Chapter 4
It’s Friday before I know it.
I spent the rest of the week in my makeover arc. Except, you know, in reality, I just got my nails done, my hair color and low-lights touched up, and an embarrassing full panel STD test done.
My meeting with Ben isn’t until seven tonight, so I have all day to worry over every little thing.
Yay.
It’s driving me crazy how much this is driving me crazy.
I soak in the bathtub until my fingers prune. I get out and stare at myself in the mirror—this time there’s more life to my skin, at least. Though I’m more nervous for this meeting, this date, than anything else in a long time.
It takes me twice as long to get ready than normal, taking care with my appearance rather than rushing through my routine. I actually blow dry my hair once I find my hair brush, though it wasn’t in the right spot. Put concealer on the dark circles under my eyes. Rub a little bit of shimmer across my eyelids that brings out the green of my eyes. Flick the wing on my eyeliner a little more than usual.
Who am I?
I shake my head, putting everything away in my makeup bag.
I’m still there, underneath this little bit of makeup. I want to be myself when I meet him—I don’t want to give him the impression of someone I’m not, because that’s just not fundamentally something I can do long term. It’s just hard when I haven’t seen the woman in the mirror for quite a while. But it feels good.
Which is why I turned down Cora’s offer of shopping for a new outfit or borrowing anything to wear. I want this to be as authentic and organic as it can be, in a situation that is anything but.
My bed is too tempting as I pass it by. It’s hard to resist the urge to climb in even with just my towel wrapped around me. I know I’d lose myself, staring at the ceiling until it was dark, unable to make myself get back up. So I steer clear before my knees buckle.
Moving to my dresser, I pull out the first bralette folded on top and make sure to actually grab the matching light pink panties. From my closet, I grab a black shift dress. Stepping up to look at myself in the mirror, I spend way too long looking at how square my shoulders look under the thin straps before deciding to layer a plain white tee underneath.
My wedges will have to do because I feel like Ben might be affronted if I wear my ratty Converse to dinner.
At the last minute, I throw my hair in a ponytail, smoothing my hair back with quick precision until my scalp stings. Fluffing my bangs out, I tilt my head back and forth until the ends swish against the back of my neck and everything feels sort of right with the world.
Though we’re going to a restaurant I would still deem too fancy for this entire thing, it’s nothing like Cora originally suggested. It’s still intimidating when my Lyft pulls up to the front. The doors and windows are all glass and sleek metal with fancy script on the building written in Italian that I can’t understand.
I clutch my purse close, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life, before walking past the obvious line of people waiting for tables.
The hostess smiles at me, tapping her Bluetooth earpiece. “How can I help you?”
“I’m—” My spine stiffens, brain buffering as I try to recall what Cora told me in the moment. “I’m meeting someone. Party of two, for Reed.”
The woman gives a nod, humming under her breath as she grabs a stylus off the podium and looks through her tablet.
“Hmm, there it is. Looks like Mr. Reed has already been seated.” She looks up and motions with her hand to another hostess at her side to come and take me to the table.
As we walk through the full restaurant, each step rings in my ears. We’re coming up on a table that I know in the marrow of my bones is our destination. There’s a man with his back to us with a dark gray suit stretched across broad shoulders, tousled hair, one empty chair across from him.
“The other half of your party has arrived. Enjoy,” she says with a smile to both of us before leaving me completely alone with him.
Well, in a restaurant packed full of other guests, but still.
I turn toward the man, Ben, and can’t help but stare. There wasn’t a thought in my mind to Google him prior to this. I’m sure I could have found something on him, pictures of him, his fucking model portrait, a porn site, something.
He has a short, dark beard, but I can still make out the chiseled shape of his jaw. There’s the barest hint of silver scattered through the waves of hair pushed back off his forehead. Faint creases are etched in the skin around his eyes, which are a rich dark brown and currently gliding down my body and back up again.
It makes me stand just a little straighter.
But he’s insanely attractive. Why didn’t Cora tell me that? All she said was that he was a DILF. The same could be said of my friend Tabitha’s dad, but I wouldn’t think about him like I do the man in front of me.
Like I want his head between my thighs.
My heart rate kicks into a whole other gear when Ben stands. He’s half a head taller than me, even in my heels. I love a good height difference.
“Emme.” He reaches out a hand toward me, and I scramble to take and shake it. “Thanks for meeting me tonight.”
He pulls me in closer, just a step, with his grasp firm and comforting. I’m close enough to smell a hint of cologne on his skin, like balmy cedar and citrus. There’s a waft of cinnamon on his breath that makes my mouth water.
His voice drops lower. “Or would you prefer I call you Emmeline?”
I blink up at him, my lips parting as I find myself a little breathless. “No”—why is my tongue so fucking dry?—“Emme is just fine. People usually only use my full name when I’m in trouble.”
Ben’s lips turn up in the corner and he releases my hand with his fingers skimming my wrist, surely feeling my pulse jump beneath his fingers.
“Noted.”
My skin tingles, and I just stand there like an idiot as he gestures to my chair before pulling it out for me. I remember I’m supposed to sit. In the chair. Like a human being.
“Sorry,” I say at the same time as he says, “Please, sit.”
My cheeks burn. I’m not sure anyone has ever pulled a seat out for me before. Normally it takes a lot for me to blush, but this one little thing is doing it for me right now.
Somehow I manage to pull it together enough to step forward and sit as he pushes my chair forward. I thank him as he returns to his seat, slinging my purse over the back of the chair.
When he settles back down, he picks up the menu and gestures to mine laying in front of me. “Have you ever been here before?” he asks.
“No,” I say as I glance over the delicate paper pages that look freshly printed on the daily. “Can’t say I have.”
“Cora mentioned you don’t go out much.”
“Oh, did she?” My palms begin to sweat. Even if not entirely untrue, it makes me uncertain of his perception of me. This relationship would be a certain percentage of going out.
Ben shrugs like it’s nothing. “She drags Fred all over town. Every time I talk to him outside of work, they’re going somewhere or doing something.” He turns a page, sliding his index finger slowly down the page before dragging his gaze up to look at me. “I enjoy a night out, but I like to stay in, too.”
I blink.
He stares.
His mouth dips down into a frown, and no, no I don’t like that very much at all.
“Are you uncomfortable being here?” With me? is the part he’s left out.
My eyebrows raise, but I realize my hands are clenched tight into fists, nails cutting into my palms. I didn’t even feel it past the raised scars from doing it so often in the past. My throat’s closing in on the word vomit that I fucking hate—
“Are you uncomfortable? Cora said you’ve never done this before either. Yet you’re sitting over there, oh so calm and collected, looking like sin in a suit—which, gray is, like, really working for you, by the way.” His eyebrows raise into the scattered strands of silver as I motion up and down his body. “But I’ve been freaking out about this meeting for the last three days.”
His gaze is even more intense now, fixed on me like I might bolt if he does so much as blink. He might be right.
“Do you want to leave?” he asks. My heart nearly leaps into my throat.
“With you?”
“Jesus Christ,” Ben mutters, shaking his head. “No, not with me. Alone. I can call you a cab or a Lyft.”
I swallow against everything else that threatens to pour out of me—words, drool, actual vomit. “No.”
“No?” he echoes back, confusion twisting his brows. His gaze flits around my face as I straighten up in my seat.
“I don’t want to leave.”
“But you don’t want to be here?”
“I didn’t say that. I also didn’t say I was uncomfortable—” Technically, I guess. “You know what they say. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”
He laughs, and it sends a delightful skittering of awareness across my scalp. I want to hear it again. Want to feel it rumble in his chest beneath my fingers. And there’s a whole lot more I want to feel. So much so that my brain begins to run away with images, scenarios, fantasies I’ll desperately try to replay late at night when it’s time to try and fall asleep. The sound of his voice is already ringing in my ears.
“Emme?”
“Yeah?”
He repeats the words lost to my scattered thoughts, “I said you’re gonna give me a run for my money, aren’t you?”
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
“I would have thought you’d be more complacent. I like that you aren’t.” He brings a hand up to run through his hair, and his eyes lower to my lips. I nearly bite into them just for him.
“This just tells me that Cora hasn’t told Fred a single thing about me—which, fine—but kind of important in this context.”
“Emme,” Ben starts. I hate the way I love how he says my name. “I’m telling you right now, I like what I’m seeing from you already. I like your spice, I just don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do.”
I really wish I had some water right now. Where is our fucking waiter—“If it was something I didn’t want to do, I wouldn’t be here.”
He hums under his breath, arms folding over one another as a hand rubs over the scruff of his beard. My attention is drawn to the way the fabric of his jacket stretches tight over his biceps, to the glint of his silver watch, to the curve of his mouth.
“Okay, so now that we’ve established we both want to be here—” He levels me with a look that I feel in my bones. The way his gaze sweeps over me is like a light sprinkling of rain that leaves me damp—All. Over. “Neither of us have done this before. We can work through it together.”
Whether our inexperience will be a good or bad thing remains unclear. It could go either way right now. But I have a feeling that we’re going to create a relationship even more unconventional than Cora was laying out.
“About that—why exactly do you want an arrangement like this? You could have any woman you want. Why feel the need to pay?”
Ben lets loose a breath, his shoulders dropping a little in a shrug. “I’ve tried—”
“Hello,” a chipper voice interrupts. A young man sliding up to our table with a pad and pen in hand, a half apron slung low over his dress pants and pressed white shirt. “My name is Jacob, and I’ll be your server this evening. What can I get you both to drink this evening? Water? Cocktails? Wine?”
Oh, now he shows up.
I press my lips together, glancing down at the menu under my hands and then at Ben. He’s watching me, waiting.
“Water with lemon, please.” Even though I’m dying for a cola.
“I’ll have the same,” Ben echoes.
Jacob nods. “Any appetizers for the table? Or do you know what you’d like to order?”
Looking over at Ben, I raise an eyebrow. “Should we get appetizers?”
“Up to you. I could always go for some bruschetta, or they have this fried squash that’s really good.”
“Oh! Yes, the squash blossoms are great.” Jacob nods, pen at the ready, poised over his notebook.
“Why not both?” I shrug, my indecisiveness coming forth right along with the growl of my stomach as I lean back in my seat.
“Okay, great. Do you need a minute before ordering entrées or do you know what you’d like for that as well?” Jacob looks between us both.
“I already know what I’d like, but I don’t want to rush you. Take as much time as you need,” Ben says.
“That’s all right,” I say despite not having read a single word on any of these pages. I turn to look up at our waiter and hand him over the menu. “Is there anything you’d recommend to someone who’s never been here before?”
He lights up like a Christmas tree, and it’s actually so sweet. “Oh—there’s the abbacchio, but if you’re not a fan of lamb then maybe the rainbow trout? Or a non-meat option is our butter and sage tortellini.”
“The tortellini sounds great.”
“And for you, sir?”
“The pappardelle mimmo, please.”
“Got it. I’ll be back with your drinks momentarily.”
I give him a smile before turning back to Ben once Jacob is out of earshot.
“You were saying you’ve tried…?”
He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “I’ve tried dating since separating from my ex-wife. Didn’t care for it.”
“In what way?”
“In the way that women think they’re entitled to more than I want to give.”
My eyebrows raise, and I lean back in my chair. It takes me a moment before I can muster up a reply. “So what makes you think that this is going to work any better?”
“Clear boundaries—a line in the sand. You know from the start what this is and what you’re getting out of it, same as me.”
“And what happens if you decide you want more one day? That you want a real girlfriend or a wife again?”
His eyes turn up to the ceiling briefly, and he strokes a hand across the grit of his jaw. “I won’t, but I’d end our arrangement.”
“And just enlighten me here,” I say, leaning forward. “What exactly do you want out of this arrangement, Mr. Reed?”
Ben’s hand falls back to the table, rapping against the table in a slow, deliberate pattern. His eyes never stray from mine, though I still feel his gaze everywhere. “To fuck you—anytime I want you, anywhere.”
The way my panties are suddenly so fucking wet.
“I’m not a prostitute.”
“I know that.”
“Well, maybe this isn’t going to work then. I’m not denying that being a sugar baby includes sex work, but it still has to be a mutual companionship. Because as appealing as it sounds to get fucked and get paid, there’s gotta be a little more than that.”
Jacob slides up to the table just as my sentence ends with our drinks. I look up at him in thanks when the glass lands in front of me. His cheeks are pink, and he can’t look directly at me anymore.
Oh, poor puppy.
“Here are your drinks and some fresh bread. Your appetizers should be out in about ten, fifteen minutes or so. Then entrées to follow.”
“Thank you.” I smile up at him, like my body isn’t burning all the way down to my toes. I pull my glass of water close like it’s going to do anything to help cool me off.
Jacob slinks away, his gaze dancing between us curiously before he fully disappears. Ben shifts in his seat, his expression unwavering. The stoicism of this man is unbelievable right now. I’m so jealous.
“That’s not all it’ll be.”
I squint at him. “Care to elaborate?”
“You’ll come with me to events, parties, overseas trips—a chance to meet a lot of people you’d otherwise never connect with. You get gifts, financial compensation, and of course, sex and aftercare.”
Oh God, cuddling? Blankets, ice cream, my favorite comfort movie I always have on a loop? I desperately want to lay with his arms wrapped around me, tightly enveloped in his scent that I already can’t get enough of. I’m going to have to snoop through his bathroom and find his cologne so I can buy and spray it on my pillows, and God, I really am a fucking los—
“Emme?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you do that often?”
“Do what?” He gives me a look, and I wince. “Oh—sorry, I have ADHD.”
He frowns slightly. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”
I blink. In my entire life, he’s the only person who has ever said that when I tell them I have ADHD. It’s always some variation of oh, that’s okay or that explains a lot. Suddenly, my lack of self-worth becomes very apparent.
My mouth runs dry and I take a sip of my water before letting my fingers run through the condensation forming on the glass, absently drawing shapes as I fight for what to say next.
“So, how exactly are we doing this?”
Ben takes a big breath in and I realize this is the blind leading the blind, maybe with only some Googling and advice from each of our counterparts, Cora and Fred. I don’t think my obsessive watching of The Girlfriend Experience in the last few days is really anything serious to go off of here.
“Well, let’s start simple. Do you have a passport?”
“Working on it. Cora had me apply for an expedited application earlier this week. Not much else I can do to hurry it along.”
“That’s fine, it’ll come back when it’s ready.” He shrugs. “I don’t have anything in the books for overseas travel until November anyway.”
That’s less than two months away, which is probably going to be pushing it, but maybe I’ll get lucky.
“If it’s not back by then, I guess you’re just going to have to go back to your right hand for a bit.”
“I’m left-handed.” He smirks.
“Oh, well, don’t they say it feels better with your non-dominant hand anyway?”
He laughs again, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite sound.
“I suppose so. We’ll cross the bridge when we come to it. But there is one thing I’d like to request that you wear whenever we meet.”
My eyebrows raise, and my arms cross over my chest. “And what’s that?”
“Heels.”
My gaze automatically drifts down to my nude wedges as I kick a leg out to examine them. “These are the only ones I have. If you want me to wear something nice, you’ll have to buy them.”
“Of course. I’ll send them to your address.”
My nose scrunches up. “And you have that already without asking me?”
“Yes.”
Awareness prickles along my spine, and I pull a breath in through tight ribs. “From Cora?”
A guilty look passes over his features, and my heart stutters. “Not exactly, though that might have been easier.”
“A background check?”
“Yes. Granted, I’m no mafia mob boss, so I don’t know the name of the street you grew up on when you were six, but I know enough.”
“Isn’t that what someone in the mafia would say?”
Ben gives me an amused grin as he takes a sip of his water. The only thing that’s my saving grace is that my medical files wouldn’t be accessible to him, but he could see the abundance of them. Could see my one police report and the fact that I was on probation for a year after an incident at my parents’ house. Thankfully, jail was never actually in the cards for me.
My head spins, and I take my own sip of water.
“If I was in the mafia, surely I could think of a less stressful day job than running an architecture and construction firm.”
I can’t help but frown. “Stressful?”
He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders at the topic.
Jacob walks toward our table over Ben’s shoulder, my attention glued to him as as he sets our appetizers down between us. Crunchy bread with tomatoes and balsamic glaze that wafts under my nose and then squash twisted into blossoms that look just like a fried flower from far away.
“Enjoy,” Jacob says with a flourish, spinning away with his tray before either of us even have a chance to say anything else.
Ben reaches for a piece of bruschetta at the same time as me and our fingers brush. I try to ignore the way it feels like an electric current racing up my limb. He backs off, and I pick the piece up, biting into it just as he begins to speak again.
“My work is all about micromanagement. Watching over everything everyone else does. Even when you’ve made it to the top, being the big boss is never easy. At the end of the day, it’s still my name and Fred’s that people judge, whether it’s something I or one of my employees did. Architecture is something a little more permanent than most avenues, so it comes at a higher cost.”
“Of course.” Doesn’t mean I like the thought of it. “Being able to shoulder all of that makes you a good business owner. But I’m sorry to hear that it’s so stressful.”
“That’s why I agreed to this meeting,” Ben admits, picking at a squash blossom. “I’m not looking for the added stress of a vanilla relationship. Like I said, I tried it—it wasn’t working for me.”
I purse my lips, but I get it. There’s a ton of different reasons that make sense for him to be doing this. “But you haven’t sought a sugar baby before now. Before Fred proposed this.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and it’s criminal how it only makes him look more enticing. I want to fix the little pieces that don’t fall neatly back in place. To count the silver strands laced throughout like the stars in the night sky.
“It’s not like it wasn’t on my radar at all. Fred isn’t just my business partner, he’s my best friend. I’ve known what Cora is to him from the beginning.”
Oh, I want more than that. Surely there’s more than that. No matter how much my cousin prattles on about only being his sugar baby, about not getting attached, she’s very much in love with Fred.
“You didn’t even know what I looked like. Who’s to say you would even be attracted to me?”
There’s a smirk on his face, and suddenly I want to slap it off him.
“You know I’m aware social media exists right? I’m not that old.”
There’s a cringe working up my spine, and I have to work so hard to suppress it that I nearly bite my tongue. There’s some less than savory content between my Facebook, Instagram, Tinder, and Twitter. Not to mention juvenile, depending on how far back he scrolled on some of those. I debate deleting my entire existence off the internet right fucking now, but he’s probably seen all he wanted to at this point.
“And here I know absolutely nothing about you. Just how old is not that old?”
“Forty-five.”
Oh, that’s not that bad.
Ben definitely doesn’t even look that old in retrospect. He’s got some gray hairs that give him that silver fox air, but it looks good on him. Distinguished. Powerful. Sexy. Dominant. I can live with forty-five, considering I could have been entering an arrangement with someone even older if I went a more traditional route.
Even though he’s definitely the same age as my parents, maybe a smidge younger. The math is also telling me there’s a whole twenty-one year difference between us. An entire person who can drink alcohol. This man was drinking alcohol before I was even out of the womb.
I really hate math, by the way.
I suck in a breath, realizing I’m downing my water when the ice hits my teeth and I’m coughing. What am I doing here again? This man has so much more experience than me in everything I could possibly think of. And as much as that should bring comfort, I’m not sure I’m worthy of his time.
“Is something wrong with that?” he asks. Thank God he cut in, because I was starting to spiral again.
I can’t help it when the words come out of my mouth. “Am I supposed to call you daddy?”
The way his expression darkens, eyes drop half-lidded, and hand clenches around his glass of water is very telling all on its own.
“No, baby girl, you don’t have to call me that.”
As much as I want to hate that, the words roll down my spine deliciously and curl right in my lower belly. I clear my throat, pushing my empty glass toward the edge of the table. “Even though it works for this scenario, let’s leave any DDLG at the door for now.”
“I knew you were a brat.”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “And you like it.”
“More than I’d like to admit. But I’ll look forward to punishing you for pushing all my buttons.”
“What if I don’t like to be punished?”
Ben appraises me, leaning forward as he loosens the knot around his tie to rest at the dip in his collarbone. He runs his fingers along the green silk edge before flattening it against the crisp white of his shirt. My eyes follow every movement.
“I only have so much patience, Emmeline,” he says. I can see the tick of his jaw, the corded muscle in his throat tense.
And fuck if I’ve ever loved my full name before now. The implication is glaring, and I want to either sink to my knees under this table and find his hard cock waiting for me or just completely disappear into the ether. I can’t decide which. My indecisiveness takes over as I just sit here like an idiot.
He raises an eyebrow at me before tossing the last bite of bruschetta in his mouth, and I’ve never been so envious of food before.
I’m disgusting.
“I do want to know your hard limits though. An email or text will work if you don’t want to speak about this in public.”
“I don’t have your number, let alone your email.”
Ben makes a face that makes me think he already has mine. Because he absolutely does. Fucking background check.
“Unlock your phone for me then, please, and slide it over.”
I dig my phone out of my purse, furiously swiping away all the question mark texts from Cora and debating deleting our entire conversation thread, before I pass it over the table to him between the empty appetizer plates.
“Thank you,” he says, making my skin simmer with heat.
What is his praise going to feel like?
He taps around on the screen for a minute before looking well and satisfied with himself as he slides it back across the table to me.
I look down, lifting my phone to catch what he’s done. Which isn’t much, just texted himself from a newly-entered contact under his name. But it’s the text that has my lips turning up in a grin.
| Gorgeous blonde with the great tits.