His Sugar Baby

I go downstairs to the locker room, stow my bag and undress to shower off, the sweat grossing me out. A few men greet me, I only nod. I’m not interested in having a conversation while I’m naked. Hell, I’m not much for small talk, dressed or undressed.

Once I’m dressed in the jeans and polo I brought to change into, I check my phone to find the link I was promised. Walking outside I say fuck it and hail a cab to get me home quicker.

At home I make a beeline for my office. I’m typing in my credit card when Alice puts my plate down in front of me. Scrambled egg whites with red and green peppers and wheat toast.

“You’re home early, sir.” Her voice is full of censure. I’m being punished with egg whites.

“I’m only a half hour early. I played a game and ran on the treadmill for thirty minutes. I don’t want egg whites. I want real eggs and bacon and white fucking toast.”

She doesn’t blink. “You’re home early, sir. Eat your eggs.” Without waiting for me to say another word she walks out of my office.

I am firing her. Her voice comes through on the intercom. “Eat your eggs and you’ll get a BLT for lunch.”

Damn her, I press the intercom. “I want french fries with my BLT.”

Alice doesn’t say anything, telling me with silence I’m a pain in her ass. “You’ll get french fries with your BLT.”

Starving, I eat the stupid eggs and toast as I surf the site. It was as bad as I first thought it would be. Almost all of the women were blatantly plastic, the few who weren’t didn’t appeal. The women are listed by most popular, how many clicks their profiles have had.

I’m at page eight before a profile catches my attention. She’s blonde, I don’t really have a preference for blondes or brunettes. What I like is her sense of humor. She makes it clear she’s been doing this for a while and she’s content with her life as it is. Older than the majority, at thirty–two, but closer inspection of the profile picture of her in a very sheer teddy with a thong below, and I’m guessing she shaved off a good five years from her real age. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I consider digging into her, I like digging through the web’s nooks and crannies to find out a person’s history.

Alice sets down a bowl of Greek yogurt and fresh blueberries. “Where’s my granola?”

“You came home early. Granola is full of fat.”

“Alice, if I don’t get some granola with this I swear I’m chucking it out the damned window.”

“We are on the sixty-second floor, your window doesn’t open. Don’t get snippy with me.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.” I mutter.

I catch the clock in the corner of my screen. I’ve been at this for a lot longer than I thought I would be. I need to get to work. Once I decide I want her, I’ll do the digging then. For now, I’m content to see if Crystal is really what I’m looking for.

With a shrug, I send an email asking her out to dinner for the next day. Within ten minutes I have a response. Eight o’clock at a restaurant well-known in the city for their seafood and steak. When I reply I’m looking forward to meeting her, I mean it. Until she sends back a reply of her naked, with the response she’s looking forward to meeting me, too. A bit much, I think as I look at the picture. At least her tits don’t look fake.

Chapter Two

His smile is wide. He’s sure I’ll say yes. Looking down at the barely passable manicure I had given myself for this interview, I should say yes. This is it, I’m down to nine hundred dollars and change in the bank. I won’t be able to make my half of the rent next month. This is my ninth interview since I was fired six months ago.

The only work I had managed to get was doing some part-time off-the-books bookkeeping for my landlord, who didn’t do all the reporting he was supposed to be doing. But his niece was back from her vacation which had included three weeks leading up to her huge wedding and two weeks in Cancun.

I haven’t had a single job offer until today. It’s just a shame it’s not a real job. Carl Winters wants me to fill the role of sugar baby, not assistant firm accountant.

When I walked away from being Frank Capelli’s sugar baby five and a half years ago, I thought I’d left men like Carl behind me. I had no idea Carl owned this company when I applied. I haven’t run into very many people in the financial industry who knew me when I was with Frank.

Until now, the thought of going back to being a sugar baby never crossed my mind. While I’m not ashamed of what I’d done, selling my body, my time, a piece of me in exchange for safety, security, and money, it had been only until I earned my degree. Until I could make something more of myself.

Maybe I haven’t gotten a new job in accounting because I said the wrong thing in my interviews. Or maybe it’s because I can’t imagine anything worse than getting another job in accounting. I have tried, but this isn’t for me. The degree I worked so hard to earn isn’t what I thought it would be.

While I actually consider his offer, I can finally admit I’m miserable working in accounting. So miserable that going back to something I never thought I would do again is far more appealing than another day spent knee deep in spreadsheets. However, if I have to fall back on the one skill I’m good at, selling myself, I won’t sell to Carl Winters with his fake teeth, fake smile, and fake tan. I also won’t be doing it here in Boston. It’s been a nice city to live in, but I’m done here.

“Thanks for the offer, Mr. Winters, no thanks.” I’m out the door as fast as my heels will carry me.

Now that I’ve made my decision, I feel like a weight has fallen off my shoulders. I can finally admit it, really admit it. I fucking hate accounting, all the rows of numbers, the spreadsheets, the formulas, the fear one mistake will undo everything, will fuck up everything. Every morning, when I walked toward my building to go to work, I wanted to keep walking. When I pass it from time to time, I’m filled with relief that I can keep walking.

Letting myself into the apartment I share with a dental hygienist named Robin, who is determined to land herself a dentist, I’m relieved to find she’s not home. In my room, I sigh as I look around. This has been my home since Frank brought me to Boston eight years ago. I love this place, it feels like home.

I had resented the need for a roommate but Frank, understandably, stopped paying the rent when our arrangement ended. Even though he was nice enough to help me get a good job, the rent was too high to handle myself and have money left over for groceries. I was lucky though, Robin had become more than a roommate. She’s my best friend.