Hooker Read online

  ‘Well that was awkward,’ she says, making me chuckle.

  *

  Hours later, my office door flies open again. The floor to ceiling windows behind me rattle as the handle hits the adjoining wall with a loud bang. Christ, doesn’t anyone know how to knock anymore? My head snaps up in annoyance. Great, my father. He only ever comes in here when he’s pissed and wants to rant. My guess is Clarissa went home and had a little cry to Daddy.

  ‘Have a seat, Father,’ I say sarcastically as he sits in the chair opposite me without waiting for an invitation.

  ‘I want her name. I’ll fire her immediately.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say as I settle back into my chair and casually fold my arms behind my head.

  ‘Don’t play coy with me, young man. This is a business, not a damn whorehouse.’

  ‘You’d know all about that,’ I mumble under my breath. My father’s been seeing whores behind my mother’s back for as long as I’ve been old enough to know better. Does he think I’m stupid? At least I don’t have to pay women to have sex with me.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Exactly that. If you weren’t married to my mother, I wouldn’t give a shit about what you do, but the fact remains you are.’ The disdain in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed as I watch him squirm in his chair.

  ‘Don’t turn this around on me. I want her name, and I want it now.’

  I have to repress my smile when I notice his face turning red. ‘You can’t fire someone who doesn’t work here.’

  ‘What do you mean she doesn’t work here? Who was she then?’

  ‘She works at the coffee shop across the street,’ I lie, because I don’t want Natalie to lose her job. She’s a single mother and needs the money. ‘You should go there some time. They give great service.’ I don’t know why I get pleasure out of getting under his skin, but I do. Maybe it’s because I don’t like him. Not a nice thing to say about your father, I know, but I lost all respect for him years ago.

  ‘There’s nothing funny about this,’ he yells, slamming his hand down on the desk. ‘Why I thought you could run a multimillion dollar enterprise, I’ll never know. You’re as useless as your fag of a brother.’

  My knuckles turn white as my hands clamp onto either side of the desk in an effort not to wring his fucking neck. I lean towards him. ‘I’m doing a hell of a lot better than you did when you were in charge. This business has grown by fifty-seven percent in the two years since I’ve taken control, and it continues to grow daily.’

  My father leans back in his chair, clearing his throat. He has no reply to that because he knows I’m right. Nobody could run this business as well as I do. Nobody.

  After looking down at my Rolex watch, I lean across the desk and push the intercom. ‘Amy, can you tell my driver I’m ready to leave, please.’ I stand and grab my jacket off the back of the chair. This conversation is over.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.’

  *

  JADE

  I can’t contain the excitement that courses through me as Rupert packs the last of my suitcases into the trunk of the limousine. This is my favourite time of the year: my one-week holiday. It’s the only time off I get, so I look forward to it. No M, no clients, no rules. Well, the rules are still there, but she’s not around to enforce them. M insists Rupert accompany me everywhere, but I’m okay with that. He lurks in the shadows mostly, letting me enjoy my free time.

  My flight to New York leaves in just over three hours, but we need to stop by M’s place for my final inspection. I hate that she controls me like this. Two more years, I keep telling myself. Two more years.

  While I make my way into the house, Rupert unloads the bags from the car so she can go through them. She insists that because I’m on show twenty-four-seven, she needs to inspect what I’ve packed and make sure it’s up to her standards. I’m forbidden to wear jeans, shorts, yoga pants, sweats, tees; things of that nature. I must dress and act like a lady at all times. I’m a fucking prostitute, for god’s sake. I get paid to have sex with men. There’s nothing ladylike about what I do for a living.

  She is clueless to the fact that Rupert lets me pack my casual attire—the clothes I usually wear in my down time when I’m locked away in my apartment and away from her prying eyes—into his suitcase. She never looks inside it. I presume she thinks, like the rest of her staff, he does exactly as she instructs.

  ‘Jade my dear,’ she says when I enter the parlour. She’s dressed to the hilt as usual. I’m guessing M would be in her mid-fifties, but she’s had a lot of work done over the years, so it’s really hard to say for sure. She looks great for her age. I’ve never seen her looking anything but perfect. Her blonde hair is always styled meticulously in a short bob. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sleeps with a full face of makeup. The permanent scowl on her face, though, detracts from her beauty. She smiles rarely, unless it’s an evil one. Her dark eyes are totally devoid of any sparkle.

  Her gaze travels the length of my body. I’m wearing a tailored white pants suit, a large red handbag and matching red heels. There’s a hint of red lace from my camisole peeking from underneath my buttoned-up jacket. My long thick brown hair is styled in loose waves—I had my personal hairdresser stop by my apartment this morning. My makeup is applied to perfection.

  ‘Turn around.’ Her finger does a twirl.

  When I pass muster, she gives me the usual air kiss on each cheek. That’s about the limit of her affection. I move to the side as Rupert lifts my suitcases onto the table one at a time, opening them so she can look inside. God forbid she has to bend over. She moves the contents around, checking everything.

  After five years I have this down pat. I know the things she classes as suitable, so I always pack accordingly. The first few years she scolded me and removed half of the items. I’ll never make that mistake again. That’s when Rupert came up with his masterful plan of stashing my casual attire in his bag. He really is my saviour.

  Once the inspection is complete, I remove my shoes and walk over to the scales that are placed by the window. She weighs me daily. ‘Good,’ she says with a nod as she looks down at the numbers displayed between my big toes. She walks over to the desk to retrieve a large white envelope from the top drawer. It contains my meal plan for the week. Like I said, she controls everything. ‘Follow it,’ she demands shoving it in my hand. ‘I expect you to be on your best behaviour, Jade,’ she says as she leaves the room. No ‘safe travels’. No ‘enjoy your holiday’. No nothing.

  Rupert smirks when I roll my eyes at her retreating back. I shouldn’t let her coldness get to me, but it does. There’s a part of me that wants her to care, to give a shit.

  Once we arrive at Sydney Airport, Rupert takes our luggage to the check-in counter. I head to the newsagency to buy a magazine to read while we wait for our flight. We still have just over two hours before our plane takes off.

  After picking up a few magazines off the rack, I go to the counter. Maybe a Snickers bar? M doesn’t let me eat junk food, but I sneak some in occasionally. Snickers bars are my favourite. With the amount of hours I work out at the gym to stay in shape, I know I’ll have this baby burnt off in no time.

  After paying for my purchases, I open the chocolate bar and take a bite. Rupert knows I’m not allowed to eat these, but he’ll keep my secret. There’ve been a few occasions over the years when I’ve had a shitty day, and I’ve climbed into the limousine to find a Snickers bar sitting on the back seat. He does that to cheer me up.

  I flick through one of the magazines in my hand, taking another bite of my chocolate, and walk back to the check-in counter.

  Boom. I crash into something solid. My gaze goes to the floor where my chocolate and magazines now lay. Shit. I was enjoying that. A pair of shiny black men’s dress shoes stand beside my poor unfortunate chocolate bar. A delicious manly scent surrounds me, invading all my senses. Nope, not a wall. My gaze travels u
p his expensive grey suit pants, past the matching tailored jacket and baby blue shirt and tie, until I reach the face of an angel.

  I swallow nervously. He’s stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. He has big brown eyes and perfectly chiselled features. Can a man be beautiful? Because goddamn, he is.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says in a deep, dreamy voice.

  Closing my eyes briefly, I try to compose myself. I can’t seem to find the words to answer him, so I eventually just smile instead.

  ‘You have a …’ His hand moves towards my mouth, skimming over my bottom lip. I’m frozen. Never has a man affected me like this. Why can’t my clients look like him? Sure most are far from what you’d call ugly, but damn.

  Pulling his hand back, he holds his finger up for me to see. Even his hands are perfect. I imagine what it would feel like to have hands like that caress my body. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. But it soon vanishes when I notice the small piece of chocolate sitting on the tip of his finger. I’m immediately consumed with humiliation. My eyes widen and my mouth gapes when he places his finger in his mouth, sucking the chocolate off.

  ‘Delicious.’

  Holy hotness. I have an urge to clench my thighs together as a warm, tingling feeling spreads through my body. Far out. How could such a small gesture make me feel like that? I’m not used to being turned on. My job is more about me pleasing my clients, not the other way around.

  Our eyes remained locked for what feels like an eternity. Our little staring contest is broken when I hear a voice beside me. Rupert. Shit. Mr Delicious looks from me to Rupert before bending to retrieve my magazines and chocolate bar from the floor. He clears his throat when he sees the page I’d been reading.

  ‘Looks like someone isn’t doing his job properly,’ is all he says, before placing them in my hands and briskly walking away.

  I look down at the bold heading of the article. TEN WAYS TO ENSURE AN ORGASM DURING SEX. I feel my face flush as I give Rupert an awkward grin.

  His tongue briefly dashes across his front teeth. Pointing at my mouth, he says, ‘You have chocolate on your teeth.’

  Of course I do, and I smiled at Mr Delicious.

  Somebody kill me now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BROCK

  He has to be her father. Surely. She’s far too beautiful to be with someone twice her age. Unless she’s a gold digger and he’s her sugar daddy, but I didn’t get that impression about her, even though our encounter was fleeting. Come to think of it, I didn’t even get her name.

  She could have anyone she wants—even me. She’s just my type.

  Appearance wise, I’d say she’s just like all the other rich girls I know. I’ve been surrounded by her kind all my life. Meticulously dressed in her designer clothes, groomed to perfection. Spoilt and extremely high maintenance. In saying that though, she had one distinct difference: her sheer beauty far outweighs all of them put together. I can’t remember the last time I was so overcome just by the look of a woman. Don’t get me started on those exquisite eyes of hers, or those lips. I’ve never seen eyes that shade of green before. It took every ounce of strength I had not to pull her into my arms and lick that chocolate off with my tongue.

  But there was something else, something endearing about her. An innocence. I chuckle to myself when I think of the chunk of chocolate that was on her front tooth. Utterly adorable.

  Pushing all thoughts of her out of my mind, I take a seat in the member’s lounge. No point thinking about another man’s woman. That’s not how I roll. I hate that my father is a cheating son of a bitch. I swore to myself when I was growing up that I’d never follow in his footsteps.

  Pulling my laptop out of its leather case, I boot it up. I still have a while to wait until the plane leaves, so I have time to check my emails and catch up on some work.

  ‘Can I get you something to drink, sir?’

  A waitress is standing in front of me. ‘Scotch on the rocks please.’ I reach into my pocket to retrieve my World Elite Mastercard. After the day I’ve had, I need a stiff drink. When the waitress walks away, I scan the room. I freeze when I find a pair of familiar, beautiful, jade green eyes. I feel my lips curve up at the corners. Snickers is sitting a few metres away, staring straight back at me. Quickly lowering her head, she looks down at her lap before picking up one of the magazines and holding it open in front of her, concealing her pretty face. I can’t hold back my laugh when I notice the magazine is up the wrong way. If she’s trying to look inconspicuous, she’s failing miserably. I wish I knew her name. Referring to her as Snickers seems juvenile, but for now it’s the best I’ve got.

  I continue to stare at the upside-down cover for a few minutes, but to no avail. She refuses to look my way again. At the very least she’s lightened my mood with her antics. I really should go over and introduce myself. Then I remember the gentleman she was with earlier.

  But he’s not seated near her. It only takes a few seconds to spot him. He’s standing against the wall a few metres away from Snickers. His steely eyes are trained on me, his expression giving off a clear warning: Keep your distance.

  Who is this man? Maybe he’s her minder, or bodyguard. If so, who is this woman? She could be a famous model. She definitely has the looks. Once upon a time I would’ve known who she was. I probably would’ve bedded her as well. I’ve been out of the loop for far too long running my father’s company.

  I look away from the man, and back to Snickers. She’s peeping at me over the top of the magazine. At least she’s turned it up the right way now. I chuckle when she quickly hides behind it again.

  The waitress returns with my drink and credit card sitting on a small black tray. ‘Thank you,’ I say with an appreciative smile as I reach for them.

  ‘Any time, handsome,’ she replies with a wink as she bends, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage. Pulling a small piece of paper out of her bra, she hands it to me. ‘Look me up next time you’re in town.’

  I’m used to women throwing themselves at me. Believe me, it gets old fast. For once I’d like someone to look past my physical appearance, or my bank account, for that matter. There’s a lot more to me than good looks and money.

  Settling back into my chair, I savour the burn of the fine malt whisky as it slides down the back of my throat. My eyes are again fixed on Snickers over the brim of my glass. She’s still hiding behind that bloody magazine, so I use this time to check out the rest of her.

  I glimpse a hint of red lace underneath her white jacket. It makes my cock stir. She’s got a fine rack on her. By the size of them, I’m guessing they’re fake. My gaze moves down her long, lean legs. Damn she’s sexy. I’d love to see her wearing nothing but those sexy-as-fuck red heels. Christ. Why did I let my mind go there? Adjusting my crotch, I close the laptop. My work can wait. Looking at her is far more entertaining.

  *

  ‘First call for flight 607 to New York. We are now boarding all first-class passengers travelling on flight 607 to New York. Please make your way to departure gate 39.’

  That’s my flight.

  As I’m packing my laptop back into the leather case, from the corner of my eye I see Snickers stand. Interesting. I decide to stay seated, so I can watch her leave. My eyes meet hers briefly. When she gives me a shy smile, I reciprocate with a wink. My lips curve up when I see her eyes widen and her face flush red. I love her timidity. The women I’m used to aren’t backwards in coming forwards, that’s for sure. They’re not afraid to go after what they want.

  Once she passes me, my gaze moves down her long dark hair before landing on her arse. Fuck me, what an arse. The intoxicating swing of her hips has me hypnotised. And those legs. They go on for days. I’d love nothing more than to have them wrapped around me.

  A loud grunt beside me breaks me from my trance. When I look up, I meet the hardened eyes of her gentleman friend as he follows closely behind her. He takes a step to the right, blocking my view as he walks. Prick.

  I wait a few
more minutes before going to the departure gate. I find myself hoping that she’s seated near me in first class. It will make for an interesting flight. That’s if her shadow doesn’t interfere.

  After handing my boarding pass to the flight attendant, I make my way along the corridor. ‘Welcome aboard, Mr Weston,’ another flight attendant says as I enter the plane. Snickers is the first person I see when I round the corner. Her eyes are closed. When I get closer I notice she has earbuds in her ears and her perfectly manicured fingers are tapping on the armrest to the beat of the music.

  Her shadow is sitting beside her and gives me a dirty look as I pass. What’s his problem? His attitude is really starting to get under my skin. I’m seated two rows behind Snickers, but on the opposite aisle. After I stow my laptop in the overhead compartment, I take my seat. I can only see part of her shoulder and her hand from here. Such a shame. I could easily spend the next twenty-one hours admiring her beauty.

  I watch the leggy blonde flight attendant make her way down the aisle. She’s a real looker. If Snickers wasn’t sitting only a few feet away I’d be all over that. The thought actually surprises me. I’ve never let another woman get in the way of what I’ve wanted in the past. Never.

  I listen intently when the attendant approaches Snickers. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Davis … Mr Henderson,’ she says with a pleasant smile. ‘I’m Clara, your attendant, for the duration of the flight. Could I get you something to drink while we wait for the other passengers to board?’

  When I hear the word ‘Miss’ I’m smiling again. Fuck, what is this woman doing to me? I’d prefer a first name, but Miss Davis is better than Snickers, I guess.

  Clara makes her way down the rest of the aisle before stopping in front of me. ‘Mr Weston,’ she says, and gives me the same spiel she gave the other passengers.

  ‘I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, please. Do you have any Snickers bars?’

  Her face screws up slightly at my question. ‘I can check for you, sir.’