Sugar Daddy (32 page)
“No.”
Disbelief tainted his expression. “What are you getting out of this, Shay?”
“I’m getting to know you.”
He was unconvinced, his head hung low.
I made him look at me. “I’m getting you, Reardon.”
A hint of his usual confidence infused his quick grin. “You sure you want me?”
“Such as you are, yeah. I do.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“I’ll give you a low blow.” My palm pressed his thick length for a few seconds. “But not now. Get in the shower, baby.”
“Scrub my back?”
“Don’t believe that’s in my job description.”
He popped his head around the bathroom door. “Wanna bet?”
Consummate cocksucker may have been in my professional qualifications.
Back scrubber?
No. “I don’t think so, buster.” I flicked open his weekly dossier on the dresser. “Says here you got a flight to catch in two hours. Wouldn’t want to make you late.”
He appeared in the doorway, totally nude and dripping wet, glistening rivers down his sinews and muscles and straining...
What was I saying?
“I own the plane.”
’Course he did.
He finished showering, and I tucked a snapshot of Will into his wallet before meeting him in the entryway on our way out.
“Where are you going again?”
In the lobby, he stopped to straighten his tie. For once he did a piss-poor job. Only when I brushed his hands aside to do it for him did I catch his half-smile and realize he’d intentionally mucked it up.
“Zurich, Paris, London. Wanna come?” He cocked his head.
I blushed in surprise. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t, you know that. Not this time.”
“Rain check, then,” he said, matter of fact.
At my car, he lowered me inside with all the chivalry of a knight putting his lady into a coach and four, not an exhaust-farting Honda. After a deep kiss–the kind that would include a feminine heel kick if I’d been standing–he smiled and gave his habitual knock on the roof. “I’ll miss you.”
I gulped away the sudden sad swell in my throat. “Me too, Reardon.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Oh, so now you want me turn my phone on?”
Chapter 13
Clause and Effect
“What about your partnership with Shepperd and Radaman-Slaughter?”
Three days after Reardon had left on his Grand Tour, I was shooting the breeze with him. Out on the patio, the phone to my ear, I squished the aphids eating my rosemary bushes between the fingertips of my free hand.
Gotcha, you parasitic little bastards.
“I stopped living when Will did.” His voice gritty, emotion swallowed down his throat. “Slaughter was the only one who knew what would get me out of this hole, work instead of worry. We have a similar drive. He dug me out business-wise, and he had no qualms about the mistress clause. Because it was some semblance of living.”
My eyes snapped shut.
“Shay?”
I remained silent, thinking Slaughter was as much a parasite as the aphids, only more dangerous to his host, encouraging Reardon to siphon his life away.
“Talk to me, Shay.”
I dropped into my sun chair. “What you did, it wasn’t living, Reardon.”
“You think I don’t know that now?”
“Do you?”
“I wish we were talking about this in person, darlin’.”
“Me too.”
“With you, I’m living.”
My heart galloped. I pressed my fingertips to the receiver. “Me too.”
His tone sharpened. “But one thing you’ve got to understand, I’m as ruthless as him. I’m the deal closer, nothing gets past me, and there’s no sob story any SOB CEO can give me to make me reconsider my price.” He paused. “That bother you?”
“You bein’ successful? No.”
“I mean my business practices.”
I snorted. “Oh, believe me, I’ve had firsthand dealings with your business practices, if that’s what you’re callin’ it now.”
He joined in my laughter.
I asked, “Why do you do it?”
“I like making money.”
“There’s more to it than that. Don’t blow me off.”
“I like knowing I’m in control of something,” he admitted almost too low for me to hear. “I can barter and trade, create and destroy by my abilities.” He sobered even more. “I want to have enough for my family. I want to take care of Ransome and know he will never need for anything. I wish all the money I gave away actually made a damn difference somewhere, to someone.”
“So, you’re a back-stabbing, boardroom-invading idealist?”
“And you’re a foul-mouthed romantic.”
“Touche.”
I crossed my legs, scowling at the undeterred fire ants joining the fray with the aphids, running riot on the brick pavers below, attempting their own takeover. “And your peccadilloes?”
“I assume you mean my former mistresses.”
“Yeah.”
“Companionship without intimacy.”
I didn’t break my silence that time.
I didn’t have to. Reardon’s voice caressed me. “And you know you mean much more to me.”
* * * *
Days later, I was scouring the want ads.
Not that I wasn’t getting my paycheck.
No siree
. Junior texted to make sure the coast was clear before he showed with The Envelope, all gangly and lantern-jawed, shuffling his big feet with awkward Aw Shucks charm. I invited him in for a glass of sweet tea, which he bashfully declined.
Bankrolled, bed-rolled, back to the classifieds. Pooch Pooper Scoopers still had a position available. As well as Critter Go-Gitters. Then there was Grinnin’, Skinnin’-N-Sinnin’.
Now, that had some possibilities. I’d already proved myself handy at sinning. And the amount of money I was raking in just from being with Reardon–which certainly wasn’t a chore–was purely indecent. I needed to upgrade from my bursting cookie jar, the one holding my walking-around-money, find a loose floorboard for the loose woman and her ill-gotten gains.
Another six days he was gone and September rolled in with no northern, crisp Indian summer in sight, melting us with more muggy heat, moist as Spanish moss.
Racking up the minutes on my cell that had become Grand Central Switchboard, I plucked my perspiration-plastered tank top and mentioned to Reardon, “You know I’m not an easy lay.”
His naughty laugh clung to my skin, so much better than sweat-dampened cloth. “Would that you were.”
“I need a job.” I shrugged off the thrill his voice always accelerated in the pit of my stomach.
“You have one.”
“One that doesn’t include sex.”
All his frustrated gestures were visible in my mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, rummaged through is hair, loosened his tie. “I want to give you financial freedom.”
“I’d like to do that myself.”
“Obstinate.”
“Pigheaded.”
Reardon was in Italy, an added stop on his overseas trip, which had lingered from one week to two. Even with the time difference and his busy schedule, he still found a minute to fight over the ridiculous unearned bonus he’d added to my latest check.
“You’ve got to understand, it’s the one thing I’m certain of.”
I inhaled from my cig and hummed a tune. “Can’t buy me love…”
“You quoting The Beatles to me now?”
“When in Rome.”
“Instead of downhome, huh?” His shaky indrawn breath was at odds with his light words.
“I don’t want to be dependent on you, not this way.”
“Don’t ask me to agree to this. Not right now, not when I can’t get to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you needing me.” I had to listen real hard to hear him.
“I do need you. But I can’t have this money thing hanging–”
“It’s not about the goddamn money, Shay!”
“You don’t believe me. You still don’t think I could want you. Just you.” My face was stiff with hopelessness.
His quiet words ripped through me. “I’m not sure you should.”
“Well, that’s your own tough luck, buster. My emotions aren’t up for negotiation. I know who I want, and I want you.”
“Not Palmer? Not the man you’ve spent close to twenty years with, building a life from the time you were in high school?” His hollow laugh echoed. “We can’t ever start from scratch, you know?”
“I don’t want to start from scratch, and I’m not simply scratching an itch with you, baby.” I sighed. “What have I gotta do? Get a tattoo on my rear that reads Reardon’s Woman?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“You sure? ’Cause I’ll head on down to Holy City Tattoo soon as you hang up.”
“Trust me, your ass doesn’t need any embellishment, darlin’.”
I demanded, “So, you get it now?”
“You’re cursing me out inside your head, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. And also imagining stripping you naked to make full use of your
Playgirl
playground.”
“I don’t like this, being apart from you.” The brief teasing turned deadly serious.
He wasn’t referring to the trip. He was referring to my marriage.
“Me either.”
* * * *
I watched the calendar. Watched my back and waited for Palmer to say something. I beat myself up because I was too chicken shit to say anything myself.
Only thing he’d mentioned was he was taking me out, overnight, and I needed to pack a bag. The distance between us increased. We lived in the same house, used the same bathroom, and sat across from one another, but we never touched, we hardly talked.
The international divide between Reardon and me brought us closer. A text, a nightly note to say
I miss you
or
I wanted to show you, tell you, touch you like this today
strengthened the bridge between us until it was strong as the new one suspended over the Cooper River. Even so far apart, we were tethered together.
I liked it best in the mornings, when I cajoled my cell to life to the tune of Reardon’s text:
Good morning, darlin’.
I liked life with Palmer least when I anxiously threw a few things into a bag, pacing, smoking, adding something else to my bag, taking items out, heading to the bathroom for another puff from my cigarette.
Three re-packs of my overnighter and a quarter pack of smokes later, the cheap chirp of my cell interrupted my huffing and puffing.
Wanna sext?
Reardon Boone
CEO Radaman-Slaughter
Sent from my iPhone
Lookin 4 a playcation from all the bizness?
Shay
Sent from my Neolithic Nokia
Was that a yes?
Want my fingers to do the walking.
Reardon Boone
CEO Radaman-Slaughter
Sent from my iPhone
Mmm, maybe. You bored with boardroom, baby?
Still shitty cell.
Miss you. This trip is making me lose my mind. Take your clothes off.
Reardon Boone
