Page 13 of The Arrangement

My family weren’t exactly nobodies, and finding someone with the level of discretion I needed was nearly impossible in this very digital age. I loved the work and the online communities that it fostered, but I wasn't someone who wanted my face revealed or wanted to use a platform like social media. The thought of my grandfather Charles finding out still gave me nightmares.

So here I was, working solo like I had at the beginning. And it's not like it wasn't good content, which I could also use for thirst traps on video platforms with links to my live streams and more—ahem—adult content, but the DMs I had been getting were steadily asking for more collabs. Some asked for specific people, which I automatically turned down. Others were easier; some people just had ideas or certain things they wanted to happen, and they would pay handsomely to see them.

Most were women; the mask fantasy that had broken over the internet had really changed the game for me. I had used a mask for a while, but now, it was a full-on kink that had women creaming theirpanties at the first glimpse of my ski-masked face and shirtless montages, the latest smut metal crooning along with my very deliberate movements. But some loved the collaboration with Natalie, who was also in a mask; it was easier that way to imagine themselves in the positions of me (or the idea of faceless me) doing things to their body.

Maybe it was time to start closing up shop? I had amassed a small fortune that I currently split between high-yield savings accounts and with my wealth manager, who helped me invest in the right stocks. With a bachelor's in business and accounting, I knew exactly how to play the game. Not just as a sex worker but as a businessman. As much as my grandfather held my future in the palm of his hand, this was one way I could do things my way. To help my sister without him holding it over their heads.

And they had no idea. Hopefully, they never would.

Chapter 8

Georgia

It wasnotthe last time I would have to deal with Sebastian Quinn. Because there he was, dressed in a ridiculous suit that seemed custom-tailored to fit his tall frame. Why was Sebastian Quinn in the coffee shop in a custom-tailored suit?

"Sarah!" I hissed as I labeled a sticker for the fresh coffee grounds. I was suddenly very aware that I was covered in said coffee grounds, and that my apron was freshly marked with a smearing of chocolate and something that looked like old whipped cream. Sarah looked up from the cash register in confusion as I huddled behind the counter.

"What are you doing?" She asked in a very normal volume of voice, to my utter dismay. I pressed my finger to my lips and beckoned her over, which she did, though, with a roll of her eyes.

"Why is Quinn here?" I whispered, jerking my head behind me towards my neighbor and the group of people he was currently conversing with.

Sarah looked over at his group, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "Who's Quinn?"

This time, it was my turn to roll my eyes, "The tall, dark one."

Sarah took another look over the counter with an appreciativenoise, "Oh, tall, dark, and handsome? No idea. His grandfather's firm booked us for some client meeting today." She straightened again, going back to the cash register as another customer approached. I looked down at my watch and inwardly groaned when I realized that I still had an hour left before my shift was over. The shift I practically begged for when I overheard Sarah on the phone with a sick employee.

I finally straightened and walked quickly to the back to toss my soiled apron in the linen bucket and grab a new one. I had nothing to be shy of, especially from Sebastian Quinn. Or should I say Wolfe?

So I walked out, hauling the large bag of wholesale ground coffee beans that the shop supplies to local restaurants to the shelf. Passing by the talking group of people, sipping expensive lattes, I pushed the bags onto the shelf as quickly and quietly as I could.

"Hey! Do I know you?" piqued a voice behind me, and I froze. Fuck. I turned around with a fake, customer service smile on my face to see Thomas Fletcher. The tall man looked just like he did in high school, chiseled jawline with the kind of looks that could get him hired as a shirtless greeter at a mall somewhere. Jesus, did anyone leave this stupid state, or did they all just come to congregate in my fucking neighborhood?

"That's right! You were the valedictorian, Perrington Prep, right?" I forced myself to keep smiling as the man held out his hand. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Thomas. I'm usually just called Fletcher, though."

I shook his hand, trying not to look shell-shocked that the guy even remembered me. Or how nice he was being.

"You work here?" He asked politely, shoving his hand back in his pocket. I nodded, trying to look over at Sarah to save me from my nightmare, which was a casual conversation with a near stranger. Of course, she had a line of people out the door, all in expensive-looking suits and dresses.

"Yeah, just a few hours a week." I wiped my hands on my apron and looked over as Sarah marked cups with each order. "I better gohelp, but it was nice to see you!" Quickly making my exit, I walk-jogged over to behind the counter, where Sarah sighed a breath of relief.

Thankfully, Quinn didn't speak a word to me the entire evening.

It wasa late night once again; I was overjoyed when Hank, Sarah's manager, asked me to stay to help cover the event. The bill for my grandmother's home was coming up, along with the rent for the apartment. By this time, my grandmother could've bought the damn place five times over. But my grandfather had died buried in his son's gambling debts, and my grandmother's credit was in no place to afford to buy. Besides, she had always told me she hated lawn maintenance, and renting made up for it, escrow be damned.

"Why are you working at The Grind now?" came a voice behind me, and I swore for at least the twentieth time that day.

"Why do you care, Quinn?" I hissed as I picked up my fallen keys once again. I smelled like coffee beans and old milk, not my best fragrance. I turned to see him looking nervously at me, which was not a look I was used to seeing on his face. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap. Yes, I work there part-time."

He bit the inside of his cheek and leaned against the wall next to his front door. "I noticed Hemingway's isn't open much any more. Is everything going alright?"

Crossing my arms, I turned to stare at him. "Is there a reason you're asking about my job, Quinn? What, are you hiring?" I joked, turning around again to jingle my keys in the stuck lock.

"Yes, actually."

I stopped cold in my tracks, my keys dangling halfway out of the ancient lock while I turned to stare at my next-door neighbor.

"Real funny, Quinn. Have a good night." Just as I pushed my door open, a large hand came to rest beside me.

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