Page 5 of A Secret and a Lie
“Not particularly.” My scarlet-painted lips spread into a lurid grin.
I’ve spent the better part of the last decade and a half mastering the art of reading people, deciphering their carnal desires and hidden urges. I’ve sharpened my senses, learning to rely on them without question. While my gut tells me this man isn’t a danger in the traditional sense, his seemingly natural dominance is a direct threat.
You’re here to meet someone, Gen,I remind myself.
Chuckling, his lips part to reveal straight white teeth. As he lifts his tumbler of amber liquid—that I’m guessing is scotch, based on the color—to his mouth, my attention catches on his smooth, alluring neck, tracking the movement of his sip as his throat bobs.
“What has you drinking scotch on a weeknight?” I find myself inquiring.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the dark wooden lip of the bar, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing beautiful, tanned skin corded with muscles and veins. “Work week from the depths of hell,” he admits, shifting his sharp gaze to mine.
Humming, I cross my arms beneath my ample chest, settling into my seat as I shift to face him. My gaze rakes over his lithe form, taking in the sight of his perfectly tailored designer suit and Italian leather shoes, lingering on the expensive watch adorning his wrist. “Let me guess, business deal gone wrong.”
He arches a dark brown eyebrow, twisting his neck so that I’m regarding the ocean of his irises. “You can tell that just by looking at me?”
I shrug noncommittally. On the surface, this man screams that he might be boring, but the twinkle in his eye betrays that sentiment like bright moonlight glittering across the surface of the specious sea.
If I had to guess, he’s either in real estate—the kind that owns most of D.C.—or in finance of some sort. Or, maybe the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He’s made of order, only carefully unraveling his control under organized parameters that he meticulously manages. That’s evidenced by the way he has his sleeves rolled up perfectly, the folds symmetrical.
“Well, was I right? Are you drowning your sorrows?” I ask instead, reaching for my Prosecco, signaling to the bartender that I’d like another.
“Close enough.” His smirk is made of sin, making my nipples tighten beneath the sheer layer of red lace barely concealed under my black blouse. “Tell me something. If you weren’t here right now, talking to me, what would you be doing?”
I trace the cylindrical base of my nearly empty flute with my middle fingertip. “I’d probably be on the elliptical since I skipped my workout this morning. Or maybe I’d take a bubble bath with a book that’s struggling to keep my interest since I’m thinking about work on a round-the-clock basis. What about you?” I don’t mention the stack of cookies I’d be shoveling into my mouth.
There’s something about this man that effortlessly draws that snippet of honesty from me that I wouldn’t normally share.
“Easy. I’d be in my office, catching up on paperwork, wishing I was here, talking to a beautiful stranger.”
I can’t help it; I laugh, my head tossed back as genuine amusement flows from my open mouth. It’s been so long since I laughed like this, I almost forgot what it was like. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
The corner of his mouth hitches, his gaze sparkling. “My turn to read you.”
“Go right ahead,” I reply, confident that he couldn’t accurately read me if he tried. I finish my bubbly beverage just as the bartender replaces the flute with a fresh one.
His eyes coast across my body, starting at my feet and traveling north: taking in my red pumps, black power suit with the glimpse of lace peeking out from underneath, and lingering on my long, slender fingers wrapped around the stem of my glass, my glossy fingernails glinting in the low light. When his gaze locks onto my face, I fight the urge to blush beneath his scrutiny.
I’ve been in touch with my sexuality for as long as I can remember. It’s what drew me to sex work in the first place—okay, that and the fact that I needed money—but even as the shiny veneer coating my career rubbed off—pun intended—I still loved how powerful it made me feel. I was in complete control, the ultimate authority. It was what I needed at that point in my life, and if I’m forthcoming, still need.
His attention threatens to steal my breath, much like the sound of his voice did.
Sure, I came here to have a good time, to chat up a handsome stranger. I did not, however, sign up to get involved with someone so obviously dominant. I’ve been there and done that.
“I’d guess you run your own company. You’re under a lot of stress, though you try to hide it. I’m going to go with a beauty startup.”
My smirk deepens. “Close, though you nailed the stress portion. I own a matchmaking service.”
“Matchmaking?” he parrots, his inflection merely curious, not at all judgmental.
“Not everyone in this city can get a date when they need one,” I explain, my tone sprinkled with humor. It’s the simplest version of my business and the story I stick to when speaking with the outside world.
He scoffs. “What’s wrong with just going to events by yourself?”
An amused smile dances on my face like ripples across a lake. “Solitude can be difficult for some. Plus, not everyone is quite so confident in being alone.”
He nods absently, staring at his glass, like he knows exactly what I’m talking about, and I wonder how friendly he is with isolation. Eventually, he muses, “That sounds…exciting.”
“You say that as if you don’t know excitement.”
