The Decadent Gift Page 9

  “Yes, and graduate school is not cheap. So I had to make a choice—take out loans or earn enough on my own. But it wasn’t a difficult choice. I meet women from all walks of life, with all sorts of personalities, wishes, aspirations. Every woman I meet, I learn something from—humor, kindness, a new word or phrase, a type of cuisine, an approach to the world. I’m lucky to be able to do this for a living.”

  “You’re like a therapist, lover, friend, and companion,” I said.

  “Indeed. In many ways, I am. I get to wear many hats. And take off many hats,” he said with a wink.

  “You enjoy it.”

  “I do.”

  “It almost sounds like you might want to keep this job after you finish your engineering degree,” I said with a curious smile. “Do you?”

  He shrugged happily. “I might, but that could be challenging. We’ll see.”

  “With an aerospace degree, are you hoping to be an astronaut?”

  He laughed lightly, like that was an impossible dream. “No. But I would like to build rockets. And this helps make it happen.” He flashed a winning smile, the kind of grin that melted panties and made women drop a cool grand for a night with him.

  And that was what the bride had paid for her maid of honor, Sidney, to get lucky. It was an odd realization, sitting across from this GQ-esque man, knowing who he’d slept with the other night.

  I briefly wondered if Sidney got everything she needed from him. I hoped so. You go, girl—more power to you.

  I cleared my throat, preparing to segue into the main reason for this get-together. He’d talked about being an escort, but I needed to understand more of his mindset while on the job.

  “This may be personal,” I said, running my finger along the rim of my mug, “but Trish said you’d be willing to talk about it, and I’d like some insight to plan how to best market the service. Does it feel like work? And how do you make a woman feel special? Or whatever it is she wants you to do?”

  He hummed, like he was considering the question, then leaned forward. “Forgive me if I am too forward. But have you ever been with someone who made you feel spectacular?”

  A blush crept across my cheeks in seconds. I heated up thinking of last night, of the things Jake and I had shared. Not only the otherworldly sex, but the conversation and then the cuddling. Who knew Jake was a cuddler? But he was—the best kind. All warm and snuggly, spooning me perfectly, brushing gentle kisses against my neck.

  But I couldn’t entertain those notions. I had to focus on work, since that was what this weekend was about.

  Everything I was doing was for work.

  Only for work.

  And work included Antony’s piercing question. Had I ever been with someone who made me feel spectacular?

  “Yes, I have,” I answered.

  He smiled. “Good. Everyone should know what it’s like to feel amazing. And that’s what I want to do for the women who are kind enough to hire me.”

  Kind.

  Such an unusual word to use in this field.

  “Why do you want them to feel that way?” I asked.

  His dark eyes were intense, passionate as he answered. “Because when they book me, they believe I can bring them what they want for a night. That I can deliver companionship, pleasure, friendship, a shoulder to lean on.”

  “Admirable goals.” For a brief moment, I let myself linger on how that might feel. The past few months, I’d been so nose to the grindstone, so focused on my endgame, that I’d deliberately avoided intimate companionship and the friendship that could come with it. But hearing those words from this man, whose job was to deliver them, made me crave those things just a bit.

  Companionship, pleasure, friendship.

  That didn’t sound so bad at all.

  Maybe someday.

  “You might call them admirable, but those are basic human needs, as I see it. And when a woman requests me, I have the chance to give that to her. That’s an honor, and I don’t take it lightly. I want every woman to feel spectacular.”

  I let that marinate for a moment as the espresso machines whirred behind us. “Every woman should feel spectacular,” I said, trying that on for size. It might work as a slogan.

  His eyes twinkled. “Yes. Exactly. That’s my mantra. I want the women I’m with to feel like sexy angels.”

  “Do you make them feel that way?”

  He nodded. “I believe so.”

  “Do they all want sex?”

  He shook his head. “Less than half, actually. There was a client this week who simply wanted someone to talk to. That’s what I gave her. I listened, and she was worth it. She had a lot on her mind and heart.”

  I wondered if that was Sidney, but it wasn’t my business to ask.

  Antony and I spoke for a bit longer, and I thanked him when we finished and then watched as he left, admiring his frame, his physique, and his kindness.

  Funny, how you didn’t think of kindness as a quality you’d look for in an escort, but it was vital, it turned out.

  Maybe that was because it was vital in any relationship.

  Kindness ought to be the foundation of anything. Of everything.

  I noodled on that as I walked to my office. Along the way, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it, hoping Jake was awake.

  * * *

  Jake: Confession: I posed like that this morning just to get you to admit the truth.

  * * *

  Kate: Shameless. You are shameless.

  * * *

  Jake: Kidding. I was deep in the land of nod and just woke up finally. Good to know you enjoyed the view. I enjoyed all my views last night. But let’s talk about tonight, Ms. Williams. I’m taking you out to dinner. I made a reservation at Momofuku, your favorite. See you at seven thirty.

  * * *

  I stopped walking, my heart speeding up, my smile spreading before I caught myself.

  What the hell?

  What was this reaction? He was suggesting a restaurant. It was one evening out.

  But, no, it was a little more than that. It was how he’d heard me when I said Momofuku was my favorite.

  Perhaps he’d heard me, too, when I said I liked romance.

  Except our arrangement wasn’t about romance. I reminded myself of that all day long as I worked. As I played with taglines and marketing slogans. As I prepped for my Sunday lunch with Trish.

  Again and again, I told myself.

  Even though tonight’s meetup with Jake bore all the hallmarks of romance, it was not.

  I needed to recalibrate to sex-only.

  In the early evening, with that in mind, I sent him a message.

  * * *

  Kate: What is the scenario tonight?

  * * *

  Jake: No scenario at dinner. But once I pay the check, we’re strangers who just met.

  * * *

  A burst of anticipation zipped through me as I read his text while walking into my kitchen. I stopped at the counter, setting a hand down and collecting myself.

  But from what? From the idea of dinner or the thought of the games?

  Or both?

  I didn’t know. In one swift move, Jake had changed the rules.

  We weren’t merely role-playing.

  We weren’t experimenting for the sake of work research.

  He was taking me on a date.

  And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  I didn’t want to say no either.

  I wanted to say yes to both.

  Dating hadn’t been on the weekend’s agenda, but it seemed like that had changed.

  I had no idea what that meant.

  The not-knowing thrilled the part of me that longed for romance, a side I’d denied for some time now.

  But tonight, Romantic Kate would get a chance to play.

  Standing in front of my clothes, I asked the age-old question that women have asked closets for generations. “What should I wear tonight?”

  As I perused a few black dresses, a couple of prett
y scoop-neck tops, and some short-sleeve blouses, I only briefly considered what Jake would like to see me in.

  The thought didn’t last long, and then I let it go.

  That was oddly freeing—a welcome change from anxious guesses about what my date would find attractive.

  But why?

  As I ran my fingers down a purple top that dared to reveal just enough cleavage, I found the answer.

  I wasn’t dressing to impress a man.

  And that wasn’t because I didn’t want to impress the man.

  I did. God, did I want to impress him.

  Only, I knew this man was interested in the full package—by how I felt in what I wore.

  Jake wasn’t the sort to be turned on by certain looks or styles. He was the kind of man turned on by the whole woman.

  And that was a wildly freeing thought. A seductive one too.

  Which made it incredibly dangerous as well.

  But as I pulled on my favorite jeans, a sexy pair of strappy silver heels, and the purple top, I was craving the danger.

  Craving the man.

  Craving the whole night.

  I touched up my blush and mascara, and my phone trilled—a FaceTime call. When I saw the dual images, I slid my thumb across the screen to answer the group call.

  “It’s Peaches and Cream. It’s Frick and Frack. It’s Salt and Pepper,” I said to my friends, calling me from their separate phones but patched together.

  Lily arched a brow, and Nina stuck out her tongue. “Thanks so much. Glad to know you see us as twinsies,” Lily said.

  I shrugged saucily. “Well, you are calling me in tandem. And you’re both in yoga pants and sports bras.”

  Nina rolled her eyes. “Because we’re at the gym. I’m on the StairMaster, and Lily’s on the elliptical one row over. And we’re calling you because we like you. Or used to, I should say.”

  I puckered my lips and blew a kiss at them. “You still like me. You love me. Admit it.”

  “Fine, fine. We love you. Which is why we wanted to invite you out for coffee,” Lily offered as her arms swept back and forth. Her phone must have been positioned on the dashboard of the machine.

  “I do love coffee, but alas, I can’t make it tonight.”

  Lily brought her face right up to the screen. “My reporter radar says you have a date.”

  Nina’s eyes gleamed, her hair bouncing as she stepped up and up and up. “You told us we weren’t allowed to set you up, and now you have a date. I’m pretty sure this means you don’t love us at all.”

  I gulped.

  Oops.

  They’d both been pushing me toward Jake whenever they were given a chance. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell them about this arrangement we had for the weekend. Being my best friends, they’d likely try to turn it into something more.

  For a fleeting second, I wished they could.

  I wished they could wave a magic wand and make it . . . something.

  That wasn’t in the cards.

  But neither was lying to my friends.

  I drew a breath, squared my shoulders, and spoke the truth. “It’s not a date. I’m just having dinner with Jake.”

  Nina’s face disappeared from the screen.

  “What just happened?” I asked, nervous.

  Lily waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. She just fell off the StairMaster. She’ll be on the YouTube channel for Epic Gym Fumbles tonight.”

  I stared at my friend. “Seriously? Is she okay?”

  Nina popped back up. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, pretending to be breathless. Then she whispered, “Just playing around. I didn’t really fall. But now tell us stuff. Tell us about your just dinner.”

  “I swear it’s just dinner.”

  As if they’d been practicing synchronized guffaws, the two of them scoffed in unison.

  “Sure,” Lily said.

  “Right,” Nina agreed.

  “Guys, I mean it. He’s helping me out with some work stuff. It’s not a date,” I said, then glanced at the time. “But I do have to go.”

  I headed to The Cosmopolitan, taking the escalator past The Chandelier bar, enrobed in its sheets of gorgeous crystals. As I got closer, my stomach flipped and my chest fluttered.

  This felt like a date.

  This felt like romance.

  Anticipation sent sparks over my skin.

  When I found Jake waiting at the restaurant bar, I paused to take in the cut of his jaw as he lifted his highball glass, to watch his Adam’s apple bob as he knocked back a swallow. He said something to the bartender, who laughed, and I wondered what amusing thing he’d said.

  My skin heated up as I watched him.

  But so did my heart.

  It beat faster and faster.

  Insistently.

  This weekend was not about companionship, pleasure, or friendship—not the paid kind, and not the kind that came in a relationship.

  This weekend was about work and wallets and knowledge.

  Feelings had no place in these forty-eight hours, which were more than half over.

  I’d have to crush this bloom of emotion in my chest.

  Jake and I were an arrangement, nothing more. And our arrangement ended after tonight.

  14

  Kate

  My mouth watered as I read the menu.

  Shishito peppers. Mushroom buns. Sautéed brussels sprouts. Kampachi.

  I straightened my spine, humming happily, as I pointed to the menu. “I’ll take one of everything.”

  Jake laughed. “That’s almost always a good idea.”

  I arched a brow, determined to keep things fun and light tonight. “And with role-play too. Tonight, I’ll order the teacher and student. Tomorrow, I’ll have the handyman and housewife.”

  His eyes darkened a touch. “I’d like your menu, please.”

  I pointed to the brussels sprouts. “What’s the deal with brussels sprouts?”

  “You sound like a comedian about to slide into a riff,” he remarked.

  “Seriously though. Do you remember when brussels sprouts were the punchline of a joke? Or the horrid thing served only at school cafeterias?”

  He smiled his deliciously crooked grin. Jake fit in perfectly with the restaurant’s modern styling and trendy decor—put together, handsome, but not pretentious. Not showy. Simply easy on the eyes. He wore a button-down with a lightly checkered pattern and charcoal slacks. The lawyer after-hours. He looked delectable, all the more so with his unshaven jaw.

  Which was all the more reason to focus on brussels sprouts.

  “A punishment food,” he mused. “That’s what they were for a long time.” He adopted a deep, patriarchal tone, shaking his finger. “Eat your brussels sprouts, Timmy, or you won’t get any dessert.”

  I smiled. “Exactly. And now it’s like they’re the belle of the cooking ball. It’s a competition at different restaurants to make brussels sprouts the tastiest dish in all creation.”

  “That is true. You can’t go anywhere without brussels sprouts trying to tempt your taste buds.”

  “They’re the vixens of vegetables. The sirens of salads.”

  He leaned closer. “They offer themselves up in all sorts of tantalizing forms. Sautéed, fried, roasted. How is a man or woman to resist?”

  “Resistance is futile. No one can deny the power of the sprout.”

  Just then, despite all my lectures to myself, all that mattered was this. This conversation. This night. This surfeit of fun we were having. Jake was the antidote to the past several months of my life. He was the opposite of work. He was exactly how I wanted to spend my nights, and I didn’t want my nights to end.

  This night, of course.

  We had an expiration date, since we were only spending a weekend together. And really, wasn’t that all I needed? And all he wanted?

  “Then don’t deny it, Williams,” he said, reaching across the table and gripping my hand like he was making an impassioned plea. “Don’t deny
the sprout.”

  “I won’t. I can’t. I shall devour them tonight.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I, Kate Williams, hereby profess that I am obsessed with finding the best brussels sprouts ever.”

  He squeezed my hand tighter, then let go, a glint in his eyes. “I feel a bet coming on.”

  “Ooh. Don’t get me excited.” I set down the menu, eager for a wager.

  He shot me a cocky smirk. “Don’t get you excited? Are you sure about that, Williams?”

  I took the bait, loving the flirting. Flirting was fine. Flirting wouldn’t feed the emotions I was trying to starve out. “Fine. Get me excited. If you must,” I said playfully.

  Under the table, he slid a hand up the denim of my thigh. “If you insist,” he said, his fingers traveling along my leg. He let a rumble cross his lips, then lowered his voice and murmured, “I’ll bet these brussels sprouts are orgasmic.”

  I blinked. “That’s your bet?”

  He squeezed my thigh. “Yep. Nice and simple.”

  “And if they are?”

  A smile curved his lips—no, it was more like a knowing grin. He took his time, licked his lips, then answered, “Then we do this again tomorrow.”

  I was quiet, saying nothing at first, letting his wager sink in.

  It was almost as if Jake already knew I didn’t want the weekend to end.

  15

  Jake

  I was surprised at the ease with which I got her to make the bet.

  And at the same time, I wasn’t surprised at all.

  True, I’d only spent one night with her, but one night was enough to know I wanted more.

  All day, I’d thought about her.

  From the moment I woke up in the suite, the scent of her on the pillows, the scene of the crime still fresh—the crime being the hottest sex in my life—Kate had commandeered my thoughts.

  She’d been in my head all day.