Page 25 of Virtuous Vows

And all this tension that comes with her out of my system. I’m about to break. I have an appetite, and it’s been weeks.Fuck.

“I was preoccupied,” I grit out.

“Let me guess, by the hot little piece with honey-colored hair who works at the lingerie store.”

I throw her a glare. Daphne is playing a dangerous game by disclosing anything we do privately, even if it is to Lesley. I trust Lesley with some of my most intimate secrets. She is the only person I trust in this business because she’s been there every step to help me grow my empire. Making her a very wealthy woman in the process.

“No.”

She scoffs at me, knowing full well I’m lying. And she’s one of only a few I will allow to speak to me so casually.

“Have you received more information about the person claiming to work for us?” I ask to keep her from prying any further.

She quickly sobers.

“No, but we’re working on it. I still can’t believe it, to be honest. He’s someone with a death wish, using your name and trying to make money from it.”

My jaw ticks at the fact that we’re no closer to finding this guy. Granted, it’s only been half a day, but I don’t care. I want results.

“We have client interviews. I’ve already completed two while you were… preoccupied,” she taunts. I give her an unimpressed look, and she bites back a grin. “Despite what’s happening with the mystery man, business must go on.”Naturally.And we only vet new clients once a month, which happens tonight. “The first two were awful.” She slides their profile images and background checks toward me. “They would have to sell a portion of their business or their house to have one experience with our escorts. And their desires are basic at best.”

I sigh. “How the fuck did they get our details if they’re not even worth considering?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. Often she does that when I take a tone with her.

“You know it can be hit or miss. But I thinkthe next one will have the funds, and perhaps the network you’d like in your back pocket. Which is why I’ve asked them to wait until you returned.”

This piques my interest. Lesley knows I like those who can offer me power and sway. I love money. But I prefer power and security more.

She places the profile down and smiles sweetly. “Perhaps this will make you happier today, even if you can’t get laid.”

My gaze snaps to her, but she’s already laughing and heading for the door. When she opens it, a man is waiting on the other side.

I recognize him instantly—a powerful and prominent judge. Young, only forty, reasonably good-looking, and wealthy. Most men in his position can get anything they want. We deal with many powerful people because discretion is what we’re known for. They know we use ironclad NDAs so none of their information will ever be shared unless they break the contract first. It’s also made abundantly clear that if our agreement is broken, there are consequences.

He walks into the room as if he owns it, running his hand down his suit jacket before taking a seat across from me and studying me in the same way I do him.

I smile and offer my hand in greeting. The difference between us is that he’s only ever tiptoed in lucrative business- this is new and exciting for him. However, I was raised in it. And I can tell already he is willing to pay handsomely for the desire that led him here.

People with money always want to buy what they can’t ordinarily get.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me,” he says.

“The pleasure is mine,” I reply and pull out a bottle of whisky. He seems uncertain but agrees to a glass.

“I’m sure Lesley has gone over the finer details with you. Contracts and all. Considering your background, I’m positive you went over it with a close eye.”

His chest rises pridefully. I always find it interesting how people act when they step into this type of world. Because what I offer isn’t simply an escort business you could walk into off the street.

“A very thorough ironclad contract,” he admits as he takes the glass of whisky.

“So, tell me, what brings you here tonight?”

He licks his lips and takes a small sip of his whiskey. I can tell he’s trying not to cough at the burn.

“I’m under the impression you have specific auctions,” he says.

I clasp my hands together and lean back in my chair.

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