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But I can’t stop staring at his face. His jaw is elongated. Not a true bull’s profile, but he certainly has a longer face than any human man. Large eyes framed with long lashes and heavy brows make him seem serious, until a smile stretches across and I’m caught by his beauty. Not the sort of beauty I could ever have anticipated, but the lashes and the smile, and all of him looking so put together, does something to me I can’t explain.
Not only that, but I realize I’ve seen his face before. It’s on every second billboard, poster, and ad all over Heartstone.Thisis Jarradek Tarvost, the monster who’s running for Mayor!
He stands.
My god, he’s tall. I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
“Mel. I’m so glad you came. Is it OK for me to call you Mel? Perhaps there’s another name you’d prefer.” He glances over my shoulder at the maitre’d who disappears so fast I can hardly believe she was ever here.
I clear my throat. Do I offer him a handshake? A kiss? What’s the protocol here?
Settling with a smile and a nod, I move toward the nearest chair. “Mel will be fine for now. Before we go any further, we have some things to discuss.”
Jarradek whips around the table to pull out my chair. The unexpected gesture has my silly heart fluttering. Not a single guy in all my life ever pulled out a chair for me like I’m some kind of lady.
Trying not to let my expression give me away, I thank him and sit. He returns to his own seat and we look at each other across the table for a long moment.
I thought about how to play this before I arrived. According to my research everything is negotiated and we both set firm boundaries before we even start to agree on anything intimate. Since I’m really not sure what I’m doing, I’m hoping I can get him to tell me exactly what he wants. Only, I can’t believe my client is Jarradek Tarvost.
“Are you sure you want this?” I blurt the words before I can really think.
Jarradek smiles. “Oh, I’m sure. Why? Don’t think the straight-laced politician has a kinky side?”
I snort and wish I could call it back. “Oh, I have no trouble believing that. I’m surprised you’d go looking for an escort now, weeks out from the election.”
He shrugs. “I need something. Let’s call it a release. I’ve never explored this side of myself before, but with such high pressure in my public life, I’m hoping this might be a way for me to unwind. To find a little enjoyment again.”
I nod. I can understand that. I found a thrill in being out tonight, dressed up to meet Jarradek in this fancy restaurant. To be honest, I haven’t been out at night for months. I feel almost like the old Mel. The pre-kids Mel who used to love going out and having fun once upon a time. Like a part of me has been kept tucked away and, now I’m here, she’s not quite ready to go back into her box. “That makes sense.”
Jarradek seems relieved. “Then you’ll take me? As a client, I mean?”
I blink. Did he think I would turn him down? But of course, I have the power here. I sit up a little. “Let’s talk some more and we’ll see. First, I want you to tell me what you want.”
He lifts a large hand to scratch the base of one curved horn. “Well, I thought you might handle that.”
I frown. Not what I wanted him to say, but I have a plan. “Well, if you want to be my client, you’ll have to do better than that. Before we meet, you’ll do your research. Watch porn, read books, find out what you like, and what you don’t. I’ll need a list of things you won’t do as well. Your hard limits.”
Jarradek nods. “I can tell you some of those already.”
“Very good.”
“Obviously, you can’t reveal my identity to anyone. We’ll have to meet discreetly. I had Sofia write that into the contract.”
I nod. “That’s not a problem.”
“You can’t cage me.”
My brows lift.
“I don’t think I could do it, and I can’t be found out by anyone. Under any circumstances.”
I smile. I’m not sure I am ready for that anyway, so it’s a relief he doesn’t want it. “Anything else?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure how far I want to take this. But I do know even searching for it has made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in months.”
I wonder to myself why his election campaign hasn’t made him feel that way. It’s not my place to ask him why he’s working so hard for something that clearly doesn’t bring him joy, though.
A waiter enters the room and we fall silent. He places two large white plates in front of each of us with a tiny serving of food. It looks like a teeny tiny bowl of soup with orange fluff on top. I eye it suspiciously. It smells delicious, though.
