Page 13 of Games We Play
“But let’s make one thing straight. I always win the games I play. I wouldn’t be as good at what I do if I didn’t.”
Leah barely heard that. All she heard was that they were about to get dinner. Together.
Chapter 5
This is either genius or will guarantee my demise.
Sloan didn’t know why she was entertaining a woman dressed in a gray blouse and a pair of department store trousers that looked one inch too big around the waist. What prevented Leah from wearing clothes that fit? With curves like that, she deserved to show them off in dresses, trousers, and skirts that contoured her body instead of hiding it. But that wasn’t any of Sloan’s business. Not until they reached an exclusive restaurant that required Sloan pulling three favors so they could get a decent table.
It had a spectacular view of the Willamette River, but Sloan didn’t give a shit about taking Instagram photos – like Leah, who angled her old phone and repeatedly hit the shutter button as if this were her only chance to ever get twentieth-story shots of a river.
Sean, the driver and federally trained bodyguard who watched after Sloan when a single man sufficed, provided his preliminary background check of Leah while they perused the wine list. Sloan selected a Willamette Valley red that she heard good things about back in the Midwest.If it’s good enough to catch someone’s attention in Chicago, then it must be something worth trying when in the area.That often went for women, as well.
“Wow…” Leah was still glued to the window next to them. “I’ve lived in this city my whole life, and I’ve never seen a view like this.”
Sloan checked her wig and makeup before addressing that observation. “Tragedy, considering I only visit about once every three months and see views like this every time.”
“What brings you to Portland that often? You said you were from Chicago, right?”
I want a cigarette.Unfortunately, Oregon was so anti-smoking that there wasn’t a sliver of hope that Sloan could find a place to light a quick cigarette. “Business. I maintain many real estate investments around here.” She raised her hand to summon their server. “I’m head of my company’s investments, so that’s what I do all year. Travel the world and bust balls until I get the results I want for my money.”I’m still shocked that the men begging me formymoney treat me like they do in the boardroom.Case in point? That shitshow during lunch. Preston Bradley and Julian Marcus couldn’t have been bigger pigs if they tried. When the one wasn’t trying to slyly hit on her, the other was insinuating that she didn’t have as good of a handle on her money as she claimed.
Her blood boiled. She may have calmly ordered her dinner, but inside? Nothing but a bottle of nerves about to burst, shrapnel burrowing into the walls.
“That sounds so interesting.” Leah propped both elbows on the table.Christ. Nobody taught her any manners, I see.Yet with her heart-shaped face nestled between her fists, Leah looked like a sweet little cherub. Sloan glanced at her phone again. Sean’s preliminary report said that Leah had no criminal record and had lived in Portland her whole life.She went to culinary school and works for some midlist bakery. I see.Culinary school was certainly different from the usual educational paths most of Sloan’s dates took. Everyone was a sociologist and budding psychologist these days. Cosmetology school was the dream for some of Sloan’s old “girlfriends,” if she could call them that. She didn’t begrudge them for their quaint dreams, however. The world needed hairdressers and makeup artists. It also needed chefs. Good ones. Hopefully, this restaurant had one.
“It’s work, is what it is.” Sloan held her wineglass up for a toast. “Cheers.”
Leah was giddier than a puppy when she toasted her glass against Sloan’s. In the corner of the room, Sean snuck multiple photos of the couple having a pleasant dinner.What? I took her advice. If nothing else, that was a good thing to suggest.
Yet nothing made sense. This wasn’t a date, right? Sloan was looking after her best interests, and nothing more. Her personal assistant, Ayla, was already on the case of the missing escort. How in the world did her stupid security mistake this woman for an escort?I should’ve known the birthday girl thing wasn’t an act.Even though she couldn’t keep her fingers out of Leah’s pussy. Or her face out of this woman’s cleavage, for that matter.
She has a great body. I’ll give her that.Sloan could do without the giggles and the look of awe in Leah’s eyes, however. How old was this girl? She took one last look at her phone and read30next to age. Thirty! Leah wasn’t a “girl” at all! She was a grown woman acting like a fucking fool!
Damnit. She had a crush on Sloan. Crush on her money? On how she had sex? Probably some terrible combination of both. Oh, well. At least Leah was honest about it. Sloan hated it when the women she dated played coy with their intentions. Leah had the opposite problem. She was a little too open-book.
“So, Leah.” Now was a great time to test that assumption. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Like what?”
Like how you feel totally comfortable being in a five-star restaurant while wearing… that…“What do you do, if you’re not an escort? Are you married?”
“Married! If I were married, do you think I would have…” Leah blushed. “No. I’m not. I live with my family. Cheaper that way.”
Explains some of her nature.Leah was probably one of those insufferable millennials who used words like “adulting.” “And your career?” Yeah, right. Women like Leah didn’t have careers. They had jobs. Dead-end directions that kept the working class fixated on survival and their attentions dutifully swayed from the playgrounds throbbing high above them.
“I work at a bakery. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“You’re a baker?”
“I guess. I went to culinary school. Always dreamed of having my own cake decorating place, but…”
At least she had been honest so far. Perhaps Leah was simply what she appeared to be. Insufferable, but safe. “Artistic and edible. Some of the best chefs in the world take that approach.”
“Do you like to cook?”
Sloan scoffed. “Absolutely not. I pay other people to do the housework.”
“I don’t think of cooking as housework.” Leah picked at her napkin, still folded on her plate. “It’s something fun that also happens to be practical.”
