“No.”

“Where he lives?”

He spread his hands. “New York, some of the time. I don’t know any more than that. I told you, I don’t even know his real name. He pays me from a business account.”

“What kind of business?”

“Taunt, Incorporated. It’s a dummy account, as the name suggests.”

I blew out a breath and rested my head on my hand. “It’s so weird. Most of them are proud of what they do. Most of them want me to know who they are, how rich and powerful they are, even the ones who want me to spank them and make them stand in the corner.”

Henry leaned closer to me. “Why does it matter so much to you? You’re not supposed to know anything aside from the client’s first name, and you know why.”

Agency rules, so we wouldn’t be tempted to contact clients outside of work. Bad for business. Bad for security. Bad for commissions.

“That’s not why I want to find out more about him,” I said. “I’d never cut you out after all you’ve done for me.”

“I know. But that’s not the only issue.”

He stared at me hard. We could have whole conversations without talking. Clients are clients. The relationship ends when they walk out the door. Don’t think of them as anything more than a business transaction. Don’t try to get too close to them.

Don’t ever, ever fall in love.

“It’s because he’s so different from the rest of them,” I said. “A mystery. I’ve dated him three times and I still don’t know what he looks like. But now, I guess I’ll get to see what he looks like. A perk of going exclusive.”

“I’m dying to know what he looks like,” he said, taking a swig of his drink. “You have to call me right after your date. I hope he’s not a gorilla.”

“He might be.”

Henry laughed. He used to be a very successful gigolo. His laugh made women’s vaginas wet. Not mine, of course. Henry was my boss. A sexy boss, but still.

“If you find out his real name at some point, will you tell me?” I asked. “I won’t tell him you told me.”

“He’ll tell you himself one day, if he wants to. Otherwise, don’t worry about it. I extra-checked that there wasn’t something deeper going on with him. He’s safe. His privacy…”

He paused.

“What? What do you know about him?” I begged. “Just tell me. Give me one fucking scrap. I’m the one who has to date him, and in three dates, I’ve had his cock up my ass twice. Not a small cock either. Spill it.”

He held up a finger. “I’ll tell you this one thing. His desire for privacy isn’t based on necessity. He’s not a public figure or a celebrity. He’s not in hiding, or running from the law. He’s not a secret agent.”

I thought to myself that he would make a pretty good secret agent. He was great at torture. “Darn,” I joked. “So he’s not dangerous at all?”

“He’s not dangerous at all,” Henry confirmed. “And that’s all I’m telling you about the mysterious Mr. Cumming.”

I shot him a side-eye. “But…do you know more?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You’re an asshole sometimes.”

“That’s probably true, but you need me if you’re going to work. And as you know, this dude’s not going to stick around forever. All men get tired of the thing they have, and want some new thing. He’ll eventually move on, and take his money and his secrecy with him, and oh, how we’ll miss it.” He reached out to stroke my arm. “So string him along for as long as you can. You’re making a lot of bank right now. Don’t fret about who he is, or why he’s the way he is. Just be sexy, pretty Miss Kitty. Meow.”

“He knows my real name is Chere.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “I never told him.”

“I told him. I don’t know why.” I confessed it to Henry because he might eventually find out, and it was against agency rules to share our real names. “He asked me in such a demanding, scary way. It blurted out of my mouth. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t tell him your last name?”

“No.”

“Or anything else about yourself? Where you live? Simon’s name?”

“No. Of course not.” I didn’t mention that W probably had all that information from looking at my phone. Henry was the one who had okayed the blindfold. I also chose not to mention the bondage. That wasn’t allowed either, except with established clients and Henry’s express permission. This whole conversation was making me feel sneaky and defensive. I’d never broken any of Henry’s rules before now.

“He hated the name Miss Kitty,” I said, as an excuse. “He hates fake stuff.”

Henry’s expression lost some of its warmth as his gaze bore into me. “Everything between the two of you needs to be fake. The escort-client relationship is fake. Don’t ever forget that, love.”

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