Chapter 5

Archer

Hazel walks nextto me on the sidewalk.

I certainly wasn”t expecting to meet her father. Does he live with her? Is he having home renovations and spending some time in her condo? I pride myself on having a good memory, though I guess I never made it a priority to ask her these things. Or ask her anything beyond the strictly professional.

That was why I came to pick her up instead of using the driver. I wanted to see where she lived and if I”d find anything that would hint at more about her. Why she”s writing that journal. Nothing about her behavior screams an attraction to me—unless this is all a joke.

”The dog has an interesting name,” I say, breaking the silence as we stride on the concrete.

”My dad… he’s been living with me since my mom passed. Anyway, he had to stop drinking when he had some health issues. He missed his Moonshine, so when I adopted her, we named her Moonshine.”

”Cute,” I repeat, using the word that”s not part of my usual vocabulary. But I mean the dog and not Hazel, of course.

Definitely not her. Because if I had to describe Hazel, cute wouldn”t do it. Her dress hugs her curves with the desperation of a 2 a.m. online hookup. I never noticed how good her tits look, especially like this, squished together in a V-cut dress. And the rest of her isn”t far behind…

And her behind.

I internally groan.

Hips. Not just the shapely ass you can swat, the type that makes a sound when your palm hits its bare flesh. But lovely curvy hips that the suits she wears at work sadly hide. Or maybe, thankfully.

I wouldn”t get much work done if she dressed this way at work.

She leans into me clumsily, her hand touching my clothed forearm for a moment. ”Oops. Sorry. I”m still getting used to these heels,” she says nervously, and even after she moves away, my skin burns like heat sifted through the fabric.

”How many inches are they? Ten?” I ask jokingly, a twisted part of me teasing about the things she wrote about my dick size. The things I should not have read. If only I hadn”t read them—maybe this interaction wouldn”t be so uncomfortable.

”Ten?” She chuckles. ”These are four. Can you tell I”m not used to them? I bet ten inches could finish me off.”

My heart rate spikes. I could finish her off… ”Right.” I can tell she has no idea I know about her journal—and the ten-inch joke didn”t register. Good. I should be a better man and not toy with these things. I”m clearly not.

We arrive at the parking space where I left my Aston Martin, and I open the door for her. Only an old-fashioned Southern mannerism, I remind myself. Nothing more. After all, this isn”t a real date. For all I care, she could be taking notes as I drive.

A small part of me laughs. I don”t usually get this amused internally or externally in her presence. Hazel has been my assistant for the past year. A good one. I have to remember that.

”Are you comfortable?” I ask after we”re both seated and I turn on the engine. ”You may want to make mental notes of some of the stuff that happens tonight,” I add, slipping into my boss role. I should remind her what”s at stake.

”Of course. I”m always making them.”

”What”s your current note?”

”Excuse me?”

”You said you”re always making them.”

”Oh. My current note is actually a question. Why is this Sugar Silk deal so important to you?”

”I love to take advantage of a good opportunity. So much so that I can”t let it go when good ideas cross my mind. The collab will be a great way to get Cromwell Travel good publicity. And it”ll serve their partners well, too. I”ve studied their business model: sugar babies and daddies. Usually, there”s a vetting process for both, and then they get on the agency and the app. What if they also promoted trips to exclusive locales, where they could meet people more organically?”

She crosses her legs and turns to me. ”Isn”t that the point of the agency, though? To vet people to make sure the women aren”t broke crackheads and the men aren”t creepy old bastards who want to screw someone half their age?”

”Wow. I didn”t know you thought about them so highly,” I say dryly.

”Oh, I think what they do is fine. I mean, some girls my age have used it, Mr. Cromwell.”

I clear my throat. Images of her calling me Mr. Cromwell as I fuck her deep flash in my mind. ”Call me Archer,” I say. ”Tonight,” I add, wondering if I”m underlining this boundary for her or me. I have to remember that on Monday, we’ll go back to being boss and employee. Hell, I have to remember right now that we”re boss and employee. ”Have you ever been a part of a sugar baby and daddy agency?”

”No.”

Relief pours over me. I chastise myself, once again despair cutting a hole in my chest. Her answer shouldn”t matter, but it does. The idea of any man, her age or older, coming near her and touching her gives me a sick feeling in my gut.

”Would you?” I ask, skating on thin ice.

”What?”

”I mean, you”re twenty-one. You”re their target audience. Your insight is valuable. Would you rather meet a guy on a trip or through the Sugar Silk app?” My tone is casual, like I”m asking her simply because I want her perspective.

She taps on her chin, looking away for a moment, considering my question. ”I’d join the app. Vacation romance never ends well.”

Her response irks me—not only because she”s downplaying my business idea but because she admits she”d join the agency.

I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. ”You may not want to tell them that.”

”Oh, yes, sorry. I thought you asked for my opinion.”

I glance at her. ”I did.”

”It”s just that when you meet someone on vacation, everything is great. But the daily grind is different. Reality.”

”Didn”t take you for a cynic, Hazel.”

”I”m not. I guess it”s been a while since I met anyone in any possible way, so I forgot what it feels like.”

I take in a deep breath. ”I feel that.”

She suppresses a chuckle. ”Excuse me? You feel that? You”re always meeting women. You date them nonstop. I know because I buy them gifts, I send them flowers. I even had to comfort poor Mia once for forty minutes when I was off the clock because she went on a rant about how you ghosted her after three amazing dates.”

A current of embarrassment rolls through me. I never thought twice about how Hazel would feel handling that side of my life. I figured it was just one more task for her—to make my life easier so I could work more and focus on what mattered. ”Mia? Really? I never thought she cared much about ending things. I”m always upfront.”

”Just because you tell women you aren”t the marrying or steady kind doesn”t mean they love what they hear.”

”Why are you saying all this?”

She sighs. ”You asked for my opinion.”

”About the Sugar Silk business deal.”

”Oh, yes. Sorry. I guess the conversation just flowed that way.”

I hear resentment in her words. Once again, the journal comes to my mind, and I wonder what prompted her to write it. Is it her way of avenging how I”ve treated her or the women I date? And why does talking to her challenge principles I so conveniently settled in my brain? I worry that pursuing any kind of relationship with Hazel, even a fake or superficial one, may be a worse liability than I initially considered.

One that lawyers or money won”t settle.

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