Weak for Him Read online

  "Is it written across my forehead or something?"

  "I could tell when I touched you. Your reaction—you actually flinched. But the fact that you are standing here proves that you've got an inkling of a wild side. Beyond the self-doubt, another person waits to be unlocked and set free. Most women, a majority of them, actually, leave at the beginning… but you're not like them. You're different. You are the virgin who stayed."

  He placed his hand under my chin and forced me to look into his emerald-green eyes.

  "If you'll trust me, and agree to be one of my girls, I can make your wildest dreams come true."

  "So let me get this straight." I put my hands on my hips. "I guess I'm not applying for an accounting position?"

  "I've got the perfect position for you, but I don't think you can handle it."

  With his face close, his warm breath tingled across my skin. He left me utterly speechless.

  "Would you like a drink, Ms. Downs?"

  "Yes, actually I would."

  "Rocks or straight up?"

  "Um. Rocks."

  Mr. Felton sat my drink on the edge of the desk and stood on the other side. He watched me move across the room, naked and in red heels. As I approached my drink, he grinned. I reached over the desk and chugged it fast. My throat burned.

  "Thirsty, are we? Refill?"

  I slid the glass toward him. He poured Maker's Mark midway on the rocks glass, and I slammed it down.

  "Another?"

  "Bring it."

  My face burned along with my body. I could feel the alcohol running through my veins, calming the tense muscles and washing my jittery nerves away with each drink. He poured another, filled the glass to the rim, and as I tried to swallow down the next round of liquid gold, he stopped me.

  "When's the last time you've had hard liquor?"

  "Never. I'm barely twenty-two."

  "That doesn't matter. I know seventeen-year-olds that can drink me under the table."

  I didn't answer. I didn't want to be seen as a prude twenty-two-year-old virgin who never drank a drop and cursed like a sailor.

  Instead, I lifted the glass and tipped it up, making sure to get each drop.

  "Why are you here, Ms. Downs?"

  "I have no fucking clue."

  He puckered his lips a bit and then raised an eyebrow.

  "Then you should ask your body to tell you because you keep looking at me, and undressing and fucking me with your eyes. I'm making you an offer. Join my team. Or like I said at the beginning, you can walk that tight ass right back through the door it entered."

  My mouth dropped open.

  "My business is successful because I have the ability to make all of my clients fantasies come true, and profit from it."

  "I don't think I fully understand what I would be committing to."

  "Have you ever heard the saying sex sells?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, I'm the supplier."

  With those words, my mind took a moment to catch up with my body that seemed so willing to do whatever Felton said.

  Vulnerability coated me.

  I crossed my legs and placed my arms over the girls as the reality of the situation revealed its self. The room began to spin.

  Why the hell was I naked in his office?

  Living. I almost forgot.

  Five

  "I sell sex. We are human. We have sexual, animalistic needs, and there is a market. It's nothing more than a physical act with a literal happy ending, but not for the faint of heart or frail."

  "You sell women?"

  "If you are implying I rent out whores, you are incorrect. I offer a high-end call service. There is a difference. We are class, not trash, and have clients that pay close to 20k for one night. My girls are at the top of the sexual pyramid. Rigorous interviews and compatibility tests are involved as well. I'm not running a meat service, Ms. Downs. It's offensive for one to imply so."

  I opened my mouth and closed it immediately.

  "My girls have rights and protection, legally and physically. The rules are strict, and everyone must abide by them, including the clients. Women beg to be a part of The Elite, and I deny thousands, yes, thousands per year."

  "I… I…"

  "I'm offering you something that not many are given, an opportunity to join my team, to become one of my girls."

  "I… I don't know what to say."

  "Say yes."

  "But…"

  "I can offer you thirty a month, tax free. There is something about you, Ms. Downs, something that I want. Plus, I can get a very pretty penny for your virginity. Probably over a million, and you would earn eighty percent of that."

  "Thirty? And wait, you want to… to sell my virginity?"

  "Thirty thousand and yes. You'd be prime real estate, Ms. Downs. Of course, you don't have to make a decision now. Give me a call when you're ready to give yourself to me."

  He handed me a black business card, different than the first, with white lettering and a red shiny imprint of a kiss on the back. Then he poured himself another round of Maker's Mark.

  "Get dressed, Ms. Downs. It's time for you to leave. Call my extension when you've made your decision."

  "I…"

  "Get. Out. Now."

  Instead of saying something immature–like fuck you, or you're an asshole–I walked to the pile of clothes on the floor, and quickly dressed. I grabbed the bobby pins from the floor, put my hair back into a loose bun, and glanced at him as I slipped out the door. Mr. Felton never turned around or spoke another word as he stared out the windows that overlooked the city.

  The secretary at the front desk smiled at me as I walked by. Two women waited in chairs, both blonde and beautiful. Would they strip down to nothingness as soon as they walked in, just as I had? Would they walk in blind and walk out enlightened by the fact that someone capitalized on selling sex?

  If I decided to do this, I would make over a quarter of a million dollars in the first year. That kind of money for a recent college graduate was unheard of.

  As the elevator floated downward, I could only think about the offer. How valuable was my pride? When I came to Vegas, I wanted change, but a complete 360?

  The limousine, slick and smooth with windows so dark I couldn't see inside, waited as Mr. Felton promised.

  A bottle of iced champagne sat next to a crystal flute. Tied around the top was a note with perfect handwriting that read:

  I'll be expecting your acceptance call.

  -F

  "Fucker," I whispered to the piece of paper and I ripped it into a million pieces.

  But could I really do it? Could I really be one of "his girls," as he put it?

  The limo stopped moving forward and seconds later the door swung open. Light flooded in, filling the dark car with rusted rays of sunshine. Charlie tipped his hat at me as I stepped out, and as I turned to say thank you, he returned to the driver's seat. The long car sped into the distance before it turned right.

  Had everything really happened, or was it all a product of my imagination? Did I have a wild side hidden somewhere deep inside? I didn't think so; I'm too modest, too shy, too nice, I thought.

  But if I were being honest, I wanted to find out. I wanted to be someone else, if only for a while.

  I strolled to the hotel entrance and realized I had left my clutch with the hotel key back at Mr. Felton's office. Idiot. I didn't want to call until I made my decision.

  The chipper woman at the front desk made a new key as if it were nothing. I thanked her and went upstairs to my room. I walked in, plopped down on the bed, and thought about my options.

  To be one of Mr. Felton's girls, or not to be—that was the million-dollar question.

  ***

  I lay on the hotel bed fully clothed as my phone buzzed next to my head.

  Stupid text tone.

  I picked up my cell phone, and opened my text messages from an unknown number.

  You left your purse at my office, and I got you
r information from your brilliantly crafted resume.

  I typed thanks and programmed Felton into my phone.

  Boiiiiiing. Boiiiiiing. Another text.

  Have you decided?

  I threw the phone across the bed and ignored the rest of the texts. Maybe the silence would give him a hint?

  I needed to leave the room and experience some part of Vegas. I ran to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes—for the second time that day—and jumped in the shower. I quickly shaved my legs and armpits, washed my hair, and even brushed my teeth in the shower. After drying my hair, I put on heavy eyeliner and mascara, and slipped on several sets of clothes before choosing a pair of dress pants, a sleeveless top, and a little suit jacket with sparkly buttons.

  The hotel bar was boring as hell. Old people sat around eating fancy pretzels while watching a baseball game. I sipped more of the delicious cranberry wine and then the events of the day filled my mind, making my thoughts cloudy.

  Straight ahead, several sized bottles lined the long wall. I wanted to talk to someone, anyone. I needed to tell somebody what I had done today, have him or her console me, and tell me it would be okay. Times like this, I wished my mother were here. I wished I could hear her voice again, her laugh, and the way she could make anything dark become light. Too fucking bad, so sad, a voice said in my head.

  Fucking asshole logic won't quit talking.

  I called my best friend Abbie.

  "Hey, Ab."

  "Oh my god. I've been worried about you. The next time I see you, I am beating your ass for not calling me when you got to the hotel. What the hell, Jen? No excuses."

  "I know. God, I know."

  "What's wrong? I can hear something is wrong in your tone."

  She knew me.

  She knew me better than I sometimes knew myself.

  Although my parents weren't here and I didn't have any siblings, Abigail Green knew me like family.

  "I've had a weird fucking day. I didn't get the interview with Simon & Fitch. I was late because of a flat."

  She knew how much the interview meant to me. How much I had banked on landing that job. It was my only plan.

  "Oh. So what will you do? Come back home?" Her voice brightened at the thought. She wanted me back home.

  "No. I had another interview, actually."

  "Really? I didn't know you had any more lined up."

  "It was an accident, and a huge mistake. This guy walked in on me while I was bathing and offered me a job."

  "Uh, yeah. That is weird."

  "Well, it didn't happen like that completely, but it did. It sounds weird saying it out loud. And. I got naked in his office."

  The men at the bar turned their heads and looked at me when the word "naked" left my lips.

  "What are you fucking looking at?" I asked them.

  They averted their eyes back to the game. I made sure to lower my voice and slightly turn my back toward them. Bastards.

  "Sometimes you can be such a bitch," Abbie said.

  "What do you expect? They were being nosey old perverts. Anyway."

  I whispered in the phone. "He wants to sell my virginity."

  "What?"

  "He wants to se—"

  "I heard you."

  "Who the hell does he think he is? It pisses me off that I put myself in a vulnerable situation. I am Jennifer Downs. Most likely to succeed. Career-driven. Prudish. Pretty. Not some bimbo who undresses at the drop of a hat."

  "But you did."

  It sounded way worst when I told her about it. Every detail down to him telling me to take off my panties, but I refused to tell her how I felt. I've never been the type to say no to a challenge, so I had to. Especially those that come from some young prick CEO of a sex corporation.

  Abbie and I said our goodbyes, she promised to come visit around Christmas, and told me to keep my options open, but not to do anything stupid. Always the scandalous girl, that one.

  I couldn't keep my mind from Mr. Felton. The way the Gucci suit hugged his body in all the right places and how his velvety voice dropped low, but seemed to ring in my ears. The man was fucking intoxicating to the bone and I hated him for putting a spell on me. I didn't believe in love at first sight, but lust, yes, I was a firm believer of lust at first sight. That asshole.

  But as I rode up the golden elevator, I could feel the ache between my legs.

  What. The. Living. Fuck?

  How could someone so rude, condescending, and assholish have this effect on me? Was assholish even a word? He even clouded my mind to the point of making up stupid words.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and thought it over for an hour. Then I undressed down to nakedness and studied myself in the mirror. I could admit that I was a sweet lay, but really? Could I sell my virginity?

  Before I turned out the light, I texted Mr. Finnley Felton one word.

  Yes.

  There was no response.

  Six

  The next day, bangs on my door woke me from a restless sleep. I grabbed the robe and wrapped it around my body. Seriously, sleeping nude was my new favorite thing.

  More knocks pounded on the door.

  God, what time was it?

  The sun hadn't risen, so 6:00 a.m.? Maybe 7:00 a.m.?

  Through the peephole, I saw Charlie, Mr. Felton's driver, standing with a garment bag in his hands. Before he could knock again, I swung open the door. His fist was suspended in the air.

  "Good morning, Charlie." I smiled, and he did, as well.

  "What can I do for you on this fine early Friday morning?"

  "Mr. Felton instructed me to bring clothes, breakfast, and tell you to get dressed immediately."

  He handed me the garment bag and a little box with a daisy sticker.

  "I'll be waiting downstairs. You have ten minutes."

  And as he walked off, he turned around and said, "Felton's schedule is tight today, so ten minutes tops."

  The mention of Mr. Felton's name sparked electricity through my body.

  Get yourself together, Jennifer.

  I opened the black nylon bag and found a pair of red lacy panties and bra to match, along with business slacks and a button-up shirt.

  I lusted over the pretty, petite panties and lacy bra. I may have a small obsession with beautiful lingerie.

  Letting the robe slide from my shoulders, I removed the lace from the little pink hangers and slipped them on.

  The lingerie fit like it was made for my body. I couldn't help but wonder how he knew. That type of thing wasn't on my resume, but then again, he most likely saw hundreds of women naked considering his profession. I wondered if he could guess any woman's size just by studying her bare body for a few seconds. Hell, he could probably guess with them fully clothed.

  I slipped the straps over my shoulders and reached my hands behind and clasped. The way the bra hugged my body was pure perfection. The material fit like a glove, but softer, and sexier, that was for damn sure. The panties felt just as nice, except they were high cut in the bottom, not quite a thong but not quite a panty. I didn't usually wear that style, but wow, they made my ass look great. Tan skin paired with steamy red lingerie, I looked sexy. It's amazing what flawlessly designed lingerie could do to a woman's self-esteem.

  I pulled the pressed slacks from the hanger, size seven—man he was good—and slipped on the button-up shirt that went all the way up to the neck. I looked like a prude with nastiness hidden underneath.

  In the back of the garment bag, a scribbled note read:

  Wear your hair down. –F. Felton

  After a quick brush of the teeth, and another look in the mirror, I was out the door. Not full makeup because it wasn't necessary, just a little color on the lips.

  A feeling crept up inside of me that I couldn't quite put my finger on. The excitement of the unknown raged and flipped.

  Outside, the reflections of the surrounding buildings danced upon the limo. I felt too upper class riding it in and completely out of my zone. As
I walked closer, Charlie greeted me with a head nod and opened the back door. Before I climbed in, I thanked him, and took a deep breath, hoping my heart wouldn't burst from my chest. The thought of seeing Mr. Felton sitting inside the limo made me nervous. How would he act now that I'd agreed to join his team? Treat me like a whore? Demand me to obey him? I didn't know, but I would soon find out.

  Once inside the limo, I expected to see green eyes and messy hair eagerly awaiting me, but my arrival was greeted with evil looks from two women.

  Well damn, was my last thought before the limo door closed and we sped off.

  "Ms. Downs, my name is Paisley, and this is Jessica, but she likes to be called Jesse. We have been assigned to mentor you over the next few weeks."

  Intimidation and doubt slowly replaced my excitement. Paisley looked like a goddess with naturally tanned skin, golden brown hair, and a face only the daughter of Zeus could have. Jesse had blonde hair, a petite nose, light skin, and bright red lips. If I believed in the supernatural, I might have assumed she was a vampire. These two women couldn't be more opposite from one another, and they rivaled in beauty.

  "As she said, we will be mentoring you for the next few weeks." Jesse's tone was nothing but disinterest coated in boredom. She sighed after she spoke, and then mumbled something, which I only assumed to be bitchy by the way her head bobbed, to Paisley. I overheard things like: she's not wearing makeup, just another one of Finn's toys, not going to cut it.

  I cleared my throat and then spoke. "Excuse me, I'm right here, and can hear you."

  Jesse crossed her arms and legs and pushed her body further into the soft leather seats. I wished they would suck her in.

  "I apologize, Ms. Downs. Jessica can sometimes forget her manners."

  Paisley sent her an incredulous look, but Jesse returned it with an open eye roll and a moan. She treated me like a second-class citizen, not good enough to be in the same car with her.

  Paisley smiled at me, not a big warm smile, but a courteous one.

  "So where were we? Oh yes. Mentoring. If you are to be an Elite, you must act as an Elite, which requires proper etiquette training. Think of it as orientation if you will."