Sugar

Once Lucy understood the objective, and we got the ball rolling, I returned to fantasizing about Avery. I imagined her toned body and blonde hair. She’d be wrapped in my sheets come Sunday morning. I didn’t care if that made for an awkward workweek afterward. I needed to have her, and I wasn’t going to stop obsessing until I did.

3

Avery

I stared through the tinted window of Christopher’s Porsche, admiring the brick homes towering down Society Hill. I live here. The thought never got old.

The exquisitely maintained townhomes along Delancey Street were so picturesque, day or night, with their high gloss painted shutters and waving American flags. Sometimes I felt as if I’d been transplanted from a government crisis into a Norman Rockwell centerfold.

“Can I walk you up?”

My gaze drifted from the handsome road dotted by antique streetlamps to rest on my date’s hopeful smile. He behaved like a gentleman, but I suspected others often missed his softer sides. Disinterested in what hid under that designer suit, and fully aware of the wedding ring on his finger, I played the sweet innocent who always abided the rules.

A polite smile softened my eyes. I couldn’t wait to wash off the ten pounds of mascara weighing down my lashes.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to trouble you. Parking’s a nightmare, and it’s only a short walk to my door.”

“I don’t mind. I’m sure I can find a spot nearby.”

Keeping my expression friendly, I noted the non-verbal invitation he fished for, careful not to fall for the bait. He would park, walk me to my door, try for a kiss, and use his best moves to secure an invitation inside. If I were privy to his imagination, there would be some pretty intense petting that would undoubtedly lead to sex. But that wasn’t our arrangement, and I remained unshakably grounded in my own mind, which only entertained fantasies motivated by my own personal benefit.

“Christopher,” I said gently, brushing my fingertips over the back of his hand. “You know that’s not how this works.”

“Maybe we should renegotiate our arrangement.”

Maybe we should, but I wasn’t a fool, and I never agreed to anything after cocktails or midnight. “We could, but I think that’s a conversation best had in the light of day.”

By then he’d reconsider because everything came with a price and I’d yet to appraise the true cost of my dignity. Chances were, no matter how rich the client, none of them could afford the whole package. My heart wasn’t for sale.

Appearing to accept I wasn’t going to budge, he eased back in the driver’s seat, out of my personal space. “I’ll call you.”

“I hope you do. Tonight was wonderful. Thank you.” Only because I rejected him did I press a kiss to his jaw, a consolation he wasn’t used to receiving from me. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

So thoughtful.

I exited the car and pulled my wrap over my shoulders. The air held a chill for mid-autumn, and I longed to strip out of this dress, and these five-inch heels then snuggle into my fuzzy slippers and sweats.

As the doorman greeted me, I glanced back to give Christopher a wave, sighing as he pulled away. Some nights were more exhausting than others, but the perks of my job always far outweighed the drawbacks.

On the elevator to the third floor, my finger slipped into my wristlet to glide along a crisp envelope. Whoever said cash was cold comfort didn’t understand the warmth of a renovated eighteenth-century gas fireplace or eight hundred thread count sheets.

I wasn’t a snob. Snobs didn’t appreciate the finer things. I appreciated every luxury I came by, each one a jagged reminder of where I’d been.

This envelope, like several others that came before, would go home to Blackwater—another consolation to make up for my recent avoidance. My mother would be satisfied with the money and forgive me for not calling as much as I probably should.

Stepping onto the ivory tile of the third floor, I gasped as my foot slipped and my ankle twisted painfully. A quick pinch shot through my heel and my little purse flung from my hand. I went down with the grace of an antelope attacked on the nature channel.

The cold tile floor smacked against my knees and palms as I caught my weight and my arms and legs sprawled inelegantly. Of course, the door across from mine opened.

“Jesus, are you all right?”

Large, masculine, bare feet stepped into my line of vision, and I quickly swiveled to sit. I slipped my heels off, struggling to stand without exposing any concealed body parts.

“My shoe broke.” I stood, applying too much pressure to my ankle and hissed with pain as I lost my balance.

“Careful.” A large hand gripped my elbow and steadied me, jolting my body with an almost electric shock as my eyes lifted and stared into his.