Page 2 of His Personal Stripper

She nibbled her lip. “What kind of salary?”

Jack held his card out. “Let’s say you’d be earning a minimum of a hundred grand every single year.” He dangled the temptation in front of her. “All I require is your name.”

This woman didn’t give in too easily. “You don’t know me. You don’t know if I have a college education or if I’m a high school dropout.”

He smiled.

“Sex?”

Jack stared at her.

“That’s what you want?” she asked. “Sex? You want me to be a whore?”

He shook his head. “Let’s just start with a name. I can promise you that you’ll only be with me. I don’t share what I want.”

“Cut the crap. Tell it to me straight.”

“I want you. It’s that simple. Give me your name, and you can have this card. It’ll be up to you if you decide to take a chance.” He held the card out and stared at her. “If you’re struggling for money, I can make everything go away, including any debt. All you’ve got to do is give me your name, and if you’re ready to take a chance, call the number on the card.”

She licked her lips, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she was licking his dick.

“Rachel. Rachel Sterling.”

Jack handed her the card. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

She took the card from him, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Climbing back into his car, he grabbed his cell phone, dialing his private investigator. Within twenty-four hours he’d have every single secret about Rachel Sterling.

She’d call.

He knew she would.

The woman was a survivor. He saw it in her eyes, and when he finally possessed her, it was going to be fire.

****

Rachel stared at the card in her hand while she sat on her mattress, which was on the floor of her apartment. She’d lost her job about a year ago, and she had moved out of her rather nice place and moved into this piece of shit. Furniture prices had been ridiculous, so she had nothing. On her tight budget, she’d not even been able to afford flea market prices. The single mattress she owned was her only furniture. At least the apartment came with a stove for her to cook. Not that ramen noodles needed all that much to cook.

Work was impossible to come by.

Her life had taken a dramatic turn when the company she worked for went under. Everyone lost their job. She’d not panicked. Going to the job center, she’d begun her hunt for new work. She was either overqualified for a position or not qualified enough, and so began her year of utter bad luck.

She hadn’t been able to pay this month’s rent, and within a few days she expected to come home to find her stuff tossed out onto the street. Her life had gone to shit, and she had absolutely no control over anything.

Just thinking about it made tears spring to her eyes, which was why she held Jack Kent’s card and her cell phone, which she only possessed to arrange interviews. Her life had gone that badly that quickly.

He wanted sex.

Jack oozed sex and money.

She’d never for a second thought about selling her body for money, but the money he offered she couldn’t turn down.

Did she want to do it? Hell no.

Did she have a choice? Hell no.

She didn’t want to go on the streets, nor did she want to do this, but life had taken choices out of her hands one year ago.

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