‘You weren’t there when he got handsy in the laundry room back when I was the nanny to his poor motherless twins. And you weren’t there when he was looking at me like he was trying to make my clothes disintegrate. Of course, he respects me. Always has, always will, if he knows what’s good for him. Rich or poor, there’s nothing wrong with a man who wants to treat you right.’
‘Treat me right so long as there isn’t a desk around.’
‘There’s more space on a desk than a washing machine.’ From the other side of the world, she sends me an eloquent look. ‘What is it exactly that you’ve got against men with money?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe the imbalance of power?’
Even as I say this, something tweaks at my memory, my mother’s caution almost curling around my ear. All men will take you for a ride if you let them, sweetie, but the fall is harder when you’re dropped by a rich man. A speculative opinion, I guess. Mom never had any luck with men. I don’t remember many of them holding down a job, let alone them having a little cash in their pocket. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself. Now, that was the truth.
‘Honey, an imbalance of power sounds like the difference between dating a rich guy and a rich asshole. Different animals, different experiences.’
‘Then I don’t know what it is.’ My tone is borderline defensive.
‘I do. You’re scared.’
‘You haven’t seen the size of this apartment. I feel like I’m being groomed!’
‘Really?’ she deadpans. ‘Has he asked you to call him daddy? To sit on his knee?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Her words sound serious, her expression something else entirely. ‘Look, if you’re unhappy, you can always go home. Or maybe you can take my advice.’ Her gaze is almost dancing.
‘I think I’m frightened to ask.’
‘I was going to say wait to see how things go, but it occurs to me that I have something better to say.’
‘Now, I’m officially terrified.’
‘I think you should pull up your big girl panties and ride that man like the stallion he is.’
‘How do you know he’s a stallion?’
‘Because you kissed and told about the baguette.’ She pulls an unremorseful duckface. ‘But use condoms,’ she adds as somewhere in the distance, a baby begins to cry.
‘A baby named Beryl?’
She nods. ‘We still can’t agree on a name. But hark,’ she adds, cupping her ear with her hand, ‘from yonder window, the fruit of my loins is playing my song.’
‘You are such a dag,’ I say, using an Aussi-ism I know she’ll appreciate.
‘I feel like a dag, but that’s sleep deprivation for you. Unless you want to look like this,’—she points at her face—‘bulk buy prophylactics.’
After we say our goodbyes, I pull myself together for my first afternoon of work and basically get over myself. So it’s not an ideal situation, but it could be worse. Much worse. My new boss isn’t demanding I be his personal sex slave. Plus, he’s super easy on the eyes. Maybe I’ll make him my sex slave instead.
I snort at the ridiculous thought; I can’t see the man taking orders from anyone. Not even if I whip out my trusty purple dildo and hit him upside the head. Which, by the way, is still in my case. Don’t judge—it was a gift! It has sentimental value as well as being lightly used. In fact, it’s been used only once. On a sexy French tourist, who later turned out to be a man in a suit so sharp, it’d probably eviscerate his enemies on sight.
First a snort, and now I’m smiling to myself? I must be going soft in the head. Which is probably why I keep thinking about him. He was cute when he didn’t speak my language, but out here in his element, the man is dynamite.
As in, dangerous to handle.
I can’t help but think of what that very proper exterior conceals.
And I’m not just thinking about his ink. I’m also thinking about his mad sexy-times skills.
I drop my low heels on the bed, swiping my lightweight jacket from the back of the elegant chair, the tactile fabric just calling for the brush of my fingers as I pass. I slide the doors to the balcony open just to breathe in a little of the scant breeze. The sun is shining, and the air up here sweet. All is right with the world, or as right as it