Dodger chuckled. “That’s an
understatement.”
I shrugged. “Not all of them approve
because all of them, men and women, have used my services at some
point, sometimes overlapping, or their spouses used my services,
and it makes them all uncomfortable to have to see proof of their
perceived infidelities on an almost daily basis.”
Dodger nodded, even as I felt the
muscles in his arm tense at my words. “Maybe it’s more jealousy on
their part.”
My eyebrow quirked. “How
so?”
“
You give them all this
fantasy. You make them believe they are the most important or the
best thing you’ve ever had, for an hour, a day, a week, a month, a
year, or for however long they have you. Then they get around all
these other people, or they marry someone, and they realize the
fantasy isn’t true. It bruises their egos. And then they have to
worry about whether or not their spouse is thinking about you. Or
maybe they have to worry whether or not their spouse knows that
they’re thinking about you.” He shook his head. “You’re too damn
beautiful for your own good. You’re really good at what you do, and
no doubt the partners and spouses of your former clients feel
inadequate in comparison.”
I turned to look at him as the
elevator doors opened, shock filling me. I didn’t know how to
respond to what he’d said, and I suddenly had the urge to walk
around the entire condo, going to every client I’d ever had and
apologizing to their spouse.
But just as quickly as that
feeling overcame me, I squashed it. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t
solicited these men or women. They’d come to me. Okay, some of them
I’d solicited. But they’d agreed! I hadn’t
made
them cheat on their spouses,
and I hadn’t made them think about me. Hell, I didn’t even ask to
look the way I did. My life might have been easier if I didn’t look
the way I did. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t one of those “woe is
me, my life is so hard because I’m so pretty, and everyone wants
me” type of people. I was a “woe is me, I’m pretty, and people
think I’m stupid so they take advantage of me and take what they
want from me without my permission” type of people.
When an image of my stepfather rose to
my mind, I shoved it away forcefully and straightened my shoulders
as I walked with Dodger across the lobby towards the lobby
doors.
“
I feel sorry for them.
It’s not my fault,” I said with forced nonchalance. “When my
business is done with a client, I don’t think about them again.
They should be the same way, or at least tell their spouses they
are. It would save me the grief.”
Dodger stopped in the middle of the
lobby and looked down at me. He narrowed his eyes and leaned close,
his voice low and forceful. “Don’t lie to me, Tyler,” he said. “You
can lie to your other clients. You can even lie to yourself. But
don’t ever lie to me. I know you aren’t that heartless and cold. I
know you remember every. Single. One. Of your clients. I know that
some of them haunt you. And I know there’s a part of you—it may be
small, and it may be quiet—but it’s still there, a part of you
wants to go and apologize for causing any grief to those
relationships.”
My eyes widened and I had to stop
myself from taking a step away from Dodger as he practically said
what I’d just been thinking.
“
Who the fuck do you think
you are? You don’t know me.”
Dodger grinned and ran the
backs of his fingers down my cheek. “I know you better than you
think I do, Tyler.” He mumbled something beneath his breath.
Something that sounded suspiciously like
I
always have.
Before he winked at me. “Now,
let’s go to dinner.”
He straightened to his full height and
led me back out of the condominium. My steps matched his, even
though I continued to look at him hesitantly.
I didn’t know who he was. I had no
idea how he knew me as well as he did. But for the first time in my
life, I felt as if my usual tricks, moves, and games weren’t going
to work. Dodger was different. He was unlike any other client I’d
ever had, and that made him dangerous. Not just for my business as
a companion, but for my heart as well.
Chapter Eight
Dodger’s limo came to a stop in front
of a mansion, and my mouth fell open.
No. This wasn’t a mansion. This was a
motherfucking palace in the middle of California. Why didn’t I know
anything about this?
I turned to look at him and then back
out the window.
“
Where are we? What
restaurant is this?” I asked.
“
This isn’t a restaurant,”
he answered me with a chuckle. “It’s my home.”
I gasped. “You live here?” I wanted to
rub my eyes to see if it would disappear, but that wouldn’t be
classy, so instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them
wide. Nope. It was still there.
“
It was my uncle’s place.
When he passed away and left me everything, I just moved in.”
Dodger’s voice sounded pained, as he mentioned his uncle, and I
turned to look at him.
“
I remember hearing about
that. I’m sorry.” And I was. It had been the biggest scandal to hit
the news in decades. Earvin Vanderbrook had been worth $63 billion
when he’d died. And that had just been in liquid assets. He’d had
over $44 billion locked up in properties and investments, so when
it was time to read his will, everyone had been on tenterhooks.
From his trophy wife of five years down to his children, everyone
had been salivating over what the division of his assets would be.
Roxanne Vanderbrook, who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model, but
had in fact been a former Frederick’s of Hollywood model, a
beautiful bit of fluff, twenty-two years to Earvin’s sixty-eight,
had
known
she
would get the bulk of the estate. The newspapers and tabloid rags
had exploded when it had been revealed that she’d been given a
settlement of only $15 million, and Earvin’s “love and affection
for all eternity” since she’d told him that was “all” she’d “ever
want.”
It had been a low blow and very
sneaky, but the ironclad prenuptial Earvin had made his sixth wife
sign had been very detailed, and she hadn’t had a leg to stand on
in court. Which hadn’t made her very happy. So she’d released a
tell-all book, which had done very well for her. She was now
starring on some reality show. I had to admit it was my guilty
pleasure.
Earvin’s children had been a totally
different situation. He’d only had kids with his first wife, who
had died tragically from cancer. His three children had been raised
by Earvin’s second wife who had been an uber-conservative Christian
and had raised Earvin’s children the same way. All three children
had grown up to be intolerant, homophobic, transphobic, borderline
racist, right-wingers who only had time for Earvin when they needed
money. They all married the upper crust of Dallas society, though
Earvin had moved to California with his now third wife, having
divorced his second wife when he found her sleeping with the
pastor. His children decided to stay in Texas with the second wife,
having taken her side in the divorce. Earvin married his fourth
wife three months after his third wife passed away, scandalizing
the Californian high society when he married his former wife’s
niece.
I told Dodger I knew this
much about his family’s story. I mean, it had been in all the
papers and on television. It made no sense for me to try to hide
it, as he helped me from the back of the limo, and I walked beside
him up the paved circular driveway to the seven marble steps that
led to the porch and to the double front doors. I wanted to whistle
at the opulence, but I didn’t. Instead, I squared my shoulders and
walked beside my date… no, my
client
. I couldn’t let myself think
of Dodger as anything other than a client. Otherwise when he paid
me at the end of the night, I would be disappointed and hurt, and I
couldn’t afford that.
I don’t know what I was
expecting when we got to the front door of Dodger’s home. Maybe a
butler to swing the door open and say “Welcome home, Master
Vanderbrook.” Perhaps a line of servants to be standing in the
front entrance to greet us like in
Downton
Abbey
, and yes, I did watch that show
whenever I wasn’t “entertaining.” But whatever I was expecting, it
wasn’t what I got.
Dodger pulled out his keys and
inserted them in the lock on the left door before swinging it open.
He swept out an arm and bowed to me.
“
Welcome to my
somewhat
humble
abode.”
I chuckled and stepped inside. I had
never been inside the Vanderbrook “palace,” obviously. I had barely
moved in the same circles as the mogul, Earvin Vanderbrook. Many of
my clients had dreams of being able to even say hello to the man,
much less to have any type of business dealings with him, so I had
often watched him from afar. I had known Earvin’s fifth wife,
Betsy, a former stripper turned housewife, who was now a
restaurateur. Betsy was the closest I’d ever gotten to Earvin and
then it was only before they were married, when she was still a
stripper, and he’d been a favorite patron. After they’d gotten a
divorce, and he had financed her now-booming, worldwide chain of
restaurants, we’d once again become friends. In spite of my
somewhat controversial status as a companion, Betsy made sure I
could get into any Yeda restaurant in the world, all because I had
been nice to her when she’d still been a stripper. The fact it was
because I had been a low-level prostitute who couldn’t afford
enemies at the time, didn’t seem to matter to her. Betsy was
someone who remembered those who were loyal to her, which meant she
remembered me.
Dodger’s entryway was beautiful. With
beige marble floors and high, dramatic ceilings, I could see four
separate hallways from where we stood, with a long staircase
leading upstairs. I didn’t have a coat for him to take, or for
anyone else for that matter, not that there was anyone there, and I
turned to him when he stepped in behind me and locked the door
behind us.
“
There are five stories,
fifteen bedrooms, twelve-and-a-half bathrooms,” Dodger explained as
he took my hand and walked with me toward the hallway to the right
of the stairs. “A theater room, a library, office inside. Spa,
pool, a prayer garden out back. Two dining rooms, formal and
informal. A formal living room and an informal family room. A
gaming room. A ballroom for parties, and this…”
I gasped when we stepped
into the kitchen, and Dodger turned on the light. I felt as if I
had just stepped into the holiest of holies. It was the mother of
all gourmet kitchens. I stood in the doorway, afraid to breathe
because I didn’t want to dirty any of the gorgeous stainless steel
appliances. Everything was top of the line. There were three double
ovens, a huge island, a six-burner stove. Gorgeous, cherry wood
cabinets that were complemented beautifully by the dark blue walls
of the kitchen and the blue-and-white tiled floors. Pots and pans
hung over the island, and my fingers clenched and unclenched, my
palms itching to get in there and cook. I wanted to create a
masterpiece. I wanted to make…
something
for
someone
. No. Not someone. For
Dodger. I wanted to make something for Dodger. I wanted to see his
eyes close in bliss, as he ate my chicken cacciatore, or watch him
lick the frosting off my red velvet cake from his lips. My cock
hardened behind my zipper, as my mind was flooded with images of
feeding Dodger, of hearing his moans and his exclamations over my
food.
When my stupid, foolish heart, an
organ I was sure had been battered and bruised enough by betrayal
and disappointment, had Stella running into the kitchen asking for
a bite of cake, I slammed the drawbridge on those thoughts quickly
and yanked myself back into the present.
I tore my hand out of Dodger’s grasp
and stepped out of the kitchen, hoping he couldn’t see just how
much I ached to step foot inside of that room with him. That room
was dangerous. This house that felt like a home, even with its
massive size, was dangerous. And Dodger?
Dodger was lethal.
“
Tyler? What’s wrong?”
Dodger asked as he turned toward me.
I smiled at him and shook my head.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Your home is lovely, Dodger. So, are we having
dinner here? Or…” I deliberately let my sentence trail off, as if
the very thought of having dinner in his kitchen, his fabulously
glorious kitchen was unacceptable to me. I watched as Dodger looked
back at the kitchen and then back to me and sighed before he shook
his head.
“
No, we’re having dinner in
the dining room. Come with me.”
“
Splendid.” I tilted my
head, projecting an air of sophistication I really did not feel as
I walked with Dodger down the hallway to the dining room. We passed
what I assumed to be the formal dining room, filled with the
biggest, longest table I’d ever seen, with fancy china already set
in front of every chair, and into another room. In there was a
smaller table, big enough to only seat six. There was a portrait of
Earvin and his first wife on one wall and a black-and-white picture
of Earvin and Dodger on the other. I followed Dodger around the
table to where there were two place mats already laid out, and to
the end of the table where all the food lay, and when I went to sit
in the chair he held out for me, I made the mistake of looking up
at Dodger.