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So trying again, I go for it this time. Cocking my hip to the right, I perch one hand on my waist and slap a winning smile on my face. It feels weird for sure. This isn’t me. I’m not a girl who takes sexy selfies, and my t-shirt and shorts are testament to that. Truly sexy ladies probably wear all sorts of lace and fripperies, making sure key body parts are highlighted.
But I am what I am. So smiling, I snap a photo, and it turns out okay. It’s me for sure. The same big brown eyes that look back each morning. The same voluptuous body, even if I’m wearing casual clothes. The same innocent look that’s always there, day in and day out.
Because hoochiness isn’t my thing. Nothing against the hoochy girls, I love ladies who own it. But me? I’m a big nerd, and it’s impossible to hide. This pic is the best I can do, even if it’s me posing in the bathroom with a big, silly grin on my face.
So sighing, I upload it to the site. That should be enough right? They’ve got my vital stats plus a pic. I’m real, not a robot. But when I click “finish,” the laptop stutters because there’s an essay to write. What in the world? Why would Sugar Babiez require an essay?
I decide to scribble just a few sentences.
Cute girl, looking for a man who knows himself. Contact me now!
There’s a long box that I could fill in with ramblings about this and that, but no way. I’m not writing anymore, and I’m certainly not going to add heart emojis and pictures of kissing lips. I’m eighteen. It’s time to move on. And resolutely clicking submit, the profile disappears, a thank you confirmation popping on screen. It’s done now.
Besides, this was just a joke. My photo won’t get anyone’s attention, that’s foolish thinking. There are so many pretty girls out there, and I’m just plain old me. Carrie with the wild brown curls, the one with a kind smile for everyone. The older sister who takes care of her younger sibling. The one who struggles at school because there aren’t enough hours in a day between managing my studies, my sister and my parents.
And even if you gave me lessons on how to seduce a man, I still wouldn’t know. Because the crazy part is that I’m a virgin. I’m on a site for sugar babies, and yet I’ve never been touched by a man. I’ve never felt a male deep inside, or even really kissed someone for that matter.
So was this insane? Yes.
Was my profile a little misleading? Probably.
Was anyone gonna reply? Definitely not.
Because they can tell, I’m sure. The men can see the innocence, the way that I smiled goofily, beaming with hope. So what am I doing? Why am I doing this? It’s supposed to be for my family, but this bad idea is just getting worse.
It doesn’t matter. No one’s gonna be interested, so there’s no sense in worrying anymore. And with that, I turn back to my paper, banishing the thought of sugar daddies from my head. It was just a whim … and it’s time to get back to work.
CHAPTER TWO
Mason
“That sounds great, sir! I’ll get right on it!” My newly hired IT manager nods before walking away.
We’ve just finished up a meeting to lay the plan for the following week. There’s a lot that needs to be updated on our website and social media accounts for the grand opening of my new hotel in Paris. It’s my eighth location in Europe, and forty-second structure overall.
Because I’m a hotel magnate. I’ve been doing this shit since forever. At first, I was just the electrician. But slowly the ladder unfurled and I rose to foreman, then general contractor. And it kept going and going. Now I’m a developer of billion-dollar properties, high-end luxury apartments, six-star hotels, you name it.
And this Paris site has been in the works for a decade, so the conclusion feels good. To the public, it’s a grand opening. But for me, it’s the culmination of years of hard work, not to mention swinging things this way and that with the right government agencies, city councilmen, community groups, you name it. So things better roll out smooth, given what we’ve put into this effort. Besides, if it’s got the Mason Channing name attached, people expect a certain level of luxury and class, and I always deliver.
My assistant ordered a steak dinner, assuming I’ll be working late. Business as usual. Another week where the hours aren’t enough, the days flying by. There’s so much to get done that I might as well move right into my office. After all, I have my own private bathroom, a closet full of suits, and even a bed in the large atrium to the side.
