5. Chapter 5
Mal
H enrik—holy cow, is that a sexy name or what?—takes care of some business while I wait for his personal assistant, Benjamin, to show up with the contract that will bind me here for the next six months. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Actually, I can. I’m desperate.
But when I stop to think about it, it’s almost unreal. I’m signing on to move in with a guy I don’t even know in order to be available for ongoing sex. All in exchange for a crapload of money. It’s like a relationship, except not. I’m like…
Oh, my god .
I’m… I’m his sugar baby, aren’t I?
I groan as I realize how much shit Alex is going to give me over this. And I have to tell him. Him, Dixon, and Niko.
Plus Jerome because I need to beg my boss to allow me an extended leave and pray I don’t get fired.
I can’t tell him the specifics, of course, but I’ll have to give him some reason as to why, out of the blue, I need to take half a year off.
And I do intend to make it to the end of the contract for that bonus 200 grand.
I don’t care how much of an asshole this guy is. I’m sticking.
Although, to be completely honest, he doesn’t seem like an asshole at all.
Sure, he’s a little serious, a little gruff almost, but that’s not a bad thing.
He seems to like order, he’s more formal than most people I interact with, and I have no doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to send me on my way if I broke his rules. But none of that makes him an asshole.
I mean, all he’s really asking for is an exclusive, respectful sexual arrangement and an awareness of the accommodations he requires for his loss of sight. That’s…more than reasonable.
It does make me slightly nervous, however, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Surely there’s a reason he goes through so many escorts.
Maybe he has a temper I’ll discover soon enough.
But since I’m free to leave the penthouse any time I want, I don’t see that being a problem.
If he gets too intense, I can always take a break.
The sound of the elevator arriving draws me away from my musings, and a moment later, a slim man wearing a bright magenta suit comes strolling through the doors.
His blonde hair, lighter than mine, is styled neatly atop his head, and his face sports an expression equal parts clever and wry.
His eyes find me immediately, and a smile reveals itself as he makes a beeline my way.
“You must be the new one,” he says, holding out his palm. “I’m Benji.”
“Mal,” I say, standing up and shaking his hand.
“Mal,” Benji repeats, whistling once. “If I weren’t married, I’d be tempted to steal you away from Henrik myself.”
“Back off, Benjamin,” Henrik calls from down the hall.
Benji grins at me, eyes bouncing wide. “Possessive already,” he whispers. “That bodes well.”
“Does it?” I ask. I have no frame of reference for what Henrik is typically like. Is possessiveness a good thing? I can’t say I have much—or any—experience in the dating department.
Not that that’s what this is. We’re not dating.
Benji nods several times. “For sure. Usually, he’s disinterested at best.”
Huh.
Henrik emerges from down the hall, somehow knowing exactly where his assistant is and stopping a few feet in front of him with his hand held out.
Benji slaps a folder into his palm and follows his boss over to the large, sandy pine table in the dining room.
Henrik pulls out a plush, black chair and sits down, holding out his hand again.
Benji passes him a pen, and I wander over, watching as Benji places his finger in front of each signature line for Henrik to use as a guide.
I know I shouldn’t stare, but it’s fascinating watching Henrik navigate the basics of everyday living without sight. I can’t help but wonder if he’s always been blind or if it’s a recent thing. Not my place to pry, however.
It only takes a couple of minutes for Henrik to sign his portion of the contract, which is more symbolic than anything and certainly not legal, and then he stands up and turns his head toward me.
Not for the first time, the weight of his verdant gaze hits me like a ton of bricks, stealing my breath away.
“Have a seat, Mal. Benjamin will walk you through the contract.” Henrik doesn’t wait for a reply before retreating to the kitchen to refill his glass of wine.
Once seated, Benji scoots in next to me. “I’ll give you a minute to read through everything,” he says.
I nod, surprised when Henrik swings back around, sliding a new glass of red wine my way. The contents of the glass swirl once before settling.
“Thank you,” I tell him, appreciating the gesture even though I won’t drink it. I never allow myself more than one.
Well, almost never. Dixon, I’m sure, has fond memories of me imbibing too much at the club this past fall.
Back when I was about to be evicted and was desperate to forget my troubles, at least for one night.
Didn’t work out quite like I’d planned. All I got for my effort was a two-day hangover and concerned friends.
I was grateful Dixon was there to pick me up off the floor. Not so grateful for the hangover.
Truth be told, I’m lucky that’s all I got.
I don’t drink because loss of control escalates my anxiety and leads to more frequent panic attacks.
At the encouragement of my psychiatrist, I cut out excess alcohol, caffeine, sugar—anything likely to make me feel off-balance.
I have one drink now and again. I enjoy decaffeinated tea because it soothes me. And I try to maintain a healthy diet.
For a while, that routine was working. But then my mom’s health declined, and I ran out of cash, meds, therapy appointments, and the stability I’d worked so hard to achieve. And now…well, hopefully things are turning around.
Henrik, my potential savior, despite not knowing that’s what he is, nods at my thanks before returning to the kitchen and pulling out a few pans. I watch, transfixed, as he begins cooking what I presume to be his dinner.
Benji chuckles next to me, startling me somewhat. “Pretty sight, isn’t he?”
“Goddamn beautiful,” I admit.
Benji grins at me knowingly before he glances back at his boss. “He’s a good guy,” he says slowly. I wait, sensing there’s more. “Don’t take it personally if he’s short with you.”
“You know, you’re the second person to warn me about that,” I say, returning my eyes to the contract in front of me. Genevieve said something similar. “But I’m not worried.”
Benji makes a soft noise next to me, waiting while I go through the fine print of my escorting contract. Once I sign half a dozen times, Benji packs the papers back into his folder.
“I’ll be back with a copy,” he says, walking off down the hall.
I return to watching Henrik, the man I’ll be living with, having sex with, for the next several months.
I can’t say that will be a hardship at all.
The man is fine; I can easily admit that.
I’ve never had a preference for older men, but the fifteen-year age difference seems insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
What does give me pause is rule number five and the importance placed upon it.
I’ve had sex for money more times than I can count.
Not only with this recent escorting gig, but for my career in porn.
Several times a week, I get off for the cameras or with my client for the night—something I’m only able to do because of the extensive health screenings both employers require.
I wouldn’t dare risk my coworkers’ health otherwise.
But I’ve never thought too much about it—having sex for others—and it’s never made me uncomfortable. It’s basically routine.
Yet I can’t help but wonder about Henrik’s warning and how much honesty he’ll require of me. Is there a reason I wouldn’t want to have sex with him?
I can’t imagine why, but then again, maybe I’m not the best judge of that. Sex, for me, has never been about what I want. Is Henrik simply asking me not to fake it? Or does he need me to want it as much as he does? Would that even be an issue?
I want him right now; that’s for sure. The way he touched me earlier, slowly mapping my features—I can’t remember the last time someone touched me like that. Like they had no problem taking their time. Like they wanted to explore.
I want more of that.
Surely, that qualifies as being willing , right?
Benji reappears next to me, slipping a stapled copy of the contract under my nose. “Rules are on the last page,” he tells me with a wink. Henrik must have mentioned I asked for a list.
“Thanks.”
“You know, you look really familiar, but I can’t place it,” Benji says, scrutinizing me.
Well, crap.
If Henrik hasn’t told his assistant I work in porn, I don’t want to be the one to spill the beans.
It’s in my file, of course, since Genevieve insists on transparency when it comes to any and all sex work that her employees are involved in.
But Henrik must not have shared that information with Benji—although it’s pretty clear the man knows, even if he doesn’t quite remember.
Regardless, I go into damage-control mode. Pretending to think about it, I give him a cheeky onceover. “I don’t think we’ve hooked up. I would’ve remembered you.”
Benji laughs. “Oh, angel. I definitely would have remembered you.”
“Must just have that kind of face, then,” I reply, sending him a wink and a smile.
“Oh, yes, we’ll get along just fine. Here,” Benji says, amusement dancing in his eyes as he hands me his business card. “My number in case you need anything.”
“Like what? An escape plan?”
Benji snickers, leaning close. “You’re the best one yet,” he says, slapping my shoulder lightly.
The implication of his yet pings around my chest with a force I don’t expect. For some reason, I don’t like thinking about who comes after. I don’t want to give Henrik a reason to kick me out. At least, not until our time is up.