Page 32 of Wells

"Fantastic," I say with a fake smile. I just want him to leave. "That's great."

"It is."

My chest tightens for a different reason now, something steadier than the heat between my legs. His words are few, but this is real validation of my actual skill, my actual work, not the mask or the wig or the version of myself I package for men who pay.

I nod once because if I say too much, he will know it matters.

Wells shifts his weight off the desk and straightens. I think he's leaving. Please God, let him leave. But he doesn't leave.

"Ridge asked me to work on something last week. It just occurred to me it's something you could help me with."

And there it is, the other shoe. "Okay. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"A shipping partner out of Rotterdam wants proof of our operational visibility before they commit. They need something polished, something that shows we can track a container from origin to delivery without guesswork and without exposing sensitive information."

"Okay. How can I help?"

"Ridge wants me to build a website to showcase our cyber abilities and showcase some of what I can do. He thinks that will be more effective than a simple slide show. Something they can click through on their own."

"That's easy. I can help with that."

"It's due Monday."

My stomach drops.

"As in three days, this Monday?"

"Yes."

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. The movement pulls my shirt tighter across my chest, and Wells's eyes don't flicker. He doesn't even take a glance, which should be reassuring, but instead annoys the shit out of me. Apparently, I want him to notice, and also I absolutely do not want him to notice.

"What's the deliverable? And what have you done so far on it?"

"An interactive web page with a live data feed, if we can build it in that short of a time. I've only pulled the data, so not much on the deliverable side."

"That's not a lot of time. Why did you sit on it so long?"

"No, it's not. Because that's what I do."

Wells pulls his phone from his pocket and taps the screen twice. My phone vibrates on the desk. I glance down at a calendar invite for Friday, six p.m. to midnight.

"You want me here tonight?"

"Yes."

He looks at me directly, and my body decides this is the perfect moment to remind me I'm still wet.

"You'll be paid above your salary for this. It's a bonus project, and I acknowledge it's the weekend."

Relief would be the reasonable response. Money is the thing I need most right now. What actually moves through me is a wry twist in my gut, because this is almost funny.

Here's another man paying for my time.

Different work in a different room, but the structure underneath is the same. He wants something, I provide it, money changes hands. At least this time I'll keep my clothes on.

"Okay. I'm in."

Wells nods once.