Billionaire's Escort

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Shit, I’m just fucking with you. You raking in the cash faster than I can spend it.”

“Thanks.” I kept my eyes on the floor so I didn’t have to look at him.

“You’re working it. It’s that magic pussy.” His eyes rested right between my thighs. It felt like a cockroach falling down my chest. I tensed up.

“You got yourself another client,” Tony said.

“Really?” I met his eyes.

“Uh-huh. They want you there in an hour. You’d better go get yourself cleaned up.”

“Oh, really? You don’t think I look good in this?” I spread my arms to give him a look. He nodded and smiled. “Yeah?” I stood up, bit my finger, and took a step closer. “You like this?”

“Yeah, mama, I love it.” He grabbed his crotch.

I kicked his chair, and he fell off the back, straight on his ass.

“What are you doing?” he cried.

“I’m not working with any other clients, asshole,” I snapped, fuming. I had already made this clear to him.

He looked up at me dumbly from the floor. “You’ll work with whoever I say, ho.”

“Fuck this,” I said. “We’re done. I quit.”

I turned to leave. He lunged forward and tried to grab my ankle. I kicked him right in the nose, and he shrieked in pain.

“That’s all you get,” I spat and walked out.

Chapter 23

Jake

Montenegros was the kind of place that everyone wanted to go to. It had the right look, with bare brick walls and white globe lights hanging up around the room. It was nothing special, just overpriced pasta and sandwiches with trendy ingredients. I had a booth set up in back for business lunches, so I could take clients out.

We were opening up a chain of restaurants in Japan. They had a new trend where they embedded deep-fryers in the tables and brought out platters of meat, so you could batter and fry individual pieces. It was impossible in America. They wouldn’t have allowed it, and I was concerned with the health risks. Somebody was going to get hurt, but it was taking off in Kyoto, so the board sent me out to speak with the owner of a small chain.

I could see him coming in the front door, wearing a sleek black and white suit, hair parted to the side. He carried a briefcase. He was young, stuffy, and looked around the room as if something smelled. I liked the idea that he was uncomfortable.

When he caught my eye, he moved past the podium and walked back to where I was seated. He moved slowly. I could tell he was waiting for me to stand up, bow and lick his shoes, but I’d learned a long time ago that avoiding all that would catch him off guard, so I waved.

He balked, just enough that I could barely notice, then moved faster to take a seat. “Are you Mr. Ryan?” He reached out a stiff hand for me to shake it. I motioned for him to sit down.

“Sato, right?” I knew exactly how to address him.

“Sato-sama, yes.” He pulled his hand back awkwardly and sat down.

“Sato-san?”

“Sama,” he corrected. ‘San’ was too casual for business meetings.

“So.” I waved my hand across the table. “What do you have for me?” A completely disarming question.

“I, uh,” he stammered. He lifted his briefcase on the table and opened it to pull out his laptop. “I have six restaurants in Kyoto.”

“Right.” I nodded. “How much are you making?”