenly I felt overwhelmed. What had I gotten myself into? Was this a prostitution ring and I was going to be sold to the highest bidder? Panic crawled up my spine and pulled out my phone to text my boss, Anthony.
Here at the job at Fox Wood Manor. What type of party is this?
Tony must have been expecting my text as I got a response instantaneously.
Relax. Have fun. Meet a couple rich men. I’ll see you in the morning.
I wanted to text him back and tell him he could send someone else, maybe his precious Amber, a coworker he was messing around with, but I decided against it. Maybe meeting a few rich men was not a bad idea. I had always wondered how the really rich lived, and tonight was my best chance to rub shoulders with people who made more in a minute than I made in a year.
I went to the rack and started rummaging through the dresses. There were short dresses, long dresses, ball gowns, knee-length dresses, A-lines, sheath, sleeveless, sleeved, off-the-shoulder, and other dresses I couldn’t describe. I pulled a red silk sheath dress I thought would hug my body in all the right places and looked at the label. Yikes! It was a designer name I didn’t recognize, but judging the sleekness of the fabric, I knew the dress must have cost a fortune.
The bathroom, adorned with mirrors and marble, was bigger than my entire apartment and smelled like fresh roses. I stepped out of my cheap outfit and pulled on the dress, reaching behind to zip it up. It fit perfectly. I turned to look at myself in the mirror. The dress fit me like a glove, but there was still something missing – make up. If I applied a little bit of makeup and let my hair down, I would pass for one of those rich, spoiled women outside. I regretted not bringing my makeup until I saw a spread of cosmetics packed for individual use on the counter. I smiled; these people had thought of everything. I wondered how often they had girls dressing up to entertain rich men. I found my shade of foundation and powder and applied it as expertly as I could with my limited knowledge of makeup.
Since I still needed some shoes, I walked to the shoe room. I knew the shoe room was going to be expansive, but nothing prepared me for what lay before me when I opened the door. Rows and rows of all types, sizes, and colors of shoes lay before me, arranged by color. I tried a handful of shoes until I found black heels that fit perfectly. I took another look at myself in the wall to wall mirror, and I had to admit I had transformed from the street girl that rode the bus to a high-class society woman. I let my long, dark hair loose and turned to the mirror again. I did look like one of those rich, spoiled women. Or maybe I was just going to be an overdressed waiter.
I put my clothes and shoes in a plastic bag I found in the bathroom and stepped outside. Mr. Gordon was sitting on a couch in the hallway. The look on his face told me I was right about how I looked. I expected him to say something to me, but he simply stood up and starting walking back toward the main lobby.
“Sorry I took some time. It was a little overwhelming,” I said, trotting behind him, trying to catch up. He noticed my effort to stay in step with him and slowed down.
“I’m used to that. Most girls take longer than that.” His face was blank.
“Most girls? You mean like other temporary staff?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. This had to be a sex slave shop.
“No. What I mean is that any girl that goes into that room has a difficult time leaving.”
“Then you don’t know my sister. She’d be in and out of there in seconds and will ask you where the sweats and tee shirts are,” I giggled at my joke. Mr. Gordon simply smiled.
My only sister, Beth, was a few years older in her mid-twenties. She was the opposite of me in every way, and there was no way she would spend more than five minutes in that room. Then again, she wouldn’t even have found herself in my situation, so seeing the room wouldn’t have been necessary. Thinking about what sensible Beth would have done in this situation, I decided it was time to ask some sensible questions.
“So, what if I don’t want to participate in whatever it is I’m dressed up for?” I asked, already knowing that I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.
“It’s not your choice.” The reply was cold.
“What do you mean? I’m not a prisoner here. I can come and go as I please.”
“Maybe so, but not for the next six hours. Now, save your questions for orientation.”
Orientation? I wanted to ask what he meant, but I knew he wasn’t going to tell me much, so I bit my lips and kept moving with him.
He stopped at a door in the hallway and knocked before opening it. I followed him in, unsure what to expect. I had decided to play cool. I knew a huge and famous hotel in the middle of the city was not going to be involved in anything that would be deemed scandalous or illegal. I hoped.
The room was a boardroom with a huge mahogany table and several leather chairs surrounding the table. A man was sitting at the table, but he rose to meet us when Mr. Gordon walked into the room.
“Ben, this is Sara Faye. She’ll be one of the hostesses for tonight,” Mr. Gordon introduced us. “Ms. Faye, Ben Hunter, one of the senior personnel. He will let you know what your duties will be for tonight as well as go over the financials.” And with that, Mr. Gordon walked away without looking back.
“Hello, Sara. Welcome to Fox Wood Manor.” Ben smiled at me, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Thanks,” I said as I observed him. Ben seemed to be in his mid-forties and was dressed in a suit that looked tailored for him. He was handsome in a rugged way, and I noticed that he had on a wedding ring. “So you’re the money man?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “Please have a seat.” He pointed to a leather chair that seemed so luxurious I was afraid to sit on it. He walked over to the other side of the table and sat down. I reluctantly lowered myself into a seating position. The upholstery was as comfortable as I had imagined, and I sank a little more into it as I sat.
“So, the first thing I’ll do is have you sign a contract.”
“What contract? Didn’t I already sign that at the staffing agency?”
“This is a different contract that is just between you and Fox Wood Manor.”
“For what? What am I signing?”
“You are going to agree not to discuss anything that happens here tonight with anyone.”
“Excuse me?” My heart missed a beat. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Whatever you see here tonight or in the future that may be related to Fox Wood Manor is a business trade secret, and you cannot discuss anything about this night with anyone.”
I was growing tired of the suspense and, frankly, a little irritated. What was I doing here? What did these men want from me? What if they raped me? Or worse, killed me and dumped my body? Surely they would be found out; I had friends and family who would miss me.
“Does my boss, Tony, know about this second contract?”
“No. Every girl that becomes a hostess for us is sworn to secrecy, so your boss will have no way of knowing.”
“So this is a prostitution ring. I’m out of here.” I was furious and my voice reflected every bit of my anger. It took all I had not to scream at him and curse Fox Wood Manor. What did I look like, a twenty-dollar whore? I rose and turned to walk away, but he reached out and held me by my wrist.
“At least let me tell you what the job description is before you decide to walk out on ten thousand dollars.”
The mention of money made me sit back in the chair with a thud. He’d just confirmed I was getting ten thousand dollars.
“I’m guessing you want me to kill someone or sleep with someone. I can’t. Not even for a million dollars,” I said, sinking further into the seat.
“Neither of those,” Mr. Hunter smiled. “You’re simply one of the hostesses for the event today, and all you do is mingle at the party and have intelligent conversation as the day goes on.”
“Let me understand this. You’re paying me to attend your party?”
“Yes. Fox Wood Manor will pay you ten thousand dollars for six hours of your time, and all you have to do is attend this party and engage the guests in conversation.”
“Crazy,” I muttered under my breath. These rich men had nothing better to do than pay young girls to keep them company.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Gordon asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that I thought I was going to be a waitress.”
“Yes, that’s what everyone thinks. But you are going to be one of the guests. Can you manage that?”
Normally, there was no way I could manage the company of the richest men in the country, but for ten thousand dollars, I would have to manage it. “I’ll do my best.”
He pulled out a leather portfolio with papers and started flipping through it, leaving me in an uncomfortable silence.
“So when do I start?” I asked. I was beginning to get nervous. I needed to get the night started so I could get my money and get out of there.
“As soon as I’m done verifying your resume.”
“I need a resume to attend a party?” I asked in disbelief.
“So, you are a sociology and international studies student?” he asked, ignoring my question. He was flipping through papers I imagined were my resume.
“Yes,” I affirmed, wondering why he was interested in the classes I took at school.
“And you’ve never travelled out of the country?”
“No, but I’ve been to New York.” It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, who considers travelling from DC to NY a trip worthy to be discussed when real vacationers went to Europe and other exotic places. He didn’t laugh at my weak attempt to joke.
“Maybe you should avoid topics about international travel while you’re at the party."
“Sure.”
“You lived with your mom and recently got your own apartment?”
“Yes. Wait. You did a background check on me as well?”
“It’s my job,” he said, again not raising his eyes to look at me but focused on flipping through the papers to study me and ask questions. “It’s for the safety and privacy of our guests.”
Why in the world did anyone need to do a background check on me just so I could attend a party? And as a hostess or whatever title they chose to give me.
“I’m not a serial killer, you know. So all of that was unnecessary.” The more I thought about it, the more I felt violated. Some stranger had taken it upon himself to study me behind my back. I would have preferred he’d just asked me the questions directly when we met rather than run a background check on me. I guess the ten thousand dollars wasn’t going to come painlessly.
“Interesting stuff you got here,” he said, raising his head to look at me.
I blushed; I knew what he was referring to. Years ago, right before I turned eighteen, I had gotten into a fight with a kid on the street. We had both ended up in trouble with the law. I guess it was on my background information. I kept quiet, hoping he’d move on to a different topic.
“You won’t be causing any problems for us, right?”
I shook my head. “I’m no longer eighteen.”
He read a couple more pages and turned to me. “So, you’re going to be at the party, laughing and socializing and talking book smart. At the end of the night, you’ll come back here and get your money.”
‘“Sounds easy enough.”
“There is only one caveat.” He looked directly at me.
“What?”
“Under no circumstance must you engage these men in any type of sexual activity.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t have sex with the guests.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I said coldly. Did I look like a slut to him?
“Good. There are three other hostesses who are already at the party, so you shouldn’t feel alone.”
I nodded. That shouldn't be hard. Just find three girls who stuck out like sore thumbs!
“I’ll escort you to the party,” he said, getting up, a cue for me to follow him. I gingerly walked behind him until we reached the main lobby.
“It’s beautiful,” I gasped as I looked at the sight before me. I had worked in hotels and bars, but this lobby looked like something I would find in the famed seven-star hotels. I stood, mesmerized, soaking up the grandeur of the chandeliers and décor. Exotic artwork lined the walls. An impeccably dressed man was playing a grand piano next to an indoor fountain illuminated with lights. As I walked behind Mr. Hunter, my heels clicked on the spotless and polished marble floor. Suddenly, I felt underdressed and out of place. I caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“This is too glamorous,” I whispered. “Maybe I need to change into a fancier dress.”
He stopped briefly and looked at me like he had never seen me before. “You look amazing, more beautiful than any woman in here. Just breathe and relax. I know you’ll do fine. You’re a very smart and beautiful woman, so use that to your advantage.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask him how far they had delved into my life as the large French doors that led to the main reception room swung open, causing music and laughter to filter towards me. The man walked toward us, the doors shutting after him. I glanced at the door and mentally chuckled to myself; that door led to the slaughterhouse where I would definitely be slammed. Everyone in that room would know I was paid to be there. People who moved in these types of circles all knew each other; any intruder would not be welcomed. I wondered how long Fox Wood Manor had been providing my kind of service for these types of parties.
“Thank goodness, Ben. I’ve been waiting for her.”
“This is Sara. Sara, this is Eric, the hotel’s event manager.”
“Hi.” I extended my hand, but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he grabbed me by the wrist.
“Come, Sara. I need you right now.”
“What?”
“One of our guests just arrived earlier than planned without a date, and you were supposed to have been waiting for him,” he said, swinging the door open again and hurrying me through the double doors, still holding my wrist.
“What am I supposed to do for him?” I asked as I wiggled my wrist free of his clutch.
“Just flatter him and talk smart.”
That was easier said than done. As I stepped into the room, my legs stopped working. I stood, frozen in one spot, and surveyed the crowd. There were about ninety, maybe a hundred, men and women milling around with glasses of wine. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the guest list was comprised of the more important people in the country. The women’s dresses shone more than the chandeliers, and suddenly I wished again that I could go back to the closet and pick out a shinier outfit. I tugged at my dress, smoothing the lines over my waist and hips.
The men looked like they were all cut out from a fashion magazine. Most of them had a drink in their hands, and I imagined they were drinking the finest wine money could buy. I noticed several waiters, stationed at every corner of the room, holding trays of hors d'oeuvres. My stomach growled. Eric must have heard it because he grabbed a glass of wine off a tray and gave it to me.
“No, thanks.” Normally, I would have loved a glass of wine if I was in the company of friends so I could relax and talk dirty. But here, I needed a clear head to figure out what was going on. I didn’t want to get tipsy and end up in the wrong place or get cheated out of my money. Damn, I thought, I should have asked for half the money up front. I had been too shocked by the amount I was being offered to think logically.
“Yes,” he insisted, pushing the glass to me. "You only have to pretend you’re drinking from it.” He grabbed an empty glass off another tray and poured half the glass of wine into it and handed it back to me. I took the glass from him and cradled it. “Now, leave your lipstick mark on it.” I placed my mouth on the rim of the glass and left a red lip mark on it. It did look like I’d been drinking from the glass. “We’re going to stand here for a few minutes to allow you to study the room.”
“Sure. So who am I supposed to be babysitting?” I giggled.
“James Brickstone. He is one of our patrons. And please, no matter what you say, don’t tell these men you’re babysitting them,” he grinned. “That would not be good for business.”
“Okay, I’m going to be entertaining James Brickstone. Who is he?”
“You don’t know the Brickstone family?" Eric raised his eyebrows at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I don’t move in these circles, and the only Brickstone name I know is Brickstone foods.”
“Same one,” he said, heaving a sigh of relief.
My heart skipped a thousand beats and I struggled to find my words. “I am going to be babysitting, sorry, entertaining the Mr. Brickstone who manufactures the majority of foods in this country?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.” My hands started trembling. I held the glass with two hands, trying to control my movements. James Brickstone was only the most eligible bachelor in town. I didn’t follow gossip about him, had never looked up his picture, but I'd heard his name mentioned here and there, and I knew he had just recently gone through a bad breakup.
“I don’t joke much.”
“Didn’t he just get stood up at the altar a few weeks ago?” That piece of the story suddenly came to me.
“So you do know him.”
“Not personally, obviously, but you know, gossip and stuff.”
“Well, it would be wise not to mention his past relationship. Just keep him company and talk business.”
“And he’ll pay me ten thousand to talk with him for six hours?”
“No, he paid fifty. You get twenty percent. The rest goes to business expenses.” My jaw must have dropped really low because he smiled at me and said, “It’s all business, my dear. If he requests you at another event, you get twenty thousand, and at a third event, you get fifty. We, of course, mark up our prices accordingly as your take-home goes up.”
“And no sex?” I whispered.
“None,” he said, grinning at me.
I nodded, not sure what else to say. The glass of wine I was holding suddenly seemed very attractive, and I took a swig out of it, draining every last bit of fluid from it. I looked around to see if I could identify him, but all the men looked alike–in their late twenties or early thirties, mostly dressed in dark, fitted suits, muscular, and handsome. There was no way to tell who he was. Maybe if I had been paying attention to the gossip surrounding him, I would have taken time to study his picture, but I hadn’t cared since I knew the lives of the rich and famous were over-dramatized and unrealistic. I started looking for men without supermodels hanging on their arms since I knew he was alone, but with that many guests moving about, all the chatter, and the live jazz in the background, it was a little impossible to separate the single men from the crowd.
“Ready?” Eric asked.
“Do I have a choice? Let’s do it,” I replied, handing my empty glass to a waiter and picking up another. I could get used to this.
“Come with me,” Eric said as he navigated through the crowd, saying hello and giving hugs, until we reached the other end of the room and walked toward a group of men.
“Which one is he?” I whispered to Eric.
“The tallest,” he said as we reached the group.
“The one in a black suit?” My eyes moved to the tallest of the men. His face was obscured by the angle.
“Yes,” he said.
From what I could make of the man whose face I had yet to see, he was domineering. His huge shoulders, trim waist, and long legs made him stand out from the crowd. If Eric hadn’t pointed him out, he would have been the first man I’d have noticed.
“Come on,” Eric said
“Sure.” But my feet were stuck to the ground.
Eric noticed my hesitation and said calmly, “He’s really nice.”
“I’m sure,” I replied, smiling and turning on my professional air.
Even though I had yet to see him completely, handsome wouldn’t do him justice. He looked expensive, if the cut of his suit were any indication, and I could tell he took great care of himself. He seemed relaxed and comfortable with the group, but I noticed he wasn’t talking much; instead he seemed to be listening and nodding his head.
“Wait here,” Eric said as we got closer.
“Of course,” I replied, happy to postpone the inevitable.
Eric walked up to the group of men and whispered something in Mr. Brickstone’s ear. He turned and I saw his face. I froze, my heart skipping a thousand beats. It was him.
What the fuck? It was really him. My fucked up stepbrother who left me after taking my virginity. I hated him so much.
With a few long strides, he was next to me.
“Mr. Brickstone. This is Ms. Sara Faye. She’ll be your hostess for tonight,” Eric said to the man who still had the deepest shade of brown eyes I had ever known. Eric turned to me. “Ms. Sara, Mr. James Brickstone.” And with that he walked away from us, leaving me standing in front of a man I swore never to talk to again. A man who made my blood boil just by the mention of his name. A man who I had lost touch with after our parents divorced years ago. A man who I had loved all my life, even after he broke my heart.
‘“James?” I still couldn’t believe my eyes. There had to be a mistake.
“Sara, you came.”
“What sort of a sick joke is this?” I was fuming and my voice was getting louder by the minute.
“Sara, calm down.”
“Calm down? This is your idea of a reunion after five years?”
“Calm down, Sara. I’ll explain everything in a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute for you, James.”
“But you do. I paid for your time.”
“You know what, fuck you and your time,” I hissed. A nearby group must have overheard me; they all turned towards us but went back to their conversation as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait, Sara.” He reached out to hold my hand, and for that instant, I felt my skin burn with lust for him, just the way it always had in the past. The way it had the many nights I touched myself while thinking of him those first few weeks after our parents divorced. “I’m sorry, Sara. That was way out of line.”
“James, you have a lot of explaining to do and you better start now or I walk away.”
“Kiss me.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I had heard him right. “Are you crazy? I’m leaving.”
“No Sara, you’re not leaving yet. Kiss me right now and make it good.” His eyes threatened.
“You’re insane. You better ask for your refund or have them find you another whore. There is no way in this world I’ll kiss….”
Before I could complete my sentence, he cut me off and pulled me roughly into his arms. I tried to push him away without making a scene, but even in my heels, he was still a lot taller and stronger than me.
“Let go of me, you dick,” I hissed.
“Soon,” he said as he placed his lips on mine. I started to resist and push him away, but he held me tight, his tongue demanding mine. Though I willed my body to block the sensation of his kiss, I couldn’t help noticing that his lips felt warm and sweet. He had his arms wrapped around my waist. My hands were at my sides, but he was squeezing me in a tight hug and I was uncomfortable, so I reluctantly placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, causing him to hold me even tighter and deepen his kiss, which became more persistent.
I wanted to scream at him to leave me alone, but instead, sweet memories of our past flooded into my mind. I felt a tingle all over my body; my body was betraying me to a man who hadn’t even said hello to me after disappearing from my life five years ago.
My lips, which I had tightly closed, released of their own volition, letting him into me, once more, and soon I was kissing him back, slowly. My hands roved from the top of his shoulders to his back, feeling the tightness of his muscles. My attraction to him, which I had buried for years, rushed back, and against my better judgment, I kissed him with almost as much passion as he kissed me. I was pressed to his body, and I could feel the contours of his tight stomach within the expensive material of his suit.
I felt his hands move lower to my back and rest on top of my hips. I knew I should have made him stop, tell him to fuck off, but I was enjoying his touch too much to want him to stop.
Someone cleared her throat behind me.
I stopped kissing him, hoping he’d let go of me so I could crawl into a hole until he disappeared, but he took his time ending the kiss, and when his lips finally left mine, he looked into my eyes and mouthed “thank you” before releasing the hold he had on me. Just one look into his eyes melted all the anger in my heart at being forced to kiss him; instead, I was thinking about how much I had enjoyed the feel of his mouth and how I could have participated more just for old time’s sake. I knew my lips would be scarlet red from the kiss and my cheeks would be flushed, but it would be rude of me not to turn around to see who was requiring our attention. I knew I should walk away from him, cursing and swearing, but something kept me rooted where I was. I had a lot of questions for him, and I was not going to give him the easy way out by walking away. Besides, he was the one that always walked out on me, not the other way.
He kept one hand on the curve of my hip and held me close as we faced an angry woman.
“Hello, James.” A lady who looked to be about the same age as me, but far more sophisticated than I could ever be, stood before us. Her hair and makeup were professionally done. She wore a red, tight dress that showed off curves I would die for. A frown curved her lips.
“Hello, Vera,” he said in a very cold voice that made me look at his face. I may not have seen him in years, but I knew he was very angry and that Vera was not welcome in his presence. I knew instantly that something had gone bad between them.
“You moved on fast,” she said, moving closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. Her fingers were well-manicured. He recoiled and pulled his arm away from her.
“You as well,” he said, and at that point, I noticed a man standing beside her.
She turned and introduced her partner. “Scott Well. Scott, darling, this is James Brickstone.” The man named Scott extended his hand to James, who ignored him.
“This is Sara…” his voice trailed off.
“Sara. A friend of James,” I said, taking the hand that Scott was still holding out. I didn’t want James to introduce me as his stepsister, or rather, ex-stepsister. That would not do.
“Nice to meet you,” Scott said as he took my hand. I could tell he was grateful that I was relieving him from the awkwardness of the situation as well.
“Hello, Vera,” I said, extending my hand to her, but she ignored me and moved even closer to James.
“How much are you paying her?” Vera whispered to James, but clearly so I could hear.
“Vera, I think you have more important things to do with your time,” James answered coldly.
Vera seemed too stunned for words, something I knew was unusual for a woman like her. James took my extended hand and held me tight. “Let’s go, Sara,” he said, dragging me away from them, walking in long strides.
I looked back at Vera. Her eyes had darkened. She seemed even more upset. Scott, on the other hand, looked amused.
“Nice to meet you,” I said to them as I hurried to keep up with James.
When we were far away from them, James slowed down and grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter.
“You handled that well,’ he said as he sipped his drink and handed me a glass.
“What?”
“Vera.”
“Oh. I’m not surprised, James.”
“What do you mean?” His voice was cold again.
“You seem to like getting into trouble with women you can’t handle.”
“Sara, you know that’s not a fair thing to say,” he said.
“It’s not about fair. It’s about right. Remember the last time we were together?”
“Sara, that was five years ago,” he reminded me, moving away. I followed him.
“Time doesn’t heal every wound, and I think after that fake kiss you made me give you back there, you owe me a lot.”
He was silent for a time. He looked at me with pained eyes. “Sara, what happened between us back then was one of the single biggest regrets of my life. I’m sorry I forced you to kiss me. That was taking undue advantage of you.”
I wanted to tell him he hadn’t forced me. Yes, maybe he had coerced me, but I hadn’t done anything I didn’t want to do.
“Who was that woman?” I asked, ignoring his apology. I didn’t feel like talking about what transpired between us five years ago. It was too painful to talk about.
After a moment of hesitation, he said, “She’s my ex-fiancée.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, unsure what to say.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What else do you want me to say, James?”
My lips were still burning from the kiss he had claimed for the benefit of his ex-fiancée and meant exactly nothing to him. That was fine with me. I was still a paid employee, and I had a personal, strict policy about fraternizing with the boss, although in this case, I had a feeling the lines were going to be blurry. But as long as the closeness went no further than kissing for show, I was fine. I looked at my watch and noted that I had barely spent fifteen minutes in his presence and still had many hours to go before my shift ended.
“How many more hours do I have with you?” he asked.
“About five,” I said.
He looked at his watch. “That’s enough time.”
I was almost afraid to ask but did. “Enough time for what?” I hoped my voice was steady and didn’t appear panicked.
“For a little cruise on the inner harbor. Would you care to join me?”