Page 48 of Intoxicated
Chapter 15
DREW
“Sucks to hear that it didn’t work out.” My assistant carries my overnight bag into the office. The Seattle skyline is right outside the windows, and I stop to take it in before turning to the man who runs the place in my absence. “You were getting pretty good money for her, right? Now you’ve gotta refund it all.”
I snort. “Rothchild isn’t getting his deposit back. It’s in his terms.” Deposits are only refunded if I don’t get anywhere with the girl at all. In Cher’s case, I got somewhere with her.Reallysomewhere. Not that I’ve told Brent. Until now. It’s heavily implied in what I said.
“Dang, dude.” He’s impressed, but not surprised. This is me we’re talking about. I don’t exactly struggle to seduce women. Not when I flash my wallet or my name around, anyway. “You’re a rock star, man.”
“I know.” I say that with a cheesy grin. Before long, I’m back at my desk, one I rarely sit at if I can help it. When I’m between gigs or playing a long game with my current mark, I’ll come back here and do some paperwork and fish for new clients, but it’s not something I look forward to doing. Brent mans the place. That’s all I really need. “She made me by the end of last weekend. She must have hired a private investigator who really knew what they were doing. Oh, well. I still got to tap that crazy ass.” Twice.
“Before or after she made you?”
Oh, this is the part I’ve been looking forward to telling Brent. “After.”
“No way.” He laughs before grabbing us some coffee. “You’re that good, man!”
“Yeah.” Why am I not reveling in this as much as I wish? The whole drive up here, I was thinking about how great it would be to brag about my sexual prowess to Brent, a man who totally gets it. Yet after a restless night’s sleep in my Seattle apartment, I concluded that what I have with Cher goes beyond her hotness and me wanting to make her come as some way to prove my masculinity. “Although there’s a reason it still happened, even after she figured out who I was and what I was doing. Shit, she figured out it was Rothchild who hired me! She’s way more clever than anyone gives her credit for.” I mean that, too.
“Why’s that?”
Brent places a cup of coffee on my desk. I steeple my fingers and swing one leg over the other. Although our equipment and furniture makes us feel like fancy rich bastards, we’re both in T-shirts and jeans. I’ve got my green forest ranger trucker hat on, and he’s got a gauge five miles wide in his left earlobe. We’re far from the usual professionals you would expect in a high-rise office. Especially when we’re not expecting anyone.
“Hmm.” I tap my fingers together. “There’s something about her. Someje ne sais quoithat makes her hotter than your usual pretty girl. You feel me?”
“I mean, I’ve seen her pic, dude. She’s hot.”
If you’re wondering what a man with a husband is doing saying that, don’t. Brent is the first guy to tell you his door swings both ways. Before he met his husband, he wasn’t much better than me when it came to getting women to spend a night with him. Well, I have more finesse. And higher standards, but that’s not a knock against my assistant, who has been happily monogamous – as far as I know – since his marriage.
“Yeah. She’s hot.” I’m not above sharing details of my conquests with Brent, and I don’t doubt he’s waiting for some hot memories. I could tell him about how hard Cher’s cunt grabs my cock when she comes. Or I could share that her tits bounce like they’ve got somewhere to be. Does he want to know about her gorgeous snarls of depravity? Or how she sucks cock like a champ? I want to pull her hair and fuck her ass until she’s screaming in untold pleasure. I’dloveto get her caught in a compromising position out in a fancy restaurant. She seems like the type to get off on a little humiliation. At the very least, she’d pretend that wasn’t happening. Like it was her fucking idea to get caught with dick in her mouth or elsewhere.
Her insistence on acting like everything is exactly according to her plan, although I damn well know it’s not, is amusing. And hot. It makes me want to up the ante every time I take her for another spin.
“Dude, don’t tell me you’re already catching feelings for an established playgirl.”
“That would be as absurd as her falling for me.”
“Especially since her ex-boyfriend paid you to fuck her up. Howwereyou going to do that, anyway?”
“I wasn’t sure yet. You know I usually take my time figuring that part out.” It’s true. Every woman is different. You may look at her file and guess she would be most devastated in this fashion or another, but after you get to know them and their little quirks, another, deeper truth usually comes out. I was about to approach Cher in the same manner. Go out on a few dates with her. Fuck her. Figure out what motivated her the most and use that to my advantage. So far I’ve fucked her and gone out on two dates with her – if you call margaritas a date – but not much else.
“Don’t tell me you’ve met your match.”
I consider that for a moment. Met my match, huh? I know what he means. I’ve come up against a woman who can dish it as well as I give it to her. We’re two of a kind. Two sides of the same fucked-up coin. Two peas in a cozy little pod made of despair and madness. We’re sad. Depraved. Assholes.
