The Decadent Gift Read online

  I edged forward in my seat. This kept getting more intriguing. “What are they adding to a stable that already includes the hottest men in the city?”

  She smiled like she had an ace up her sleeve. “Indeed, their men are tops. But they want to expand their offerings.”

  Beyond the standard man-for-hire? “And what would that be?”

  As if she was sharing details of a Christmas wish list, Trish said in a whisper, “They’re testing out a new menu of role-playing.”

  Oh, my. That tickled my fancy. “They’ve never offered it before?”

  Trish shook her head. “Not like this. Their female clients have generally ordered traditional escort services, which may or may not include sex—up to the clients.” She waved her hand, airily listing them. “The boyfriend experience. A hot night out. Wedding dates, and so on. But that’s starting to change. And now, Sin City Escorts wants something more . . . shall we say . . .” Trish spun in her chair and stared out the window as if hunting for just the right word.

  But I had one ready, thanks to last night.

  “Something more daring. Something a woman can give to her best friend. A present, almost like a secret,” I said.

  I’d had almost no details yesterday, but I’d been working on the concept, both while I was out with my girlfriends and later, on my own.

  “Something daring,” Trish echoed, trying it on for size. “Yes, I love that.”

  “I can see this as something women give each other.” I dove into my concept headfirst, no timid wading in from the shallow end. “For girls’ nights out. For bachelorette parties. For girls’ weekends. Playfully naughty.”

  Her smile spread. “Exactly. Yes, that’s exactly how Sin City will want to sell it.”

  “It’s the ultimate gift to give your bestie.” Thank heaven for the bride squad. I raised my hands as if showing off a marketing slogan in marquee lights. “Don’t you deserve the ultimate gift?”

  Excitement twinkled in Trish’s green eyes. “I knew you’d nail this. Yes, the ultimate gift. The gift you deserve. That’s a perfect starting point. Can you put together some more taglines, concepts, and strategies over the weekend?”

  Could I?

  Of course I could.

  “Absolutely.”

  She leaned forward, shifting back to brass tacks. “I want you to think about role-play. Research it. Immerse yourself in the different styles. Figure out how exactly we can capture the essence of what a woman might want to order for a friend or herself. That’s what we need to seal the deal.”

  “I’m on it.”

  She held up a wait-a-moment finger. “By research, I don’t mean anything tawdry. You know that, right?”

  Trish was always careful to respect boundaries. We might work for risqué clients, but she’d never ask an employee to do anything that would make them uncomfortable.

  “I absolutely know that. I can research this online and in bookstores, no problem. And with my eyes.”

  She smiled, exhaling deeply. “Of course you can. You’ll be fantastic. You’re observant like a detective. Maybe circulate through the clubs and try to spot any other escort services engaged in role-playing. Bring a friend if you want.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Be observant, like a detective.

  Would Jake approve of Trish’s assignment?

  Jake and his hot kisses.

  Jake and his confidence.

  Jake and his offer.

  But there was no room for Jake on the role-play marketing menu.

  I didn’t have the luxury of a no-work weekend. I had an all-work weekend.

  Trish picked up a pen, tapping the edge of her desk. “Why don’t you build off the ideas that you shared when we started—the notion of deserving a girls’ night out. Spend the weekend researching it. We can meet for lunch on Sunday to review and see where we’re at, ahead of the pitch on Monday, if that works for you.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “And before then, perhaps you could meet with one of the escorts.”

  My brow furrowed. Why would she suggest a road test when she just told me to stick to observation? “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes. Try Antony. For research,” she added with a smile, like she’d seen my confusion. “Just talk to him, I mean. Hear his perspective. It could be interesting, as well as helpful. He’s studying for his master’s degree in aerospace engineering, and he’s interesting.”

  “Sure. Antony sounds great.” I kept my voice even. Antony the escort-training-to-be-an-astronaut already fascinated me.

  “I’ll get you his info. You can hear from him about what Sin City’s clients want, and we’ll brainstorm how we can convey that. I want all the women who haven’t tried it to say, ‘That’s what I want to get my best friend. This is the ultimate gift.’”

  “It is,” I said with a crisp nod. “Because it’s a great gift.”

  “It’s an all-I-want-for-Christmas kind of gift. A stocking stuffer and the ultimate naughty-list present rolled into one.”

  I laughed at how obviously she relished her part in providing these types of sensual experiences for women. She’d made me find the joy and humor in it too.

  In a sweet, demure voice, I chimed in with “Dear Santa, I’d like a hot guy dressed as a police officer with a pair of handcuffs under the tree, please.”

  Trish’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Dear Santa, I’ve been so very wicked. I’m going to need a billionaire in a suit to put me on his lap and spank all the bad girl out of me.”

  “Dear Abby,” I said, “is it wrong that when I go home to my family ranch for vacation, I’m hoping Mama has hired a hot new stable boy for me?”

  “Dear Heading Home for Vacation, all I can say to that is giddyap, cowboy!” Trish dropped an imaginary Stetson to her head and pretended to ride off, snapping the reins.

  We both laughed. Then she told me the bonus I would earn if we won the account, and I stopped laughing and nearly popped out of my chair.

  It was enough to cover the rest of Damon’s debt. It was a light at the end of the freaking tunnel, and I could hardly breathe through the excitement that threatened to bubble over.

  “That sounds great,” I squeaked.

  She smiled kindly. “That should do it, right?”

  I blinked. Do it? Did she know about my troubles with Damon? I kept those close to the vest, but she might have overheard a phone call. Or did she mean do it, like that would wrap up our meeting?

  I wasn’t sure at all, so I kept my answer ambiguous too. “Yes, of course.”

  It was a huge understatement. A bonus like that would put me free and clear of banks and headaches and hassles that I hadn’t earned but had no choice but to shoulder. If I wanted good credit, I had to deal with the wreckage from my ex.

  A few months into dating, Damon had moved in with me briefly, saying he was desperate for a place to live as he looked for a new job.

  I’d wanted to help my sweet, romantic boyfriend, so I’d said yes, and for a few weeks, I’d shared my space with him.

  Never had I intended to share my good name, but he’d helped himself to it, signed up for credit cards with it, and used those to buy watches, phones, and other goods he could quickly sell on the street.

  He found a job all right.

  As a crook.

  Then he found a plane ticket out of the country and left me behind with all the charges.

  Yes, it was fraud. Yes, he was responsible. Yes, I filed police reports.

  But clearing that mess up with the bank takes forever.

  His credit was ruining mine.

  It was easier to pay it off now.

  And with this bonus, I’d win the final battle.

  I’d move on from him.

  All I had to do was dedicate myself to this new project for Sin City Escorts.

  I spent the rest of the day diving into a rabbit hole of fantasies.

  When the clock sped into evening, I leaned back in my chair, turned to t
he window, and gazed out over the city, flashing back through the last twenty-four hours.

  From Ava’s new display that had beckoned me, to the bride giving the gift of an escort to her friend, to Jake’s kiss and the wild thoughts that accompanied it, the last day had been . . . illuminating.

  Then this morning had come Trish’s news and her assignment, and hours of internet perusal. My head was brimming with thoughts, ideas, and concepts.

  I had enough to go on to present a marketing plan in a few days for this new role-play service.

  I understood the details, the ins and outs of how it would work.

  But one missing piece nagged at me as I wrapped up for the day, shutting down my laptop.

  How did it feel?

  When you ordered up the role-play escort, how would it feel to play boss and secretary, to be the naughty criminal, to beg your teacher for a better grade?

  When he left your hotel room that night, a trail of intense orgasms in his wake, how would you feel?

  You’d feel . . .

  I hunted for words but was unsure where to start.

  If I was going to spark a potential customer’s imagination, this was critical information.

  I needed to know.

  With that unsatisfying gap in my understanding, I said goodbye to Trish, left the office, walked past the Bellagio, and stood in front of the fountains.

  I had always loved these spectacular cascades. Some of my most significant debates with myself had happened here—where to go to school, what to do about Damon, where to live in the city.

  I’d talked here with my friends too, discussing life and love and the future with Lily and Nina.

  The dancing water calmed my mind, the noise quieting my thoughts so I could listen for answers to questions that seemed unanswerable.

  With the sun fading and night wrapping around me, I watched the water leap and fall in its beautiful choreography.

  And this time, the path was clear.

  How would a woman feel when playing a role in a sexy scenario she’d ordered up?

  If I experienced just a taste of pretend myself, I would know.

  Trish would never ask me to do that, but I could ask it of myself.

  Because if I wanted to entice women to try this service, I ought to know what it was like.

  I wouldn’t need to order an escort. And I didn’t need to go all in with acting out the boss and secretary or the naughty nurse and pervy patient. Direct experience wasn’t necessary to deduce those feelings and generalize from one’s related experiences—just empathy and imagination.

  But I didn’t think my plain vanilla lifestyle would pave my way to understanding.

  Maybe something else, something closer to the target, would give me a bit of extra insight.

  Call it a crash course in walking on the wild side, Kate Williams–style.

  Alex, I’ll take naughty fantasies for a thousand.

  A mixture of some role-play and everything I’ve fantasized about for years.

  What is my dream dirty weekend?

  The water danced, and I grinned a private grin that sent a sizzle across my skin and a spark down my chest.

  Yes, that was what I needed to nail this pitch—my version of role-play.

  The music in the fountain swelled, the water rising higher, then higher still before it surged to its limit and finally splashed down.

  It was hardly a subtle metaphor, but it was the perfect soundtrack to my thoughts.

  Once I gave myself permission to indulge in this experiment, I immediately thought of someone to help me.

  I gazed at the stars winking in the night sky as I considered the complications.

  What about our tentative camaraderie? What about our group of friends, our business relationship?

  But Jake didn’t seem like a guy looking for something beyond the physical, like someone who wanted more.

  I didn’t either.

  Sex would be enough for him. Sex would be enough for me.

  I opened my phone and sent him a text.

  8

  Jake

  The silver ball slid down the board on a fast track toward oblivion.

  That was no good. Carson was on track for a record score in the AC/DC game, but not if the ball went down the drain.

  “C’mon,” I urged. “Just slap that flipper.”

  Frowning in deep concentration, my nephew pulled on the flipper with everything he had.

  The ball went screaming back up the board, smacking the lights, activating the jackpot round, and launching him into a new high score.

  Adrenaline rushed through me, and I thrust up my arms in victory. “You’re killing it, kid.”

  Carson didn’t even blink. His concentration was epic as he plowed through the jackpot combinations. “Let’s see how high I can go,” he said, all intense and gamesman-like as he continued crushing it.

  “Keep it up, buddy. Keep it up,” I encouraged.

  As the ball lolled, taking its time rolling back down, he glanced at me, a grin on his freckled face. “You’re like a cheerleader, Jake.”

  “You bet I am,” I said, owning that title. “I’ll bring pom-poms next time.”

  He laughed, then returned to the flippers, whacking the ball once again.

  “Who’s the man?” I shouted, pride gleaming in me.

  “I’m not the man. I’m the master,” he said, in a pitch-perfect imitation of me.

  I froze, set my hand on my chest, and gazed heavenward. “Be still my beating heart. He’s quoting me back to me.”

  Carson laughed and returned to the game, but soon lost.

  He patted the machine, and I told him to pose for the camera. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I snapped a pic and sent it to Christine.

  She replied right away.

  * * *

  Christine: Corrupting the youth. I love it. Will he become a pinball master by age thirteen like you?

  * * *

  Jake: As long as he keeps learning from the great one. But truth be told, I think he’s already there.

  * * *

  I showed the message to Carson, who smiled.

  “I do think I’ll be a pinball master soon. But what will you do when I become better than you?” His expression was dead serious. The stinker. I huffed like I was offended.

  “This is the thanks I get for teaching you my finest skill? You’re already planning to take me down?” I shook my head as I guided him with a hand on his back toward the snack bar of the pinball arcade. “I guess the apprentice is indeed becoming the master,” I said with a dramatic sigh.

  He patted my arm as we approached the counter. “It’s okay, Jake. You can apprentice with me someday.”

  I pressed my palms together in an over-the-top thanks. “So generous of you. I am grateful you appreciate your elder.”

  He stared longingly at the cheese pie under the glass. “And I am grateful for the slice of pizza you’re about to get me.”

  This kid. His sarcasm was top-notch. I loved it.

  I ordered, and we sat down, chatting about pinball, basketball, teachers, and other topics essential to a fifth-grader.

  As I spent the rest of the early evening with my nephew, I couldn’t help but think that my sister had been right.

  I’d needed time away from the office.

  I felt lighter, freer. Physically less tense.

  Time with this kiddo always set me at ease, reminding me of what was good in life.

  Carson asked me to tell him again about my victory in the pinball championships when I was in middle school, and as he devoured one slice of pizza, then another, I regaled him with tales of my glory days.

  He wiped the napkin across his mouth. “We should enter a competition. Together, as a team. I researched pinball. It turns out they have mixed-age competitions, so old guys like you and young guys like me can pair up.”

  I held up a hand. “Do you know I am thirty? Thirty. That’s not old.”

  “That’s old,” he s
aid matter-of-factly.

  “It’s not old.”

  “It’s pretty old.”

  “You’re just like your mother,” I said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Then take this as one too. I’d be honored to be your pinball partner,” I said. “Also, I’m still the master.”

  He eyed me skeptically, then smiled. “If you say so.”

  As we left the arcade and got into my car, I was so damn glad that, for the first time in months, I wasn’t mired in contracts.

  Though a peek at my email told me there would be plenty waiting for me on Monday. The tension that had eased crept back into my shoulders as I pictured what I’d be facing when the next work week started.

  But I remembered my business goals—help my parents with retirement and make sure I was all set too. As well as the personal one Christine had reminded me of—don’t drive myself into the ground.

  One glance at my pinball comrade told me the evening off had been worth it. Besides, I had no major plans for the weekend, so I could sneak in some of this work on Saturday morning, no problem. Maybe during the day too.

  I dropped Carson off at his home and gave my sister a quick hug at the door.

  “We had a blast.”

  “Thank you. He loves spending time with you,” she said.

  “Can’t fault him for good taste.” I winked.

  “So cocky,” she said, laughing.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I ruffled her hair. “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you too.”

  I returned to my car, cycling through my Webflix options for the evening. Would I finish out that new heist series where the hero was racing against the clock to foil the world’s greatest criminal masterminds? Or was I in the mood for something a little lighter? A new episode of Spying on My Neighbor had dropped, a quirky adult cartoon about a guy who was a naughty librarian and—wait for it—spied on the woman next door.