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He has me for the hour. Fifty-seven minutes remain on the clock. I’m supposed to ask questions, but he’s already told me what I need to know, and the rest will hardly take that long.
“Ah, yeah…” he sighs. “You know I have a thing for the crazy ones.”
I didn’t know, but he pushes my head lower regardless.
“They’re always the best in the sack,” he says, and I get it. What he really means is he prefers his women with their self-esteem so far in the shitter they’ll turn themselves inside out to please him. It’s the dog and pony show he craves. And when he can’t find it easily or when the chase stops being fun, he’s willing to pay for it. That’s where I come in.
The thing about crazy is that it’s great until it isn’t. He has no idea how far crazy can take things. Not really.
Whatever. If crazy is what he wants then crazy is what he’ll get.
It goes quicker that way.
In any case, blow jobs are pretty standard.
You’d be amazed at all of the things you can work out in your head in the time it takes to pull off crazy.
Things like the location of his wallet, his phone, the right angle to position yourself so as not to obstruct the camera he doesn’t know about. Things like not breaking the fourth wall no matter how much you really, really want to.
He twists his fingers in my hair, shoulder length and brown. For now. He moans. I look up at him, my eyes wide and restless. “You’re so big,” I say. That’s who I am for this occasion.
He meets my eye but only for a moment. “You’re good,” he tells me before throwing his head back and settling in.
His phone is on the nightstand, the hidden camera opposite the bed. That’s how good I am. That’s where my eyes go. His are closed, for the record. Not that it matters.
I scale back. Fumble a little. If I’m too proficient, he might become a regular, and I’ve already decided. I didn’t like the look of him the moment he opened the door.
Chapter Two
Elliot
The sun also shines on the wicked. Seneca said that. Well, it’s not shining in here, that’s for sure. It is a great thing to know the season for speech and the season for silence. Maybe he said that, too. At the moment, I can’t recall.
“How’s it feel to be the man?” my dinner guest inquires.
He doesn’t even have to open his mouth for me to realize this was a bad idea. But that doesn’t stop him from doing it anyway.
I glance around the restaurant. I don’t love much, but, I love this place. It feels different with him in it. I wanted the home field advantage. It wouldn’t have mattered. “It’s not a done deal yet,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah,” he slurs. “I hear you—not counting your chickens before they hatch and all…I get it. Need I remind you again? This deal is going to make you a very rich man.”
“I’m already a rich man, Foster. What you mean is that it’s going to make you rich.”
His eyes shine, wicked little brown things that they are. He lifts his glass in salute. I’d guess his blood alcohol level surpassed the legal limit a drink and a half ago. “That it is, my friend.”
I’m not touching that one. The first invention made by humans was language; the second was lying. Nathan isn’t my friend. He’s my attorney.
He fills the silence by ordering another round. My watch reads 10:48 p.m. Nathan stretches dramatically. “This is going to change your life.”
He says it as if I don’t already know.
“Just one more,” he urges, when he sees me glancing at the time. “To celebrate.”
I’m not celebrating. But, for reasons I can’t understand, other than not wanting to be alone with so much on my mind, I indulge him. It helps that there’s a beautiful blonde seated at the bar. A welcome distraction, said Nathan when he first noticed my attention on her.
“You want that,” he assures me now. Maybe it’s meant to be a question. It sounds like a statement. “Just imagine. Once you sign, with that kind of net worth, you can have anything you want.”
“So I’ve heard.”
