Page 66 of Intoxicated
It’s probably infatuation. When you’re having this kind of crazy good sex with a hot woman, you get infatuated. It’s not love. How could it be love? You know she’s not capable of that. Although she turns down your gifts and immediately calls you when she discovers her rent paid for the next month, you know it’s not love she feels for you. You’re her victim. Her mark. You’re wrapped up in the long con. You’ll do whatever she wants from three hundred miles away. She texts you at two in the afternoon asking for a dick pick? You whip that fucker out and later wonder what the shit you were thinking. Then you consider itworth it,because she sends you back a picture of her cleavage in a pushup bra. You’re in the bathroom taking care of business, and all because of a five-minute interaction that didn’t happen in real life.
She asks you when you’re coming back to Portland. You want to tell her you’ll be there one hour ago, if that’s what she wants. Instead, you play it cool. Tell her you can come down in a few days, because work has you tied up. Oh, but you probably shouldn’t remind her what you do for a living.
Then again, you’re seriously thinking about some life changes.
I’m not happy. Sure, I always knew I couldn’t stay in this business forever, but I don’t have a backup plan yet. I’m not about to close up shop and tell Brent he no longer has a job in an expensive city. Although it’s a huge waste of money for me to keep this place open. Between office space, Brent’s wages… fuck, I might as well be flushing money down the drain. I already break even as it is. If I’m not working, I’m not being paid. And if I’m not making taxable income in my business, the IRS comes tsking at me.
Gee, maybe my father taught meonelesson after all.
I was drunk when I told Cher we should go into matchmaking together. While that was obviously a joke at the time, it’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since. I run the idea by Brent. Not doing it withCher,duh, but figuring out a matchmaking service that would work from my unique perspective in this crowded industry.
“That would be a serious switch, man.” He scratches his head as he sits at his desk. Another overcast Seattle day displays behind him. The only sounds in this office are the hum of Brent’s desk fan and the White Stripes music playing on my phone. Yet I swear I hear Brent’s adrenaline pump when I tell him I’m thinking of changing career directions. Like I said, it’s an expensive city, and the man has a house-husband. “You’d have to completely change your image among your clientele. You’ll go from being the guy who gets them some twisted sense of vengeance, to the guy who hooks them up with their next relationship.”
“Could be a fun way to give back to the community in a new way.” Why, no, I’mnotrepenting. Not yet. Give me a few more months of this elastic love I feel around Cher. “Can you hear my pitch now?‘Remember the guy who helped you feel better? Now he’s back and ready to help you fall in love with someone new, someone better!’My target audience would be rich guys who are terrible at picking out girlfriends for themselves. Really, they go together.” I leave out the part about Cher recruiting the sugar babies that would make up a bulk of the matches. Of course, for a job like this to work, we’d have to pick hot women whowantto marry, and not only suck the money out of wallets. Would Cher understand a point of view like that, though? She’s made it clear her only interest is independence. This is a woman who happily barks orders at you when you’re balls deep inside of her, but you never feel a real emotional connection. Only the deep, dark sadness of realizing she’ll never really love you.
At least I know it, unlike the poor saps she’s left in her wake.
“It’s definitely a neat idea. You should develop it,” Brent says.
“You think?” I admit, I wasn’t expecting him to say something like that.
“Why not? Maybe you’re onto something. Now, did I tell you that you had an appointment for youroldjob today?”
I turn back toward him before I can disappear back to my desk. “Come again?”
“Rothchild’s in town and wants a follow up with you.”
Bile is in my throat. Didn’t take long for that to happen. All Brent had to say wasRothchildand I’m hissing through my teeth. No, I haven’t forgotten about him.No,I haven’t been in contact with him since the last time you saw me call the bastard. Did you think I was calling him to say our deal was off? That may have been my original intention. Then I decided on something different.
I still wasn’t sure how things would go with Cher. Now I know.
“I don’t recall signing off on any appointments today,” I say to Brent.
He shrugs. “You’re currently working with him. You’ve never turned clients away unless it was an emergency. What’s the problem? You took all those ‘days off’ to work Cher, right?”
Yeah.Working.That’s totally what I was doing as I followed her every whim. You know, it wasmyidea to give her a pearl necklace. Just because she turned down the actual jewels and suggested something kinkier, doesn’t mean it still wasn’t my idea. Although she looked me right in the eye and purred with her legs spread wide open as I came all over her breasts. (Yes, yes, I may have missed my target a bit.) It was all part of her plan to ensnare me, anyway. Do you actually think she likes having cum on her tits? I doubt most women do, yet we guys have to keep hoping we’ll get to do it once in a while.
“Earth to Drew, yo.” Brent waves his hand in front of my face. “I said he’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Come on, man, read your schedule I give you sometimes. I work hard on those!”
“Sorry. I appreciate it, really.” I clap him on the shoulder and turn away in the hopes he doesn’t see me take a harried breath. Jason Rothchild is on his way right now. I’m gonna have to come up withsomethingto tie him over. Either that, or he’s here to collect his deposit.
Fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to adequately plan.
“Mr. Benton.” The man sitting in front of my desk dresses better than my father. We’re talking three piece suits in varying colors. Pocket squares. High-end watches that areactuallychecked. Rothchild isn’t old enough for a cane yet, but when he is, you can bet your ass it will be polished myrtlewood with a gold cap and tip. He smells better than most of my clients, too. That’s because Rothchild is old money. He’s taken his family’s money – that was already impressive, mind you – and expanded it in ways they never dreamed. For him to call me means he truly felt so wronged by Cher that there was nothing else in the world his money could buy to soothe his gaping wounds. “I hope you don’t mind that I dropped by while I was in town. I’mmostinterested to know how things go with… the woman.”
He won’t call Cher by name. He won’t call hermy ex.The way he dances around her identity only seals how much she hurt him. Usually, I’d feel for the guy, but my judgment is so clouded that I struggle to think of something diplomatic to say.
“I have good news and bad news.” I’ve left my door slightly ajar. Brent glances in when I say that. I’m compelled to get up and close the only thing separating me from my assistant’s curiosity. “The good news is that she’s become quite attached to me already. I suspect she’s playing me like she plays most of her victims. I’ve been… generous, to say the least.” You know what the nuttiest thing is? I write most of my dates off my taxes! Cost of doing business, indeed.
Rothchild grunts, but does not look at me. “I am not surprised. At the first whiff of money, she’s on you like a fly on honey. The fact that you’re…” Ah, yes, now he’s looking at me. With mild derision. “Sufficiently attractive helps. I can only assume that a mosquito like her enjoys her games more when she’s attracted to the man in question.”
Rothchild isn’t awful to look at. Honestly, he’s everything most people think of when they conjure up the image ofold money sophistication.He’s fit for his age. Tall and lean. Salt and pepper hair, not to mentionstillhaving his hair. His dapper dress and vintage mannerisms undoubtedly make him friends, both male and female, wherever he goes. What I know about Cher tells me that she would be attracted to this debonair man, at the very least. I’m not convinced she needs six-pack abs, a giant dick, and a head of pure-colored hair to keep her happy. Those are a bonus.
“What’s the bad news?” he then asks.
I sit back down in my seat. Hands fold on my desk. Now, I must be careful to not look like a reproachful teacher about to scold his (much older, I must remind myself) student. But I have things to say. Things that could end my career before I ever intended.
“I’m not sure I can seal our deal,” I say.
