Page 43 of Forbidden Desires

The first thing I noticed was that my excitement at seeing him was not met in kind. Eric had a pensive look on his face, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. I knew Eric well enough now to read his body language, and his told me that something important was troubling him.

The cheerful greeting that I had on my tongue dissipated as I prepared myself for whatever was about to happen. Trying to navigate his mood, I said nothing initially, though I wanted to thank him for the gifts and ask him what this meeting was about, but something gave me pause. Was it his parents? Had something happened to them? Was there something more? Was it me and something I did or didn’t do?

Fuck it. The anxiety now swirling inside of me prompted me to speak. “Are you alright, Eric?” I asked as I followed him into the living room. The answer was obvious, he wasn’t okay—but it was a far easier conversation starter than “what happened”.

He sighed, turning around to face me as he shoved his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, mussing the already dishevelled strands, as if that wasn’t the first time today that he’d tugged at his hair. “I wanted to talk to you in person about something,” he said, his gaze searching mine—for what, I had no idea. “I know we don’t have anything scheduled until next weekend, and I apologize for this being so out of the blue, but I assume you had time to spare today.”

I nodded. “Yes, coming here wasn’t a problem,” I said, reassuring him.

“Good.” Then, he tipped his head to the side, a faint smile making an appearance on his lips, chasing away the intense look in his eyes for a moment. “I received notification that your paints and supplies arrived today. I imagine this is going to be eating into your art time.”

“Ahh, I thought those deliveries might have been from you.” I ducked my head, feeling my face flush. “Thank you—and no, Ireally wasn’t busy when you texted. I was just putting everything away when you messaged me. Nothing interrupted. But, I really love everything. I already have an idea for a few pieces I want to do.”

The haggard lines on his face managed to soften. “I’m glad to hear that. I wanted to make sure you had the best supplies and had enough to do whatever your creativity ended up guiding you toward.” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncertain, which wasn’t something he displayed often. “It wasn’t too out of place, was it? I didn’t want it to be an awkward gift, but I also didn’t want to ruin the surprise by telling you what I was planning to do.”

I shook my head, finding his concern endearing. “No, no, it was perfectly fine. Just unexpected, though I’m assuming that isn’t the reason you brought me to your place, to discuss art supplies.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, his expression once again shifting back to being serious. “No, it’s not. As I said, there’s something important I need to discuss with you. It’s just…not an easy conversation to have.”

His hesitancy reignited my insecurities, and my mind raced back to our last few interactions. Nothing had been too out of the ordinary, yet that didn’t mean anything, either. Clients were fickle, and I’d learned that it didn’t take much of anything to prompt them to terminate an arrangement, which admittedly was my greatest fear with Eric—which had nothing to do with the monetary aspect of the situation, but the dread of not being a part of his life anymore. Which said far too much about my emotional connection to him than I even wanted to admit.

“Are you ending our contract?” I asked, preparing myself for the worst.

I watched his face carefully and saw the surprise that lit his eyes at my question. “Nothing of the sort. I just wanted to have this discussion more privately, where we could be comfortable.”

My brows rose. “My apartment isn’t comfortable?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Well, when it’s put that way. It isn’t that. I suppose since this, to a degree, has to do with business, it feels like it makes the most sense to be at my apartment. Have a seat,” he said, waving a hand toward the couch while he settled into the chair adjacent to the sofa.

When I was situated, he exhaled a deep breath and looked me directly in the eyes. “How well do you know James DuPont, Jasmine?”

His question jolted through me. It was the last thing I’d expected, and just hearing the other man’s name made something akin to disgust crawl across my skin. “This is about James?”

He nodded. “Yes,” was all he said, and waited for me to answer.

“I mean…” I scoffed a little. “He was a client. That’s all.”

Eric’s gaze never wavered from mine. “And how would you categorize the way that your time with him went?”

I didn’t like the direction of this conversation, or his bold questions. I found myself bristling because really, was who I might have entertained in my past really any of his business? Especially when I remembered the judgemental way Eric had looked at me that night at the venue, when James interrupted our argument.

My back straightened, even though I didn’t know what I was bracing myself for. “Why do you need to know, Eric?”

He stared at me, ambivalence etching his features before he spoke. “Because he came to my office today, making it very clear that he intends to extend an invitation to work with you again. I understand that he was a client of yours before, but I need youto understand that James is a cunning, disingenuous man whose intentions are, frankly, bullshit. He and I don’t see eye to eye and it leads to a lot of conflict that I don’t want you put in the middle of, or used as a pawn of some sort, because he likes having dick measuring contests.”

I paled. I know I did—my body went cold with shock. James had gone to Eric’s office? I dreaded what he may have told this man sitting in front of me. The kind of impression of me he would have tried to paint for Eric.

My belly churned, and I swallowed hard, my hatred for James growing. “He was one of my first clients, and I regret the fact that I ever took him on,” I said, as evenly as I could manage, the words seemingly tumbling out of me. “Dominique told me I should be cautious with him, but since I was early on in my work with her, I was trying to build a client base. James was someone that came along when I thought I really needed him.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “I should have listened to Dominique. James was normal enough, at first. Just what I would expect from a client, though we were never exclusive. He took me places. Bought me things. Lots of…sex. But then he started getting possessive. Keeping tabs on who my other clients were, following me when I wasn’t with him, popping up at places he wasn’t supposed to be, and generally exhibiting stalkerish type behavior. He even had inappropriate conversations with my other clients about what we did privately, like he was bragging.”

“Fucking asshole,” Eric said, the words escaping him on a furious growl.

Not wanting to see anything that might resemble pity in his eyes for my stupidity, I glanced down at my clasped hands in my lap and finished the story which, unfortunately, only got worse. “He was one of my highest paying clients, and I was new, and naïve—or rather, dumb—and put up with his shit because I thought it was part of the gig. But at one party, he managedto get me alone in a bedroom, and things got…intense. I wasn’t there with him as his date, and I could tell he was pissed and jealous that I was with someone else. I told him to leave me the fuck alone, and instead of letting me go he threw me down on the bed and… assaulted me, all the while calling me his whore and telling me that he makes the rules, not me, and I’d do well to remember that. It…it was not a consensual situation.”

The look on Eric’s face, I could only describe it as unbridled rage. In fact, his whole body seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his outrage. He said nothing, but his hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching against his thighs, and a part of me knew that if he was in the same room with James right now, the other man wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“Dominique was at that party and she saw me return with James…afterward,” I said, trying not to remember the awful details of that night. “She immediately knew something was wrong, and once she got the truth out of me, she didn’t hesitate to take me to get a restraining order against him. But the cops of course were no use. Because I’m a sex worker, an escort, a call girl, whatever they wanted to call me, anything ‘sexual’ that transpired between myself and James was under the parameters of my work. And, of course, what happened in that bedroom…it would be my word against his.”

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