Chapter 2
2
C ole Whitlock looked at the boxes that still sat unopened in one corner of the Russian Hill condo that he’d moved into only a week earlier. How long he would live in San Francisco, he didn’t really know yet. He never lived anywhere for too long. He needed the constant change of scenery to add excitement to his life that he couldn’t find in other pursuits. His company, an internet startup that had turned online advertising on its head, ran pretty much without him, affording him to live wherever he wanted. This time, his choice was San Francisco, but he hadn’t picked it for its architectural beauty, its history, or European flair.
He was finally ready to face his demons so he wouldn’t meet with the same fate as his father: spiraling down into a deep depression from where he’d only seen one way to escape. By committing suicide. Trent Whitlock had been a lonely man but a good father, who’d done everything in his power to make life easier for his only son.
Cole felt his heart beat faster at the memory of finding his father dead in his home. Cole had been a junior at college, and deep down he’d always known that one day his father wouldn’t be able to hold on to this life any longer. Cole had been dealt the same shitty hand, but he was determined to find a different solution to his problem. He wouldn’t give up. He would keep fighting.
He opened his father’s old journal where he’d recorded everything he’d attempted in order to alleviate his condition… and things he wanted to try but hadn’t accomplished before his death. The notes, which included names and numbers of doctors, charlatans, faith healers, and other dubious individuals didn’t make much sense to Cole, but he had nothing to lose at this point. With his company secure, he had the money and time to pursue what his father had given up on.
He’d found the San Francisco phone number in his father’s journal quite a while ago, but hadn’t called it yet. There was no name associated with it, and when he’d used a reverse phone lookup tool, he’d discovered that the number was unlisted.
“It’s now or never,” he mumbled under his breath and dialed. He put his cell phone on speaker mode and heard it ring.
It kept ringing, and Cole felt his hope evaporate with every second.
“Dr. Drake’s office,” a woman answered breathlessly. “Darn it! Get him outta here!”
Her last words sounded muffled, and he assumed she’d put her hand over the receiver to address somebody in the room.
“Hello? Who’s calling?”
“Uhm, yes,” Cole muttered so she wouldn’t hang up. He had to think quickly. He hadn’t expected to reach a doctor’s office at this time of night. After all, it was well past 9 o’clock. He didn’t really know what he’d expected. A private home maybe?
“Sir?”
“Yes, this is Cole Whitlock. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Drake.”
“He’s all booked up tonight.”
“How about tomorrow during the day?”
There was a noticeable pause, and the woman’s voice suddenly changed from saccharin-sweet to icy-cold. “You must have the wrong number.”
“No, no. I’ve got the right number. It was given to me by my father.” That wasn’t the absolute truth, but it was the gist of it. “I really need to see Dr. Drake.”
“We don’t take any new patients at the moment,” she said, her voice hesitant.
“Miss, please,” he beseeched her, letting his charm flow into his voice. He knew he had a voice any radio personality would be envious of, and he had no scruples using the few advantages he’d been given in life. “You sound very busy. And working so hard at night must really take a toll. Can’t be easy to deal with difficult patients.”
His last insinuation was an educated guess. Her curse earlier was most likely directed at an unruly patient.
“You have no idea!” she agreed with a huff, but her voice began to change. “Sometimes, I really don’t know why I’m still working here.”
“I’m sure the place would fall apart without you,” Cole said as sweetly as he could without sounding sarcastic. “But there are people who need you.”
“You’re right. I wish all patients were so considerate.”
He smiled to himself. She was on his side. Now he had a chance to get to see the doctor.
“You said that tonight he’s all booked. Do you have any openings in the next few days at all? I don’t care what time, if only you could squeeze me in.”
He heard the faint tapping of fingers on a computer keyboard. “Oh, actually, looks like we had a cancellation. We have availability tomorrow at 8:15pm.”
Did this doctor see all his patients in the middle of the night? Maybe this guy was a charlatan who wanted to fly under the radar. He probably didn’t even have a medical license. But who was he to judge? He had to find out why his father had Dr. Drake’s number in his journal. Maybe the guy knew something that none of the other medical professionals Cole had consulted knew. It was worth a try. All he had to lose was a few hours of sleep.
“Eight fifteen tomorrow night? That’s perfect. I don’t think I have your address.”
“I’ll text it to you. Is this a good number for you?”
“Yes, this is my cell. Perfect.”
“Enjoy your night, Mr. Whitlock. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, uhm, Miss…?”
“Please call me Marilyn,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding like a kitten.
“Thank you, Marilyn. Have a good night.”
He disconnected the call, and about thirty seconds later, he received a text with the doctor’s office address. He tapped on it to see where in San Francisco it was located.
“Nob Hill.” It wasn’t far from his condo.
Cole let out a breath of relief. One hurdle was past him. What he needed now was something to relax him, or he’d explode with nervous energy. He wouldn’t be able to sleep right now. He wanted company, female company.
He scrolled through his address book. The high-class establishment he’d frequented in Chicago had recommended a similar place in San Francisco. A place where as long as a man paid the right price, he wouldn’t be turned away. And money was no object for him. His misgivings about having to pay for physical pleasures had long ago vanished. It was the best approach to deal with his need for sex, and it guaranteed him relief, which visiting a nightclub to pick up a woman didn’t.
Cole stopped scrolling. He read the note he’d made. Vera’s, the sign says Executive Services. The address was noted below it. He tapped on it. It was right at the border of Nob Hill and Chinatown. He put his cell phone in his pocket and walked into the bedroom, where he glanced into the full-length mirror. He wore casual but expensive pants, and a shirt that hugged his broad chest. He was neither overdressed nor underdressed for a visit to a brothel. All he needed was his wallet and his jacket. He slipped into his jacket, placed his wallet in the inside pocket and marched to the door. From a hook near it, he snatched his keys, and left his condo.
When he reached the underground garage of the small condo building, he walked past his Land Rover and straight to his Aston Martin and clicked the remote. He didn’t drive it very often, since it was really meant for a smaller man, not one who was 6’3” and looked more like a bodybuilder than a computer wiz. Working out and bulking up had been a survival mechanism for so long that it was second nature by now. He wasn’t the little kid anymore that had been every schoolyard bully’s prime target. He’d learned to defend himself, and he didn’t take shit from anyone anymore. Nobody could hurt him anymore, because he didn’t let them get close enough to inflict pain.
But tonight wasn’t about pain. It was about pleasure, and he was determined to take what he needed so desperately. It had been a while since he’d touched a woman, and ever since he’d arrived in San Francisco, he’d felt his need for sex rise faster and higher than anywhere else. And tonight, it wasn’t just the need to decompress before his appointment with Dr. Drake that sent him to a brothel, but a little voice inside him that kept nudging him to seek his pleasure in the arms of a woman and forget everything else for a couple of hours.
And that was exactly what he would do tonight.