Page 8 of Sugar Daddies


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My phone buzzed in my handbag and I pulled it out. Email.You received a payment from Carl Brooks. Click to accept.I clicked and there was £1000 waiting for me, just like that. My heart stuttered. I had to work weeks for that kind of cash in my regular jobs. I tried to keep a poker face. “Great. Thank you.”

“That’s just for this weekend,” he said. “If you want to stay, that is.”

Rick’s hand was on my wrist again. “You don’thaveto stay, Katie. Really. Don’t feel obligated. And if you do, there is a spare room, plenty of spare rooms… we’ve got more spare rooms than you can shake a stick at.”

“I’ll stay,” I said, even though my nerves were skyrocketing. I had an overnight bag in the car, just in case. I looked straight at Carl, begging my heart to still. “Do you want to… shall I, um… now?” I reached around for the zip on my dress, cheeks burning.

The look he shot me was full of shock, and even a little indignation. “No,” he said. “You don’t seem cheap enough to spread your legs the moment the cash comes out, and we’re certainly not cheap enough to take it that way.”

I felt strangely taken aback. “I just thought… sorry…”

His eyes were so hard. “You’re not a prostitute, Katie. I don’t expect you to drop your knickers the minute you walk through the door.”

I shrivelled under his glare, turning into a gawky little girl. “I thought that maybe… sorry, I misunderstood.”

Rick groaned, loud enough to get our attention. “Drinks, please…” he said. “For fuck’s sake, let’s get a fucking beer. Jesus Christ.”

He didn’t even wait for affirmation, just took himself through to the kitchen.

I was pleased to follow him.

The atmosphere changed in the kitchen. The air felt lighter, and the evening sun lit up the room through the huge townhouse windows. Rick pulled out a beer and offered me one, but Carl was already at the wine rack, pulling out a bottle of red and holding it up for my approval.

“A good year,” he said, and uncorked. He poured, and I caught a heady whiff of fruit.

I took my glass and swirled the wine around, took a sniff. “Nice.”

A thousand pounds richer. I couldn’t quite believe it. Real money. In my account. I smiled, and I meant it, and then I drank down a large enough glug of my wine that Carl smirked at me.

Rick hitched himself onto the marble counter, tapping his brogues against the cabinet underneath. “We got off to a weird start,” he said. “We’re really not that bad, I promise. We’re pretty laidback.”

I didn’t quite believe him, but I smiled anyway. “You have a wonderful place.”

“That’s down to Rick,” Carl said. “He’s the designer.”

Rick looked out of the window rather than soak up the praise. “You want anything here, just help yourself. Feel at home. We want you to be comfortable here, don’t we, Carl?”

Carl sighed, eyes heavy as they met mine. “Yes, yes.” He tipped his head towards Rick. “He’s a free spirit,man. Rick is all about ambience, and communication, and…” He reached behind him and jabbed at some weird grill like contraption. “…shrivelled up tofu crackers. He’s quite the hippy.”

“Dehydrated,” Rick groaned. “They’re dehydrated.”

“Whereas I’m a little more, direct. I like to bedirect.”

No shit.I knocked back some more wine. “What else do you do? For fun?”

“Work,” Carl said. “We work a lot. Work hard. Work smart. Other than that we watch movies, hit the occasional club, hit the occasional tennis court, too. We have a gym in the basement, and a sauna and Jacuzzi. It makes working out a little easier. How about you?”

Wine made me brave enough to show myself. “I ride,” I said. “Horses. Well, one horse. Samson.” I fought back the urge to whip out the gallery app on my phone and bore them with ten thousand pictures. Now really wasn’t the time.

They both nodded, a look passing between them.

“Makes sense,” Carl said. “The horsey type, yes. Very good.”

“You ride?” I asked.

“Oh yes, we ride.” His eyes prickled me. “Just not horses.” He wouldn’t stop staring, and his gaze was hot. I took a step back, propping myself against the kitchen island. “So, tell me about Katie Serena Smith. Fresh out of university, a business degree under your belt. What next?”

I shrugged. “I’m planning on bailing out of the conventional. That’s why I’m here.”

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