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“Says the shareholders. Says everyone.”
Landscape whisks by. I see only red. “I’m not going to let my company—the company I built— be taken from me.”
“I’m sorry, man,” he quips as he flips on his blinker. “I’m just the messenger.”
I only go down to the restaurant in the hopes that the prostitute might be there. I’m not hungry, and this day has been a shit show, so if I can find sex easily, it might be possible for some sort of redemption. As it turns out, I am in luck.
“You,” I say when I see her seated at the bar. I don’t think I should be glad to see her, but that doesn’t stop me. It’s refreshing to see someone so much like my Emily only without the resistance. I realized something sitting in that holding cell today. She’s right. Not only do I pay for sex, it’s worse—I’ve paid for love.
Finally, she turns, and for a second I almost think I’m mistaken. She looks different than before. Older. Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint what the difference is, only that it’s there. “You.”
I edge in beside her and lean into the bar. “I know your name isn’t Amanda.”
“You’re right,” she answers solemnly. “It isn’t.”
“It’s okay that you’re a liar,” I tell her. “I assume it comes with the territory.”
“More than you know,” she says, and I see what it is now: her face is bruised, and she’s attempted to cover it up with makeup.
“So what is it then, your name?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
I give her a once-over. “Can I have a little time to decide?”
She smiles. “I have an hour.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vanessa
It’s hard to ever really know what the real game plan will be when it comes to reeling someone in, until you come face-to-face. That’s chemistry for you. My first and my second impression of Elliot Parker are different from what I’d gathered from Marcia Louis. But not by much.
My assumption was that he’d be dominating and rough— the type to demand control— at least in the sack… especially in the sack. He was neither, exactly. He was difficult to get a read on is what he was. That’s the best way I know to describe him.
I know my husband and Adam and the Men’s Alliance as a whole. I know I’m going to have to find my angle, and quickly. They will want results.
It’d help if they’d given me something to go on. They don’t like to make things too easy where I’m concerned. Unfortunately, the mark doesn’t have a huge footprint online, and so far, what I’ve gleaned doesn’t amount to much. I know he has a wife, and I know he owns a company. He has an apartment where there are no signs of either.
I get the sense that he doesn’t play well with others, but if the situation suits his needs, he’s willing to act the part. I can see it’s going to be tricky to get this brand of seduction just right. But that’s okay. It’s my favorite kind. Elliot’s type typically doesn’t make for an easy job. When a person hardly likes themselves, it’s hard for them to fall for anyone else. But if and when they do? Watch out.
I have been careful. I was aware he wanted to see me again; he was at least forthcoming about that. It would have been easy to give in…tempting, even. But to go back to the restaurant too soon would have been a mistake in the long run, and that’s always where my focus needs to be: the long run.
I could see he was feeling me out, testing where I might give in. I may charge by the hour, but if I make things too easy for him, it will lose its effect. Letting my appeal and the novelty of the situation wane has to be avoided at all costs, no matter how long the rest takes.
Early indications suggest landing the mark will take several encounters—three to four at minimum, and likely closer to six or so. I haven’t gotten the impression Mr. Parker is a prime candidate for blackmail, nor do I get the sense that he’d be open to joining the church. So exactly what the New Hope leaders want me to extract from him, I haven’t yet figured out. That’s okay. Sometimes it’s better to go in blind. It heightens the senses, immerses you in the discovery. It makes it seem real.
I have come to the restaurant in Elliot Parker’s building on the business of research. It isn’t the worst place I’ve had to set up shop. But it’s not the best, either. It’s dark and noisy, shallow and brimming with people. It’s equally distracting and suffocating and not even for the same reasons.
It’s too bad my mark isn’t more interested in hanging out somewhere quieter. Somewhere like the library. Or in nature. But I digress.
Sipping my wine slowly, I remind myself that seduction is a time-consuming endeavor. The people in charge, the people that set my schedule, understand this the least. They’re like most everyone. They want what they want, and they want it now. Seduction doesn’t work that way. Not if you plan to succeed. If that’s the goal, you can’t be average. You have to be different; you have to be better. You can’t play this game like a novice. Not with the flavor I target. To put it nicely, the church isn’t interested in mediocrity. What they are interested in is recruiting high-profile, high-income members. And of course, all that those things bring.
The assignment tonight is set to work like any initial job: coax Mr. Parker into a precarious position and dig up dirt where I can. Get photographic evidence. The kind he wouldn’t want anyone else to see. Send it to Adam’s assistant.
Once I have obtained something the church deems sufficient, the instructions are clear: extract myself from the situation quickly, unless I am notified otherwise. If ghosting doesn’t do the trick, Plan B is to do the opposite of what I did in the seduction phase. Most often it’s a simple solution of adding to the mark’s sense of responsibility and becoming too easy. It’s not hard to make a person sick of you, if you’re willing to be needy enough.
Humans are predictable. People desire that which comes easily only to the extent that it benefits them. When something becomes more work than its perceived value, that’s when they’re out.
