Page 11 of Duplicity

Lie through my teeth.

‘I think twelve or thirteen,’ I muse. ‘Or fourteen, maybe?’

She’s not buying it. ‘Really. With a child?’

I shrug. ‘I started young.’Untrue. ‘And my daughter’s father wasn’t in the picture after he found out I was pregnant. He was my professor.’

That has her elegantly raising an eyebrow. ‘Your professor?’

‘I have a thing for older guys. What can I say? I wanted him, so I seduced him.’

Untrue.

‘I didn’t date much when Tabby was a toddler—I was finishing up my degree, for one—but my parents have been very hands-on. They moved to London so they could help me with childcare, and it’s meant I’ve been able to have a pretty active dating life.’

One truth, one lie.

I hope she buys it.

‘So how would you rate your level of sexual expertise?’

‘As you know, I’m not a professional. But I’d like to think I’m pretty experienced.’

She doesn’t answer. I’m getting desperate now. ‘How about this?’ I propose as nonchalantly as possible. ‘Let me interview with Brendan. If he doesn’t offer me the job, then we can recalibrate.’

‘How aboutthis?’ she counters. ‘You take a look at his questionnaire andthenwe’ll see if you feel ready to consider this role. If you do, I’ll set up the interview.’

‘Perfect,’ I say with far more bravado than I feel. This is the crunch point: the first chance I have to see inside this guy’s brain. To know what terrors may await me.

Camille hits something that has her iPad streaming to the large screen in front of us in the middle of the table. The questionnaire is topped with the distinctive angel wings thatcomprise the Seraph logo. I seeBRENDAN SULLIVANtyped in large letters across the top of the form, and I swear the pinpricks of sweat along my spine multiply. In my lap, I dig the nails of one hand into the palm of the other, a reminder to hold myself the fuck together.

She scrolls through the initial information—Brendan is thirty-seven—ten years older than me, has never been married, and identifies as a heterosexual male. So far, so manageable.

He cites his main reasons for signing up to Seraph as in-office entertainment, convenience and stress relief, in that order.

Breathe, Marlowe. None of this is remotely salacious.

But it’s about to be.

He’s looking to have sex every day, at least once a day. Not a huge surprise, given the amount of money he’d be forking out for the pleasure, but the thought of having actual sex with an actual manevery single workdaywhen I haven’t had it at all in nine years makes me want to laugh in a totally humourless way.

‘What happens when I’m on my period?’ I ask Camille.

‘Depends on the guy,’ she says. ‘Some guys like it, and some of our seraphim are happy to have sex on their periods. Some opt to run their pills together to avoid the issue altogether, and others just get creative. You have three working holes, after all,’ she adds drily.

Oh. My. God.

I swear my body thinks I’ve just dropped ten storeys in a lift, and what little breakfast I got down before I came here threatens to make a reappearance. Giving head I can handle, but?—

Camille must notice something’s up because her expression softens. ‘This is precisely why you get to submit a questionnaire, too. This isn’t a one-way street. Like any kind of workingorsexual relationship, there’s compromise. Just because a client has expressed certain preferences, it absolutely does not meanyou have to roll over and say yes to everything. Quite the contrary. And you can always negotiate and renegotiate terms depending on what you’re comfortable with.’

Because sitting down with some billionaire and calmly discussing whether he can put his dick in my arse is something I have the wherewithal to endure. Nevertheless, her qualification is reassuring, I suppose.

His favourite position is doggy-style. This should be music to my ears, because every mafia boss in every dark romance I read has a penchant for getting his girl on all fours. When I’m on my sofa under a soft blanket, I’m so onboard it’s not funny, but if I imaginemyselfas the doggy in some oversexed guy’s office, I could honestly vomit from nerves.

Brendan, it seems, is a big fan of oral sex, both ways. ‘It’s usually a good sign when they’re into cunnilingus,’ Camille confides. ‘Makes it more likely they’re a considerate lover.’

There is not one single thing about that statement I can handle processing right now, so I squeakmmm hmmand attempt, unsuccessfully, to arrest the tide of red I know is creeping up my neck at the images of Brendan’s handsome face dipping between my legs.

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