I take the check out of my purse, I endorse it and smooth it out on my fourth-hand table, which is chipped, wobbly, and serves as my desk and kitchen table. With my phone I take photos of the front and back and deposit it into my sad little checking account. If this whole thing is a bust, at least I’m a few hundred dollars richer.
My car sputters and coughs as I start the engine and I start off to this Rex guy’s house, which is in the Hollywood Hills. My car does not like the steep hills and tight turns. I pat her on the dash and tell her we can do it.
The streets are tight and winding. It’s dark—the few streetlamps are obscured by trees, casting shadows on the road. Once I find his street I drive slowly to see the house numbers. I can’t even see many of the houses due to the gates and the fact that the houses are set far back from the road, away from prying eyes. Finally, I find the right address.
First I have to pull up to a box in front of a closed gate and ring the bell.
“Yes?” a bored voice calls.
“Um, hi. This is Addison? For Rex Croft?”
“Drive through,” the voice says, and then the gates slowly part.
Wow. So Damien wasn’t kidding, Rex Croft really does expect me tonight. I still can’t believe a guy who looks like that needs to hire girls to spend time with him.
The driveway winds and turns and is shaded by thick trees and vegetation. Finally I emerge in front of a huge white mansion that I’m shocked was hidden behind the gate and trees. This house is nothing if not formidable.
I step out of the car and smooth my skirt as my exhausted car hisses its relief at having made it this far.
I take a deep breath and look up at the house. Just the evening, I remind myself. Be pleasant, and that’s all.
My heart is hammering now, beating a fierce rhythm against my ribcage.
I walk to the front door—which is as big as my car—and ring the bell. The door opens and…it’s an older man dressed in black pants and a slim-fitting jacket.
Damien totally bamboozled me with that picture of some model guy.
“Are you Miss Addison?” the older man says.
“Uh…yes,” I say, thinking of the thousand ways I’m going to murder Damien. At least I got some of the money out of this farce.
The man opens the door wider and says, “Please. Come in.”
I follow him across smooth dark wood floors, the expansive rooms laid out with sleek black leather sectionals that probably cost more than I make in a year, maybe two.
“Your place is very nice,” I say.
He stops and I almost run into him. He looks down his long nose at me like he’s found a hair in his risotto.
“Mr. Croft has very fine taste.”
And that’s when I realize this man isn’t Rex Croft—he must be the butler or something.
He continues leading me through this palace, up two flights of stairs. At the top he holds the door open for me and when I step through I realize we’re on the roof. There’s an infinity pool that seems to drip over into the hills below. And a man swimming in it.
A dark haired, muscular man.
“Sir, your guest has arrived.”
The man in the pool—Rex—treads water and watches me. I can see skewed images of his body rippling beneath the water.
“Thank you, Sheldon,” he calls out from the pool.
Sheldon gives a little nod and leaves through the door.
I look back to Rex, who continues to watch me. I give him a little wave.
Rex puts his face down into the water and freestyles toward me. When he’s in the shallow end he stands and give his head a shake and wipes the dripping water off his face. He’s in to his waist, leaving no doubt that he has a very solid, very strong, very ripped body.
I feel completely awkward standing in my skirt and heels. What are we doing? Is there a dinner thing? Why is he swimming and I’m all dressed?
And what, exactly, have I gotten myself into?
Rex
I look at the girl they sent over and my dick immediately stiffens.
Damn, the service really came through.
I didn’t know they’d send over someone so sexy. And this girl is sexy as hell—except by the way she’s shifting on her high heels, she doesn’t seem to realize it.
I’m so used to these L.A. women thrusting their fake tits out and making damn sure you know they’d give up food for a week for one night with you, but this girl definitely isn’t like that.
I can tell with just a glance that she’s different.
Not your typical L.A. star-fucker.
But I want to see more.
“I’m Addison,” she tells me, her voice sounding cute in its hesitancy.
“I know. Damien told me.”
“Oh,” she says, licking her plump lips and shifting again on her feet.
“Why don’t you get in?” I say. I know she’ll hesitate—it’s clear she’s shy—but it’ll be fun trying to convince her. And I already know I’ll be able to get her in this pool.
She shifts, her eyes glancing down at the water. The reflection gives her face a cinematic quality; if I were a photographer, I’d shoot her just as she is right now.
“Are we like…having dinner or…?”
“Later,” I say. Too much business to attend to first. But even before the business, I want this girl in the water with me. “Come on, get in. It’s heated.” She looks at me skeptically. “Dip your toe in.”
She bends down to slip her heels off and I get a great view of her cleavage, so full and natural—I can tell from here. God it’s been too long since I saw real tits, what with all the fakeness in this town. What a nice change.
Addison walks to the steps and puts her cherry-red-topped toe in the water. A smile washes across her face, which makes me smile back. She’s got a great smile.
“See? Told you.”
She steps onto the top step with both feet immersed.
“It’s so warm,” she says, her voice smooth and sweet. “Like bath water.”
“That’s why you should get in. Come on.” I float on my back for a moment. When I come back up I shake the excess water from my hair. “You’re not going to make me swim alone, are you?”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Excuse me?” she asks. “Yes, of course.”
Man, this girl is a gem. Like the thought never occurred to her to go commando.
“It’s the same thing as swimwear, right?” I say. “A bra and panties? In fact, I’ve been to some beaches where the swimsuits cover less.”
“I don’t know…”
The wheels are turning, though, I can see it.
Just like in business, I know when to press someone into doing something they’re unsure of, and when to let them do it on their own. I can tell Addison is going to get in.
She just needs a moment to convince herself—to realize that it’s no big deal.
“Or I could come over there and throw you in, clothes and all,” I say.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, turning a little away from me. Her eyes are practically dancing—she’s already picturing herself wet.
“I’m won’t,” I tell her. “Probably.”