“Who is this?” I ask.
Davey bites his lip. “Uh, that’s the client.”
“Why did he include a shirtless photo of himself?”
Davey gestures to the folder. I turn to the next page where there’s a letter addressed to me. It’s not from the man but from his employee. In it, she tells me a story about an eighteen-year-old boy, a terrible choice, and a seventy-year-old almost-mate. Then she details the aftermath five years later: an unbearable ache that will never go away.
I flip back to the photo. I’m not sure I can do this. I’ve had omegas request my services as a hired knot before, and I’ve always turned them down.
“One point two million dollars,” Davey says.
I look up from the folder. This omega is offering to pay me over a million dollars?
“But he only wants to hire me for a few days.”
Davey nods slowly. “Think about it, Timber. If this guy likes your time together, he’s probably going to want you again. His bond ache isn’t ever going away. This could be a gold mine for you.”
Or it would be a gold mine for someone else if I don’t accept the job. My stomach sinks. Andrew Sullivan is far more vulnerable than he or his employee realize. I scan through the next few pages, which are his STI test results. Then I get to his list of “desired sexual acts.”
The list is standard if a little kinky in places. It’s almost an exact match to the ‘sexual interests’ page in my own contract with Scalene Studios, which is strange. Did Davey share that information with a client?
At the end of the list is a request that tugs at my heart.
I want to call you ‘Daddy.’ And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to call me ‘baby boy.’ If you’re feeling it, that is.
I close the folder and pull it close to my chest.
How am I going to tell this man no?
I’m not sure I can.
3
Andrew
Marjorie said I should meet Timber in the library. Try to impress him with the grandeur of it all just like I did Davey. But he hasn’t agreed to the contract yet. If he’s simply coming to tell me no, I don’t want that to happen in the library. It’s my favorite place. My sanctuary.
Instead, I wait for Timber out on the veranda. Marjorie and I make some tea and sip it while we read together companionably. She’s reading One for the Money by Janet Evanovich, and I’m reading a beautiful copy of Les Misérables I found in the library last week. It has a green hardcover with gold-edged pages thin as a Bible’s.
Victor Hugo’s words are as beautiful as I remember. I’m completely lost in Fantine’s tragedy when I hear footsteps approach. I set my teacup down and glance up to see Timber in front of me wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. I stare at him, dumbfounded. I didn’t see Marjorie leave, so I didn’t have time to mentally prepare. And yet here he is. Tattooed, muscled arms. Short red hair with silver flecks. Kind green eyes. He stands there, holding my blue folder, with a calm confidence that’s magnetic.
“Good morning. I’m Timber,” he says, holding out his hand even though I’m still sitting down. The implication is clear. He expects me to stand and come to him. I can’t help myself. I stand, knocking my tea. Luckily, it sloshes harmlessly inside the saucer. I walk over to him, and instead of giving him the firm handshake Marjorie taught me, I place my trembling fingers inside his large hand.
“Andrew Sullivan.”
He grips my hand hard while he shakes it. I don’t normally interact with alphas. It intensifies the bond ache. Even a simple handshake is enough to make my body warm and tingly. He releases me, and my hand feels cold.
“I see you’re drinking tea. Perhaps I could have some as well?” His voice lilts up at the end of the sentence, but it’s not really a question. It’s a demand.
“Yes, Sir.” My cheeks grow hot as I realize what I just said. “I mean, yes. I mean—”
“You may call me Sir.”
That makes my body warm and tingly. Timber glances down at the growing bulge at the front of my slacks, and his lip twitches up on one side.
He sits down at the metal table. I sit across from him where my tea is now cold. There’s an awkward moment of silence until I remember to call Marjorie back. I tap my phone a few times, and she comes walking out in the same suit she was wearing when Davey paid us a visit.
“Would you mind making Timber some tea?” I ask.
“Andrew will need more tea as well,” Timber says. “Thank you.”
Marjorie stiffens, clearly flustered at being ordered around by a stranger. But she still spins on her heel and does what she’s told.
“You’re in need of a hired knot.”
“No. I want to make some porn. I—”
“Let’s get one thing straight. You are not a porn star. I am an experienced performer with a strong following. I do not make films with amateur performers at this stage in my career. The films you’d make with me would not be distributed widely either. Let’s not fool ourselves. You are in need of a hired knot.”
“I am,” I admit. There’s no use in arguing with him now.
He looks me directly in the eye. “I’m a porn star, not a hired knot.”
I try to mask my disappointment. I finally get to meet the man of my fantasies, only to be rejected by him.
“Yes, you’re right.”
He slides the blue folder across the table. “In the back of the folder, you’ll find an updated contract with my terms. I sent a digital copy to your lawyer as well.”
I don’t understand. What terms? He just said that he was a porn star, not a hired knot. I open the folder and flip toward the new pages at the end. First, there are his STI test results. He wouldn’t include those unless he intended to have sex with me, would he? Next, is my list of desired sex acts. Most of them have check marks next to them, including my request to be called baby boy. I can’t help but smile at that. This is really happening. However, one of the items has a “hard limit” next to it.
“But I’ve seen you do Shibari in your videos,” I say before I can stop myself.
He leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Yes, but your bond ache may make it difficult for you to stay relaxed at first, which is necessary for Shibari. I don’t want our time together to cause you any nerve damage.”
His hard limit is about taking care of me. That makes my heart race. It’s such a Timber thing to do. I can’t believe I get to have sex with him.
Most of the contract is the same. He’s signed the bottom of every page. However, when I get to the section about payment, the amount has been reduced to $100,000.
“I can pay you—”
“I specified the amount of money I want to be compensated for my time. It’s not something I’m willing to be flexible about. You are allowed to tip me up to fifty percent if you like.”
“But why would you—”
Marjorie steps outside with a tray holding two cups of steaming tea and crescent sandwiches. We both wait in silence as we’re served. Timber thanks her as she turns to leave.
“From what I understand your bond ache is permanent. I think this could be a mutually beneficial situation. I… would like to have regular sex with someone, and our kinks match up very well. If we keep the cost low, you can request my services more frequently. If that’s something you’re interested in.”