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My head literally rolls back as I read her response. Can she really be that innocent? She’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever met on this website. The girl’s obviously a novice, asking something like, “Are you there?”
Shit, what do I do now?
Do I make some small talk, like this is a date?
Or should I go for the kill immediately?
The answer’s obvious. This is a sugar baby website. We’re here for only one reason. So I decide to stick it to her, right here, right now.
Hey sweet thing –
I’m here. Wanna grab dinner tomorrow night? We’ll work out the details then, but here’s a teaser. $5K every month for your services. Interested?
AlphaCEO
The corners of my lips curl up as I press send. Because what girl is gonna say no? No female can resist the temptation of five thousand a month. Shit, that’s a nice salary, even if she works for it on her back. My erection’s painful, pressing tightly against my crotch. Fuck.
Forcing myself to focus on something else, I grab the silverware again, this time taking a huge bite of mashed potatoes. Oh yeah, the good shit made with real butter, not that fake Fabio stuff. And after a long day at the office, I’m starving, so this is the perfect distraction as I wait for Carrie’s response, knowing she could take hours.
Because the women on this type of site are used to dealing with big players, so they have their own list of requirements and “suggested perks.” It’s lame. I hate this shit. Just take the jewelry and cash, it’s no big deal. I don’t care.
But still, a lot of ladies want to negotiate, and why would this one be any different? So I bite into the food again, putting it out of my mind.
A knock sounds on my door and I swallow before calling out, “Come.”
It’s pretty late, and in walks my assistant Rachel, her carrot-colored hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as she stutters.
“Mr. Channing,” says the woman. “Just wanted to give a summary of what happened today.”
I only recently hired Rachel and it’s turning out to be a mistake. Because you want someone who knows their place, sure, but not someone who looks like a frightened rabbit all the time. And unfortunately, Rachel was the frightened rabbit type.
So I cut the woman off.
“Thanks,” I grunt. “No need to get into the details. Is there anything else?”
She fiddles nervously with her notebook.
“Oh, well. I just wanted to see if you needed anything else. I… umm … I needed to get uptown, but of course if you need… ummm. If you need me for anything,” she trails off nervously.
“Do you need to leave, Rachel?” I ask with raised eyebrows. “Hot date tonight?
Of course, that makes the woman blush furiously.
“No, no! I just wanted to get to bowling, I mean … um, I don’t want to leave early or anything, but it is after eight,” she stammers.
My attention is elsewhere, though, because my phone screen illuminates with an alert from Sugar Babiez. Rachel is still rambling as I unlock the keyboard, eyes scanning. And sure enough, there’s a message:
Yes.
Where should I meet you?
Carrie
Good girl. The female knows that I don’t want to get into some huge negotiation. There’s enough to go around, more than enough really. You’re dealing with a billionaire honey, one who will open the gates so long as you do what I want.
So I type another message.
My driver will pick you up at 8 p.m. tomorrow. Just let me know the location.
AlphaCEO
And immediately, the phone dings again, so fast it’s unreal.
256 Mulberry Lane, Apt. 17
Do you know where it is? Let me know if you need directions.
Carrie
Holy shit, holy shit. If I’m not mistaken, the girl just sent me her home address. Not, “pick me up at Starbucks on Second and Main,” or “I’ll meet you at the mall.” But her home address, complete with an apartment number.
Grunting, I glance up at Rachel.
“We’re done here, thanks,” and subserviently, the woman leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. The privacy throws me into motion and in a second, I’m on my laptop, furiously typing the address. Good ole Google Maps spits out an answer. The image blurs, then comes into focus, and like I suspected, 256 Mulberry Lane is a ramshackle apartment building tucked into a bad part of town. This place is about twenty years out-of-date. The railing sags, and the roof looks like it needs to be ripped off completely, not just patched.
To my surprise, I can even see number seventeen, the stencil faded on an apartment in the far left corner of the screen. Man, it’s shabby for sure. The front door paint is peeling, and there’s a sad wooden sign that proclaims, “Home is Where the Heart Is,” with a faded heart motif.
