Sean toweled off his wet shirtsleeves. The cool little lobby quickly chilled his damp skin, making the once-welcomed AC now a bit uncomfortable.
He knew his face had to be three shades of red. He took the towel, draped it over his shoulders, and concentrated again on the strange application. As he did his best to fill in the blanks, his mind wondered what kind of woman would ask these types of questions. For Christ’s sake, she wanted to know if he’d ever sucked off a dude.
What the fuck? Have you ever made love in a swimming pool? No. Have you ever had sex in public? No. Have you ever had sex with someone else’s spouse? No. What is your most secret fantasy? Like I’d really write that down!
Sean looked up from the clipboard. Ron was filling the coffeepot sitting on one of the tables. He wanted to run like hell. What in the fuck had he gotten himself into? He set the clipboard and pen on the sofa.
“Are you done?” The big guy’s smile was genuine. He seemed like a really cool guy. Honest, nice people were a rare commodity, and Ron fit that bill.
“Um, a few more questions to go.” He picked up the application.
“Great. Want some coffee? It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
Sean felt his heart thundering under his skin. He definitely didn’t need the caffeine. “Thanks, but no.”
That easy smile crossed Ron’s face again, making Sean feel more at ease. “Okay.”
Sean finished the paperwork as best he could. There were some things he just couldn’t bring himself to put to paper. He’d had enough of his privacy stolen over the years. He was militant about protecting it now. The porn queen was going to have to live with the answers he was willing to give. He got up and handed the clipboard to Ron.
“Thanks, man,” Ron said.
“You ready?”
Sean tossed the towel onto the sofa. “Yeah.”
Chapter Two
“Abigail Swanson, this is Sean Drennan.”
Ron introduced him like it was a legitimate interview, like he wasn’t standing there in the spacious office applying for a job in porn. It felt weird.
“He’s finished the application. We’ll do the rest after he’s done with you.”
Sean extended his hand and was quickly greeted with a sweet smile. An innocent, full pair of lips parted to reveal white teeth beneath. Had he ever seen a sweeter smile?
Not one focused in my direction.
She took his hand into her soft grip. “Mr. Drennan, it’s nice to finally meet you. Ron has told me a lot about you.”
He has? Like what, the size of my dick or how many reps I can do on the trap bar?
He knew his hand lingered too long, but God, she was fucking with his head. Abigail Swanson was supposed to be a porno filmmaker, one of those dirty women wearing black latex and carrying a riding crop. A Jenna Jameson or Heidi Fleiss.
The woman standing behind the metal desk was no Jenna and definitely no Heidi. She was apple pie and pompoms. She was the girl who wouldn’t have given him the time of day in high school.
She’s a sly-look-and-run-away, just like the woman in the café. Only ten times hotter.
The long auburn waves hung past her shoulders, and that shirt…
Betty Boop, really? And jeans?
He wasn’t complaining. They hugged her full curves. He’d been so used to the gym girls he’d forgotten what real women looked like. They looked like Abigail Swanson.
Think, dumbass!
“Sorry I’m late, Ms. Swanson.” He let her soft skin slide across his palm as she released his hand. The loss was instant.
“It’s all right. The rain was coming down pretty hard. I’m sure the drive took a while. Please.” She motioned to the wingback chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”
Sean swiped his gaze over the room. It was decorated like the lobby, only more spacious… and with more plants. He wanted to smile. The air carried a hint of something spicy, exotic. Incense, he concluded when he glanced over to see the ceramic Buddha holding the thin stick. Filmy curls of smoke waved up only to disappear. It was massage-parlor-meets-boardroom.
Ron handed her his application. “I can fax a résumé over.” They both stared at him as if he’d spoken Vulcan. “I mean, if you want it.”
Ron grinned. “And what kind of qualifications would we find on that resume, Sean?”
The guy was fucking with him. He felt like an ass. Of course they didn’t want to hear about his internships and degree qualifications. There was only one requirement for this job, and it sure as hell wasn’t listed under the achievement section on his résumé.
“Right.” Sean decided to shut his mouth and stick to just answering their questions.
“Ron, could you shut the door on your way out?” Abigail’s expression was neutral as she continued to flip through the pages of his application.
“Sure you don’t want any coffee?” Ron asked.
Sean readjusted in the seat. The chair felt too small. “No, thanks.”
Ron left, leaving behind a room full of silence. Sean waited for her to read through the application and drop the bomb that he’d heard so many times before.
“I see you left the fetishes section blank.” She finally looked up at him. Her gaze flitted to the computer screen, then back again. “Is there a reason why?”
Sean wanted to swallow his tongue. That section was on the next-to-last page. That meant she’d already read his answer to the
have you ever been in jail
question. He’d been incarcerated, and she chose to ask him about his lack of fetishes? He didn’t know what to say. He decided to treat the conversation like one of the million other interviews he’d been on over the last year.
“I don’t have any fetishes, but I’m open to new experiences.”
Good answer.
“I see. So you don’t prefer blondes to brunettes. How about voyeurism to exhibitionism?”
What to what?
“I like to watch women swim in the nude. Does that count?”
He didn’t smile until she did. Her lips parted like a blossoming rose.
“Of course watching women swim naked would count. It’s rather vanilla, but it counts just as much as a man who enjoys watching a woman smoke a cigar. It’s all relevant to the one with the fantasy. Do you have a preference for skinny women or full-figured women?”
“Men like that, watching women smoke cigars? I have a preference, I guess, but it wouldn’t interfere with me performing my job.”
By the way she ignored his answer, she didn’t seem too happy with his response. “Sure, men and women like a lot of things, even smoking cigars. We’re here to provide a visual experience of their fantasies. Has Ron filled you in on what Fantasy Emporium really is?”
Sean thought about it. No, he hadn’t. All Ron had said was that he had what the company was looking for, and he could make some fast cash doing porn films. He didn’t want to sound like he hadn’t done his research, but he hadn’t done his research. “Yeah. Yes. He told me the company makes pornographic films.”
By the way she lifted her eyebrows, he knew she’d caught him bullshitting. “Come here.” Sean leaned against the edge of the desk as she turned the computer screen so he could see it. Her nimble fingers flew over the keys. Her fingernails weren’t the ones with the white tips. All the women who talked to him had fake fingernails, fake tans, and fake tits too. The chipped pink nail polish made his stomach do something weird.
“This, Mr. Drennan, is Fantasy Emporium.”
Sean pulled his attention to the computer. The lavish colors flowed across the screen. The tabs were gold-colored with intricate scrollwork laced throughout the page.
“It’s a Web site designed for custom pornography. See here?” She moved the cursor over the
sign in
tab. “First, the client must create an account. After that, they can go to the site and simply sign in and begin their adventure. Everything is kept confidential. They pay with a PayPal account or credit card. The information is secure. My clients can order with the utmost discretion. We have many clients from all over the world.”
He was kicking himself in the ass for not checking out the Web site sooner. The decision to take Ron up on his offer was last minute. He’d gotten the bill for his tuition and made a rash decision. His bank account was almost in the negative, and the tank in his truck was on E. Either he could put gas in the truck to get to the rec center to meet with the guys, or he could eat for the next few days. The tank was now half full, and he drank the last of the milk with the last of the cereal this morning. He hadn’t even thought about checking out the Web site. Just chalk it up to another one of his bonehead moves.
“Okay.” What else was he supposed to say?
Her eyes shot up. “Okay? It’s more than okay.”
So was the color of her eyes. Blue. Not just any blue, but blue like a summer sky. He gave her a sharp nod. She filled in the two slender boxes, and the screen changed. “They can click here to see the cast, or performers, as we call them. Those are the men and women who the client can choose from to star in their videos. The price of the video goes up with each additional performer they pick. Like, here.” She moved the curser over
cast
and clicked the black mouse.
A new screen popped up. The couple on the business card Ron had given him was on the screen. One side was labeled
women
and the other
men
. She slid the mouse, and over a dozen pictures popped up. The women were diverse. Every type of woman was represented right there for the clients to choose from.
“I appreciate that you’ll be able to perform no matter what your preference is, but it makes for a hotter scene if you connect with someone you’re attracted to. So what is your preference?” She asked the question like she wanted to know if he wanted white or wheat.
“Um, I’m not sure if I want to answer that.”
You. What the fuck?
“Well, you’d be expected to be with all kinds of women.” She started to pick at the chipped pink fingernail polish. “Or men.”
Hell to the no!
“Wait, Ron didn’t say anything about—”
“Calm down, Mr. Drennan. You can turn down any request. If you don’t prefer to be with men, then you simply say no. I
will
tell you that each job pays the same. Couple sex, I mean, whether you’re with one woman or one man. There’s no higher price for same-sex arrangements. The big bucks come in for group scenes and anal.”
God, was this woman real? She spoke filth with the ease of the businessmen he’d interviewed with. Tax credits versus anal sex. Capital investment versus a blowjob. Abigail Swanson was a businesswoman, plain and simple.
“If we come to an arrangement and you sign a contract with us, I’d like for you to familiarize yourself with the site. You can set up an account. We offer a thirty percent discount to employees.” Sean wanted to laugh but thought better of it. She looked so serious. “There’s a section for toys and supplies. Some of our clients like to order accessories to go along with their videos.”
He leaned back into the chair. “Okay.”
“Now, I see here you…” She flipped through a couple of the pages.
Here it comes. The question. Get ready, dickhead, to explain yourself right out of the job again
. She continued without looking up from his application. “You listed one of your hobbies as working out.”
Her bright gaze tilted just slightly to take him in. There it was—the familiar look. This woman was no different from the others. He had to give her credit. It had taken her longer than most to give his body the once-over.
“Yeah, I work out about four or five times a week.”
“Uh-huh, and you checked the single box?”
Now she looked at him full-on. “Yes.”
Blink, blink. The dark crescents of her lashes almost reached her pale cheeks. Well, her now blushing cheeks. He might have become a hardened asshole at a young age, but he wasn’t heartless. Not yet anyway. She was embarrassed and so fucking cute. The woman sitting on the other side of the desk might as well have been sitting on the other side of the world. She was way out of his league.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
Was she serious? “What kind of things will I be expected to do? How much money will I get paid? Will my picture be on the Web site like the others? How do I get chosen to do a video?”
She started to fiddle with the edge of the paper. Her once confident stare shifted back to the computer screen, then to some far-off point behind him.
“Um, you’ll only have to take part in the things you’re comfortable with. Your income from each video will range from $500 to $2,000 depending on the scene. And, yes, you will have your picture on the Web site with a small profile of information, your likes and hobbies. Things like that. It makes the client feel like you’re his or her personal actor. They like that.”
Sean sighed. God, the money sounded great.
The sound of Abigail clearing her throat made him look up, “If you’d like, Ron can give you a tour and show you how it works. The interview actually progresses. You were honest on your application, and I appreciated how you tried your best to answer all the questions. I know some of them are a bit out there. Most of the people who come in here put down some interesting answers, but yours seem genuine. So you passed the application section. That’s the first part of the interview process. Since you passed the first part, you get to go on the tour. Then, well…we’ll discuss that part when we get to it.”
“I passed the first part?”
“You sound surprised.” The blush skating across her cheeks glowed like hot embers.
Pretty
. “Yes, you passed this part of the interview.” She scooted the chair back and walked around the desk.
What did he have to lose? He stood up. “Can I ask you another question?”
She stopped beside him. Sean noticed her cute bright red toenails. The faded jeans fit her snugly in all the right places. Thick thighs, slightly rounded belly. God, he could fall asleep next to that.
Whose fucking head are you in? Get your shit together, Drennan!
“Sure,” she said.
“What do most people ask for? I mean, what kind of videos?”
He followed her to the doorway. “Honestly, not as much sex as you’d think. Mostly, they want to see intimacy on the screen. They want that part of the fantasy they lack at home, a glance, that first conversation, the magical moment just before a kiss.”