Page 1 of Intoxicated
Chapter 1
DREW
Tonight, I’m wearing Armani.
The woman I’m after appreciates a man with fine tastes. That’s why I’ve raided my closet for the kind of clothes I usually only wear to weddings, funerals, and the charity galas in between. The kind of events my family “forces” me to go to, on pain of my mother’s heart breaking. I’m more of a flannel and jeans kind of guy. A real Oregonianjust give me a hoody and some decent bootsman. For the right person – the rightmark– I’ll don the Armani and pretend that I love being a high-rolling son of a bitch.
Not like I can’t afford it.
I can afford a lot of things. Then again, most of the men in this ritzy lounge can afford a lot ofthings,some of them wealthier than me. That’s why I usually avoid places like these. I’ve spent enough of my life parading around lounges, nightclubs, and uptown bars in search of validation and career prospects. I don’t need that shit anymore. Don’t believe whatever my family tells you. Drew Benton is a self-made man now.
Part of the career I’ve built for myself means meeting women of a certain… caliber.
Ooh, I can see the look in your eye now. That question lurking on your lips. You want to know if I’m a sugar boy? A hustler looking for his next mama? Or maybe I’m looking for a daddy. Hey, I may be straight, but I know what I’m worth. Most guys have a price. Mine is pretty steep, but I’m cheaper for a lovely lady who wants to ride this ol’ stallion for a night.
Nah. That’s not me, although I’ve dabbled in that before. Instead, my job usually sees me hired to sleep withotherwomen. Well, I don’t have to sleep with them – that’s usually a side benefit, and often complements what I set out to do. You see, I offer a unique service here in the Pacific Northwest, a playground for the newly rich and old money fools alike. Tech bros and lumber dynasties are always getting their hearts broken by gold diggers and angry ex-wives. Some of these men are salty enough that they call me up to soothe their wounds.
No, not likethat.My job is to locate the ex and make her life hell.
That takes different forms, of course. I offer three tiers of services. Heartbreaker. Credit Destroyer. Self-Esteem Bludgeoner. There are dozens of women in this fine world who have had their twenties or fifties utterly ruined by yours truly. For the right price, I’ll either be the sugar boy of their dreams – until I legally con them of all their money (which I usually donate,) wreck their embittered hearts, or cast them so low in self-worth that they cry themselves to sleep every night for years.
Hey! Don’t look at me like that. Don’t go crying over these poor,poorwomen, either. I’m discerning when it comes to taking on clients. I only toy with the truly deplorable. The dregs of feminine-kind. Women who have already ruined the men who are hiring me. My last mark was a first wife who abused her husband’s loyalty by sleeping with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who would have her in the neighborhood Hilton. Her husband couldn’t get proof, although their pre-nuptial agreement stipulated she got nothing in a divorce if it was proven she was unfaithful. Didn’t take me long to sidle up to her and get the proof. Granted, that’s my naked ass forever emblazoned on some investigator’s phone, but I work out. My ass looksfantastic.
Tonight’s mark is a real doozy. The reason I’m in a swanky, five-star lounge in the middle of Portland is because my research tells me my mark comes here once or twice a month to scout for new victims. You see, I’m up against one of the nastiest witches you’ve ever heard tales of, and that’s saying a lot when you have my resume. I’m talking about a woman I’ve heard of before her latest victim called to ask about my services. That’s how legendary she has become around the Pacific Northwest.
Being a professional sugar baby or trophy wife is one thing. Hell, I admire the people who recognize their skills and go for it. Two people consenting to that kind of arrangement doesn’t faze me, and I’ve turned down my fair share of clients who wanted me to go after perfectly fine women because they were a littlebitterabout the breakup. Some guys are vindictive fucks. I get that, and take it into consideration when I judge whether or not a client is right for me.
Cher Lieberman, however, is in her own category ofholy shit what is wrong with you?
She’s also extremely beautiful. Which is why it’s easy to find her in this half-crowded lounge on a sleepy Friday night.
A woman tries to gain my attention. A server, I believe. Yet I’m too awestruck by the bewitching beauty perched atop a barstool and swirling her tiny straw in a whiskey on the rocks to hear anything else but the suddenthunkof my heart.
Oh, be still, you bastard. Pump some blood to my cock if you must, but let’s keep things in perspective. That raven-haired Aphrodite sitting alone at the bar, quietly scouting the room for her next rich boyfriend? She isn’t to be won over for our own delightful gain. We’re not here to seduce her into bed and show her who’s a real man.
We’re here to destroy her.
I sit at a nearby table, careful to stay out of her sight. My extensive background check into Cher Lieberman – who she is, what makes her tick, what her favorite brand of hot sauce is – can only tell me so much. I must observe the woman in her natural element. Before I make my move and expose myself to her willful wiles, I must become fluent in her body language and hear her voice say a few arsenic-laced words. Better if they’re flung at an intended target.
Oh, see? I’m not the only one with a mark tonight. Cher may look like she’s here enjoying a drink by herself after a long,hardweek of being tragically beautiful, but I know her game. She’s shopping for a new rich boyfriend. That’s why her gaze is cast like a spindly net. It’s why she slings one leg over the other, exposing the slit in her flowy black dress and drawing a man’s lascivious eyes right to her thighs. It’s also why she constantly repositions her silky black hair, so we all see the white of her throat and the cleavage that plunges down the generous bust of her dress. Bold, sultry makeup and a judicious amount of plain jewelry accentuate a woman who knows how to dress herself to make other women jealous and men hard in the pants. If her goal were to simply get laid, she’d have her pick of fine young men looking to get their precious rocks off. Looking for a husband? Turn on the charm and get a first date out of an elderly man for the hell of it. Except looking for a sugar daddy, a man who will fall in love with her without any reciprocation? It’s not as easy as it looks.
And she makes it look easy.
A server asks me if I would care for a fresh Bacardi. I note the whiskey in Cher’s hand and ask for a Sazerac. It might be my in later.
It’s a good thing I’m willing to take my time, though. Hell, I might not talk to her tonight. Consider this reconnaissance, if we must. If Cher leaves before I’m ready to make my move, or she gets the attention of the man of her dreams? I might be leaving alone as well.
