Paid For

Finn has been hounding me for the last year to slow down and enjoy some of our success, but I’m afraid if we do that, someone will step in and take our place. No matter what the market or my best friend tells me, I worry that all this could vanish at any moment. All this hard work could be gone. And for what? A few hours of fun.

I lost my parents in a car accident when I was fifteen. I know all too well how fast things can slip through your fingers, and I don’t want to lose our advantage in the market. It seems like every time there’s a gap, someone is looking to fill it, and I don’t want to be in second place. Our competition regularly comes up with ideas that have clearly been stolen from us, and we continuously have to remind them that we won’t be fucked with.

“It’s not a massage,” Finn says and throws a grape at me.

I catch it with one hand and pop it in my mouth without looking up at him.

“Asshole,” he mumbles not so softly. “I can tell you what I’ve done, or you can thank me and we can call it a day.”

This has me looking up at him and glaring. “What did you do?”

“I placed an ad for your new admin. I figured you’ve got a stick so far up your ass that it’s going to take someone special to pull it out.”

“Great. But you’re not doing the interviews this time.” That’s how I ended up with half a dozen dudes before. I’m beginning to think Finn did it on purpose. Looks like I’m going to have to do the hiring myself this time.

“No problem. I’m sure you can handle this on your own. I made the pay pretty astronomical, so you should get lots of quality applicants.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I grunt.

“I think the higher the pay, the more idiots show up,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

“Nah. This time, I made sure the ladies coming would be able to meet all your needs.”

The way he says that makes me think he’s hiring me a prostitute. I shake my head, my annoyance growing. That’s all I need, people thinking we’re hiring hookers. The papers would have a field day with that shit.

“Finn. What the fuck did you do?”

He stands up and holds his hands out in front of him. “Easy, big fella. I know it’s been a long, long, long, long, long time since you got your rocks off. I’m merely offering you an easy solution—a professional who can do her administration job and then…another job. The kind that requires knee pads.” He smirks.

“You—” I start to tell him what a fucking dumbass he is, but Helen buzzes my phone. “Yes?” I answer, glaring daggers at Finn.

“Mr. Foster, there is Miss Kennedy Myers here for an interview.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t have time for this shit today. I’ve got a laundry list of items to clear off this schedule, and I don’t even know how to use the stupid thing.

“Send her in,” I say as politely as possible, because it’s not Helen’s fault Finn got me an escort. Or whatever you call it.

I know it’s been a while since I was with a woman, but my hand is a lot less drama when I don’t call it back.

“Good luck,” he says, winking at me and slipping out the door before I can throw a paperweight at him.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. If she’s truly a prostitute, this interview should go easy. I’ll just ask her if she knows how to use some of the software here and be done with it.

For a split second, I allow my thoughts to drift to having my cock wrapped up in a warm, wet cunt. I feel stirrings between my legs, and then dismiss the idea. No one has caught my eye in years, and the idea is worse than terrible. You can’t work with someone you fuck, even if you pay them for both. Right?

Chapter Three

Kennedy

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” the man on the other side of the room bellows at me.

I pause in the doorway to his office, making a fool of myself. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I take a tentative step forward, then another, until I’m standing in front of his large glass desk. He makes no motion to get up. I lean halfway across his desk to shake his hand. I’m totally unsure if that’s what I’m supposed to do.

I’ve never had a professional interview before, and I don’t know the rules or etiquette for something like this. His hand comes to mine, the warmth of his fingers wrapping around mine as he engulfs it. I try to give a firm shake back, like my grandfather taught me, but I freeze. I’m locked in some sort of trance as he holds my hand tightly, his dark blue eyes finally meeting mine.

My mouth opens slightly as I scramble for something to say, but he speaks first.

“How old are you?” His eyes narrow as he looks at my mouth.

I try to yank my hand back, but he doesn't let go.

“Twenty…twenty-two.” I stumble over my words but manage to get the lie past my lips. He keeps looking at me with those deep blue eyes, and I have to avert my gaze and hope he believes me.

“Liar,” he finally says as the grip on my hand tightens even more. “Are you old enough to even be fucked?”

I gasp at his crude words, but I know what he’s asking. Am I a legal adult? I nod, my hair falling forward and shielding a little bit of my face. I leave it there, hoping it’ll hide my shock.

“Say it, Kennedy.”

“Yes, I’m old enough.” His finger strokes my wrist.

“All of it.”