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He paused. “Probably a little of both.”
“But?” she asked, guiding him.
“I’m not ready to settle down. With her or anybody,” he added, before she had a chance to ask.
“And if you loved her you would be ready.”
“Right.”
“So where do I fall in all of this?” she asked, although she had an idea of what his request would be.
But I could be wrong.
“I need the non-homosexual version of a beard.”
I was so right.
Desdemona pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t—”
“Just fly in for dinner, kiss a few babies, hug my mama, and then fly out with some to-go plates,” he said.
“When?” she asked, squinting her eyes.
“Thanksgiving Day and then Christmas Day.”
“Excusemesaywhatnow?”
“I’m willing to pay you extra,” he said.
“You would have no choice,” Desdemona scoffed. “It’s the holidays and everyone wants to be with their family, open gifts, eat food, and pretend like their world is perfect because there’s a turkey on the table or a decorated pine tree in the corner.”
“You still hate holidays?” he drawled. “Maybe helping me out could change your mind.”
“Who?” she asked in surprise.
“You,” he responded.
“Uh . . . nah.” Desdemona looked through the glass wall of the showroom at Patrice plugging in the tree.
“Triple rate. Think of it as a holiday bonus.”
Desdemona felt conflicted. Not because of the money. She could easily pass on that. It was her awareness that Number One had introduced her to the world of wealthy and prominent tricks. He helped change her list from johns and tricks to her high-paying consorts.
And to think when I first caught his eye I didn’t even know who he was. Only charged him a hundred. Who knew hot sex in a bathroom stall of a popular club would change everything?
“Listen, let me see if one of the girls can do it. It’s last-minute. It’s the holidays, but the extra money should sway one of them,” she said, closing her eyes as she ran her fingers through her hair which was sleekly pressed. “And only double rate. Cool?”
“That’s why you’re the best, Mademoiselle,” he said, his happiness clear in his deep voice.
“We’ll see,” she said before ending the call.
I hate the holidays.
Desdemona crossed the hall and walked into the showroom. “Patrice, go home with pay,” she said. “Enjoy the rest of the week. You can get to this inventory after the Thanksgiving holiday.”
“Really?” Patrice asked, clasping her hands.
Desdemona nodded, her mind already going through her list of paramours who were sans children.
