Damaged Goods (6 page)

install your cable?”

Me? Never. No way. Nooo
. I cleared my throat. “On occasion, yes. Especially

some of my clients.”

“You"re not the only one. I"ve had a few clients pay me to pose as
their
clients.”

I cocked my head. “How does that work?”

“I"ll go in like I"ve made an appointment,” he said. “Go into her office, talk to

each other like she"s selling me her service, that sort of thing.”

“And you fuck her?” I blinked. “Right there in her office?”

“If that"s what she wants.” He paused. “The rules are set up front. What we

can and can"t do, what she wants me to do, that sort of thing. Once I"m there, we act

like I"m the one in charge.” He winked. “The customer"s always right, of course.”

I shivered.

Damaged Goods

23

His hand stopped and his thumb made slow arcs along my side. “What"s

wrong?”

“Nothing.” My cheeks burned. “Honestly, that"s been a little fantasy of mine for

a long time.”

“Is that right?”

I nodded. “I get some attractive clients. Some
very
attractive clients. And

sometimes…” Hotter still, my face burned, and I watched my fingers trace the

tattoo on his arm. “I may have been known to fantasize about one or two of them

taking the „customer is always right" thing to…an extreme.”

“More common than you might think,” he said. “I"ve gone in for fake job

interviews, client meetings, you name it.”

I laughed. “You must be a pro at job interviews, then.”

He snickered, sliding his hand from my side to my hip, where his thumb

resumed those tantalizing arcs. “Yeah, except most real job interviews don"t end

with my cock in the interviewer.”

“What a pity for the interviewer,” I said, masking another shiver.

“It"s an interesting part of the job.” He chuckled. “It was kind of funny when I

had an HR director bent over her desk once. Don"t think she even noticed all the

sexual harassment fliers, workplace code-of-conduct reminders, things like that,

spread out all over the place.”

I laughed again. “Oh, that must have been interesting.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I could certainly see how a visit from you would break up the monotony of the

workday.”

“They seem happy.” His eyes narrowed a little and he grinned. “Is that

something you"d want to try?”

I pursed my lips. “Is this where you try to sell me additional services?”

“Probably.” His cheeks colored. “Can"t say I"m very good at that part.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I"m good at the services. The selling part? Not so much.”

“Well, I"d offer to help with advertising,” I said, still watching my fingers follow

the curves and lines of his tattoo, “but that might raise a few eyebrows.”

“I suppose it would. So you work in advertising, then?”

Shit
. A personal detail. Oh well, it wasn"t the only advertising firm in the city,

and it wasn"t like he knew my real name. “Yes, I do.”

“Interesting job?”

“Probably not nearly as much as yours.”

“Don"t know about that,” he said. “Mine"s probably not as exciting and

interesting as you might think.”

24

Lauren Gallagher

“To be fair, you have sex for a living,” I said. “I endure staff meetings and

PowerPoint presentations.”

He grimaced. “Okay, you"re right; this
is
more exciting than that.”

“Certainly more stimulating, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah.” He trailed a single fingertip from my side to my breast and drew a

slow circle around my nipple. “Speaking of which, I do believe you"re still paying for

me to be here.” Leaning in to kiss my neck, he murmured, “I should really make

sure you"re getting your money"s worth.”

I got my money"s worth all right. Jesus, why couldn"t I get sex like this without

having to pay for it? Watching him pull his slate gray silk shirt over the pink stripes

I"d left on his shoulders, it was oh so tempting to consider scheduling with him

again. Or sampling that list of “other services” that had so piqued my curiosity.

Not tonight, though. Any more orgasms, and I"d have set off the hotel"s fire

alarm.

After he"d gone, I went in to take a shower. The water stung my back,

reminding me of every place the wallpaper had chewed up my skin. I just closed my

eyes and grinned to myself. For a night like this, some raw skin was a price I was

willing to pay. An additional price, I supposed.

So he had regular clients. Women who came back for more, enough for him to

know their names and remember their likes and dislikes. Was I really the kind of

woman who"d do that sort of thing? Hell, what did I care what kind of woman did or

didn"t? I loved what he did to me. I could afford it. Why should I give a shit what

anyone else might think if they somehow found out?

I let the water rush over my face. No, this wasn"t something I could keep

doing. Maybe every once in a while, when I really needed something to take the

edge off. Then again, when Sabian took the edge off, it only served to raise the bar

for any man who came along after him. Too much of a good thing, and I"d end up as

picky as Kim when it came to men.

Kim, who used Elite Escorts quite often as far as I knew and hadn"t had a

relationship in years.

I had no regrets. Tonight wasn"t a mistake, but I definitely couldn"t make a

habit of this. Tomorrow, I"d go back to normal dating, with all of its requisite

bullshit, and eventually, I"d find what I was looking for.

I hoped.

Damaged Goods

25

Chapter Four

Dating sucks. That"s all there is to it.

I couldn"t decide which was worse: meeting people online or playing Dance

Club Roulette. The former meant false advertising and creepy come-ons. The latter

was the same, minus the misleading profile pictures and with the additions of

alcohol and being way, way too close for comfort.

Occasionally, I met some great guys that way, but they usually turned out to

have some sort of fatal flaw, such as an absolute and misguided certainty they were

God"s gift to women. Or a belief that kissing involved trying to wrap one"s tongue

around my tonsils. Once in a while, a lethal case of halitosis.

If they were still Mr. Perfect, they ran screaming for the hills when they found

out about my kids. I guess I couldn"t blame them. Not everyone wants to be a

parent, and the prospect of an instant family was more than a little intimidating.

Legitimate concerns or not, there was still nothing quite like being relegated to a

category of dating prospects akin to dented soup cans, especially when some seemed

less concerned with the kids and obligations as they were with what having two

children had done to my body.

And I wondered why I"d resorted to a prostitute.

That had been fun, of course, but it was time to return to the real world and

try to find someone more permanent and less expensive.

Between my kids and my job, the time I had available for dating and all its

headaches was limited. At least my custody arrangement with Michael made things

easier. We lived less than a mile apart, and since the kids went from one to the

other every weekend, every other week was mine.

When the kids were at their father"s, I tried to get out at least a few nights a

week to meet people, plus an evening out with friends to commiserate about the

results of our respective prowls. Those evenings with friends were a double-edged

sword. On one hand, they offered some hope. Janie had finally found a great guy a

year or so ago, and she"d recently seen him looking at the jewelry store inserts in

the Sunday paper. Laura"s latest boyfriend seemed like he might stick around for a

while.

On the other hand, it could be a rather depressing reminder that Sarah,

Vanessa, and I were all
still
single.

As much as it had its drawbacks, the online dating thing certainly had the

advantage of being more efficient. I made far more connections than in person, and

26

Lauren Gallagher

could tactfully bow out of awkward situations with a bland response or a blocked

screen name. On a good week, I could “meet” a dozen or so guys and get two or three

date nights out of it. With only every other week available for this, I tried to fit as

many in as I could, especially since the vast majority didn"t go beyond meeting for

drinks or dinner.

In theory, meeting more guys meant more opportunities to click with someone,

but usually it just meant an evening of conversation, maybe a good-night kiss on the

cheek, and once in a while, a one-night stand or a second date. I was picky; they

were picky. Such was life.

My dates were usually pleasant evenings, if nothing else. There were worse

ways to spend a couple of hours than sharing some good wine and conversation,

even if we never saw each other again.

As I dipped my toes back into the dating world now, I wondered again if an

escort had been a bad idea. Every man"s charisma and chemistry were measured

against Sabian"s. My entire sexual world had shifted beneath the weight of those

two nights, and everything was filtered through Sabian-tinted lenses. The

butterflies in my stomach had been spoiled and wouldn"t even get out of bed, let

alone give a half-assed fluttering, for anyone anymore. The mere
thought
of him,

though, had them going wild.

In the month or so after my second time with him, I managed two one-night

stands, and they both left me feeling cold. One came well before I even stood a

chance at having an orgasm. While he snored away beside me, I let my hand and

thoughts of a certain escort carry me into something resembling satisfaction.

The other was attentive and skilled, but the only chemistry we had was

physical. I"m not even sure how we got into the bedroom. Conversation was stilted

and forced, most of dinner was awkward, but then he"d kissed me in the parking lot,

and what we lacked in conversation, we made up for in that kiss.

That night was hot, but disappointing in a way.

The fact was, I wanted Sabian. Sabian and his spectacular mouth. Sabian and

his gold-foil-wrapped condoms. Sabian and his stamina that always outlasted the

time I"d paid for.

I wanted him, but I had to be realistic. I couldn"t just keep paying for sex to

avoid the dating headache. If I wanted something in the long term, I had to stick my

neck out there again and find someone. The occasional night with Sabian would

only be salt in the wound, reminding me I only got that kind of sex if I bought it,

and the price included waking up alone the next morning.

So that was why I sat alone at a table in an intimate restaurant full of couples,

waiting for my date to show up. I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen.

Fifteen minutes after he was supposed to show up, and fifteen minutes before

Sabian would have been arriving had this been that first night—

“Stop it, Jocelyn,” I muttered into my water glass.

Damaged Goods

27

Oh, but that was a train of thought that wouldn"t be stopped. While I wasted

what precious little time I had for this, I could have had an evening of guaranteed

orgasms without the need to put on a fake smile and pretend it was more than a

one-night stand. Or, at the very least, I could have been certain of a knock on a

hotel door at exactly eight thirty instead of twiddling my thumbs at a half-occupied

table for two while the ice in my glass melted along with my patience.

I glared at the door, trying to conjure Bill out of thin air and determination. It

didn"t work. I gritted my teeth. Tomorrow night, the kids came back from Michael"s

house. It would be another week before I could try this again, and I was
not
in the

mood to be stood up. This guy was probably chronically on time to business

arrangements. Seemed like that type was usually late to anything of lesser

importance. Like dates.

Maybe if I’d
hired
him for tonight…

The air in the room changed as it had every time the restaurant door had

opened, and just as I"d done every time, I looked up.

This time, I was rewarded with a newcomer who actually looked like his

profile picture from the dating site. Right around six feet, athletic build, dark hair

that was forgivably longer than it had been in the picture. He was twenty minutes

late, but he"d arrived and hadn"t lied about his appearance, so I"d let it go and see

how the night progressed.

It didn"t take him more than a few seconds to find me, and he hurried across

the restaurant to our table.

“Jocelyn, I assume?”

“Yes.” I stood, extending a hand. “You must be Bill.”