The next morning, Zander paced circles in his penthouse office, like a wolf in a cage, wondering what the hell he’d signed up for. So, now I own a bought-and-paid-for sugar baby…What kind of a loser does that make me? He lifted his bio-hand before his face, noting the reflection in the window of said monstrosity. I guess here’s the answer—the guy with the disability.
Still, he genuinely liked Effie. She didn’t have any of the “fawn all over me, minion, if you want my attention” vibe that Trisha oozed. She wasn’t out to take him for a ride—at least not as far as he could tell from their brief interaction. And, she loved her studies in biochemistry and physiology, which made her smarter than Trisha by six-thousand miles. He liked women with smarts. Trisha only counted if clever deviousness was a sign of intelligence.
What was the harm in tossing Effie a little cash to help ease her mind?
Maybe she’ll win the Nobel Peace Prize someday. It’s certainly possible. She’s got the intelligence for it. And I can add benefactor for Nobel Peace Prize winner, Effie D’Archangel to my list of accomplishments.
He chuckled. His pacing came to a stop beside one of the burnt orange Italian couches, and he flopped onto it. He flipped his legs onto the sofa and rested his head on the arm-rest, placing his forearm over his eyes. A familiar sense of loneliness pressed on his chest, caving in his heart. At least I have someone to hang with now and then. It beats being alone in my flat at nights, watching Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. And, if I don’t like it, I can break it off, right? She’ll get to graduate. My obligation starts and stops there.
His eyes drifted closed. He hadn’t slept well last night, tossing and turning about his “purchase.”
He’d almost reached the doze-zone when someone burst into his office. He didn’t have to guess who the intruder might be.
“Can’t you see I’m napping, Manning?” he said to Kent, eyes remaining shut.
“Yeah. I see. Did you get busy with someone last night?” Kent said, grinning.
Zander opened his eyes and scoffed. “Right, I got Maggie pregnant again in The Walking Dead. She and I have a thing.”
Kent extended a to-go cup filled with fragrant coffee. “I thought you might need this.”
“Thanks, Kent. Just set it on the floor.” Zander dragged his hand across his face.
Kent did so, then settled into the comfy chair opposite him. He’d worn a suit today, which probably meant a meeting with their investors or some such.
Lately, Zander tended to turn over his responsibilities to his capable staff, trusting them to manage the business with the same care he used to have before his accident.
“That Maggie character should have been culled from the Dead cast a long time ago.” Kent sipped his coffee.
“Hey, I like Maggie,” Zander said. He’d dressed in his usual jeans and Henley, preferring comfort over just about anything. “She proved her love for Glenn by divulging every detail she knew the second the governor placed the muzzle of a gun to Glenn’s head. At least, that’s what Mia tells me.” He swung his legs off the sofa and sat upright.
Kent waved his hand. “Loyalty. When it comes to women, who needs it when you have loads of cash and can buy it?”
Right. I’ve purchased a case of loyalty.
Zander flashed a glare at Kent. “What do you need?”
Kent brightened. “I need details, man, details. I saw you leave with that weirdly dressed woman. I hope you like cats. She looks like she must have a million cats, what with her outfit straight from some homeless woman’s shopping cart. What did you see in her?”
Zander shook his head. “You’re hopeless. All you see are tits and ass.”
“Shit, yeah.” Kent grinned. “What else is there?”
Zander tapped his temple. “Intelligence.”
Kent laughed, leaning back against the seat, and spread his legs wide. “Smarts. If I want smarts, I’ll watch Reuters news channel. When I want to bang, I go for tits and ass.”
Zander leaned forward. “Speaking of tits and ass…weren’t you dipping into the kiddie pond last night? You’re twenty-nine, for fucks’ sake. What were you doing with a girl barely past her senior prom?”
Kent appeared thoughtful. “She was a little young. But, she was hot and oh-so-willing to play. I took her out for a test run and man, did we get crazy.”
“Won’t that sort of thing besmirch the wholesome reputation of EXcape you’re always harping about?” Zander said.
Kent waved his hand. “Everyone watches you, not me. And, I don’t think I want to be her sugar daddy. She seems a bit needy. I tossed her some cash for college applications, and we called it a night.”
Zander lifted his eyebrows. “At least she wasn’t old enough to be your mother.”
Kent laughed. “Fuck, Zander, what makes you think I’d bone someone that old?”
“Yeah. Stupid. Forget it,” Zander said. He’d seen Kent flirt with older women a time or two, but Kent flirted with everyone who had boobs.
“So, tell me…did you and Ms. Cat Lady hookup, or what?” Kent sipped his coffee.
“We had coffee. Rather, I had coffee, and Effie had tea.” Zander brought his coffee to his lips and slurped some.
“And…?”
“And, what? It was a pleasant evening.” Zander set the cup on the polished concrete floor. It landed with a hollow thwack.
“No, dude, is she your sugar baby? With a little makeup and some better clothes, she could be hot.” Kent waggled his eyebrows.
A surge of protectiveness pushed through Zander’s usually shut-down demeanor. And if you so much as stare at her, I’ll kick your ass.
“She’s more than a booty call, Kent. She’s intelligent. Loves her studies.”
“‘More than a booty call,’ he says,” Kent said, grinning. “I like her already. If she can drag you out of your sea of funk, I’ll buy her diamonds.” He chuckled.
Warning flags sent messages to his limbs to flatten whoever wanted to tread on his territory. Jesus, I’ve already turned into a nut case. He fingered the phone in his pocket. If things get out of hand I can call my therapist and get a little check-up.
“Let me take care of her needs, okay?” he said. “You’ve got Prom Girl.”
“I told you, man, Prom Girl and I were a one-night stand.” He pushed to standing, straightening his expensive trousers. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting with that new adventure apparel company, Attica. They’re high end. If we partner with them, we can add a new line of apparel with our brand on it. I’ll go over the details with you at lunch.”
They said their goodbyes and Kent left, leaving Zander to his own conflicted emotions.
A couple of hours later, Zander sat across from Kent at Avventura, the hip, upscale restaurant on the street-level floor of the tower he owned. He’d hired one of his adventure buddies, Marco Ferrari, also a business maverick, to oversee the restaurant.
Marco matched Zander’s laid-back style of management, along with an eye for excellence and detail. Marco’s wife, Isabella, served as head chef. She brought the same care and quality into the “back of the house” that Marco brought to the main dining area. Each meal was prepared with care, whether it was a kid’s plate of spaghetti or one of their signature entrees, like Costolette D’Agnello Provinciale, a rack of lamb, cooked to perfection with a rosemary and garlic crust. All food was locally sourced and farmed using sustainable methods, if possible, at Isabella’s insistence.
Zander inhaled a plate of Lasagna Formaggio as Kent reviewed numbers and input from the meeting with Attica. A half-full glass of red wine rested by his plate.
Kent’s plate of Tortellini and Proscuitto a la Avventura sat untouched. He’d been talking ever since they took their seats.
Finally, he put his electronic tablet down and said, “So, what do you think, boss? Is it a yay or a nay?”
“I think,” Zander said, placing his napkin next to his plate, “that Attica isn’t the right partner for us at this moment.”
Kent’s face fell. “Why the hell not? They gave the pitch of a lifetime.”
He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of tortellini.
“Look into the company a little deeper, and we’ll review it again in a week or so. Something’s not sitting right with me. I’m not sure what. If they’re as good as they claim, we’ll go with them at another time. But, just make sure nothing waves flags at you in their financial records, or in anything for that matter, okay?” He hefted his wine glass and poured a generous swallow into his throat.
“That works for me,” a slick voice from behind him said.
Zander’s shoulders stiffened.
Kent lifted his gaze. “Mitchum, what rock did you crawl out of?”
Bryant Mitchum, a fellow billionaire, and a top rock-climbing competitor let out a confident chuckle. “It’s not the rock I crawled out of, it’s the rock I scaled that’s important, wouldn’t you agree? Oh, wait.” He directed a lofty leer at Zander. “You don’t climb anymore, do you, King?” With a chuckle, he pulled a chair from a nearby table, spun it around, and straddled it, leaning his arms on the chair back.
Zander bristled. He and Mitchum had been rivals in rock climbing. When Zander had been forced to quit the sport, Bryant emerged as the top climber in the world, something that rankled Zander to no end. “This is a private meeting, Mitchum. You’re not invited.”
“I’ll only be a sec.” He displayed his bleached-white teeth in a gesture that might pass as a smile—if Zander didn’t know the guy. Everything about Mitchum was a display of dominance. His grin was no exception. “I thought it might be of interest that we just finished a meeting with Attica, too. They’re sharp.”
Zander tensed. Attica is toying with us? They turn around from a meeting with us and meet with Mitchum?
Bryant’s grin broadened. “They might be just the company we need to take our company to the next level.”
“And what company might that be?” Zander said, tossing back the remainder of his wine. He signaled to a waiter, deciding to ask for a whole bottle.
“You haven’t heard of ArcTix One, International?” Bryant beamed.
Zander frowned, his stomach knotting in a rigid ball. “Of course I have.” He’d been keeping close tabs on ArcTix One. They were a close competitor to EXcape, threatening to overtake them if he didn’t stop his pity party. Maybe I should grab the wheel and resume my leadership role. “But, what does that company have to do with you?”
“I just bought them. It was a sweet deal. ArcTix One’s owner was having some financial difficulties, and I got it for a song.” He brought his fingers together, placed them on his lips, and kissed them.
Zander gripped his wine glass, nearly snapping it in two. Where’s that fucking waiter? I need a refill.
“How about that,” Zander said, in a neutral sounding voice. He looked over at Kent.
Kent’s jaw appeared as if it was set in stone.
“Are we done here, Mitchum? I’ve got work to do,” Zander said.
“Oh, wait.” Bryant snapped his fingers. “I heard you went to the sugar daddy event and got yourself a sugar baby. No reason to feel shame for paying for pussy, is there?” He laughed.
“Get the fuck out of my restaurant,” Zander said, an ice-cold tone to his voice.
“But I have an invitation for you. Don’t be a spoilsport. I stopped by to tell you that Trisha and I are dating now. I want to invite you to a party in a few weeks, complete with a climbing exhibition. You know, as a peace offering and to settle old wounds. What do you say?” He stood and extended his hand to Zander, seeming to dare him to shake with his fucking bio-tech hand.
Kent bolted to his feet and lunged for Bryant.
“Whoa, dude.” Bryant backed away from Kent and put out his palms. “Call off your watchdog, Zander. I’m nice here.”
Zander could barely breathe. Rage blinded him. He glanced around for his security staff. When he caught the eye of one of them, dressed discreetly in jeans and a jacket, he signaled for the guy to come over. Then, he pushed his chrome and leather seat away from the table and stood.
“See that big beefy man headed this way?”
Bryant looked across the restaurant. His eyes widened briefly. “How could I miss him? He’s as big as my walk-in closet.”
“He’ll be escorting you out of my restaurant in about two minutes.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Bryant said, smirking. “But, my invitation still stands. You, your sugar baby, me, and Trish. At an event my company is hosting. It will be positively fabulous to put the past behind us.” He let out a laugh.
Kent’s hands balled up into fists.
Zander shook his head. His hands curled, as well, but he forced himself to remain calm. If he took a swing at Mitchum, customers and their mobile phones would plaster it all over social media. He didn’t need to be made a laughing stock. Cripple makes a lame attack on Bryant Mitchum with his high-tech hand.
Chuck, the security guard, stepped toward them.
“Is there a problem here, Mr. King?” He loomed over Bryant.
Zander trained his simmering gaze at Bryant. “I don’t know, is there a problem?”
“No problem,” Bryant said, smiling as benignly as the pope. “I’ll see you at the event then.”
“Once hell freezes over,” Zander said. He turned to his security guard. “Make sure he finds his way to the front door.”
“You got it, boss.” Chuck gave him a crisp salute. He strode beside Bryant, past the potted trees, heading for the front entrance where several customers waited to be seated.
“That was unpleasant,” Kent said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that loser.” He put his hand on Zander’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Unpleasant is an understatement. I’m so pissed right now I’m about to go postal.” Zander shook with anger.
“Take a walk, man. Don’t let him get under your skin. He’s not worth it,” Kent said.
“Don’t let him get under my skin? He just bought our rival company, he’s dating my ex…It’s a little late for a lecture.” Sharp prickles of fear crawled along his skin. “And I thought the bitch lived in New York, now.”
“Yeah,” Kent said. “That could be a problem. But, she’s kept to your agreement of no contact, right?”
“Yeah. Haven’t seen her for five months, now. I hope I never see her again.” Zander’s mind whirled. His only options seemed, either get fucking drunk or…Call Effie.
Kent regarded him with worried eyes, creased at the corners.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take your advice and go for a walk.”
Kent sighed. “Good. Good plan. Need some company?”
“Nah, I’ve got this. I’ll catch up with you later.” He turned and strode toward the exit. Once he stood on the sidewalk, he tapped her number.
“Hi,” she said, brightly, after two rings. “This is you, right?”
He instantly calmed, hearing her voice. “I don’t know. Depends on which you you’re hoping to speak with.”
“Zander,” she said, almost shyly.
“One and the same. I need a distraction. Come on a date with me.” His gaze trained on the back of Bryant, several blocks away, heading toward Pike’s Market.
“Now?” she said.
“Yes, now, when did you think, next week?” Zander snapped. He strangled the phone in his artificial hand.
A passerby eyed him and his arm curiously.
He turned about so his high-tech monstrosity faced the buildings.
“I’ve got to turn in my final assignment, for physiology,” she said. “And finish up some chores.”
“This isn’t a request. It’s an order,” Zander said, regretting the words the second they launched from his mouth.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“You did sign the contract, right? I’ve got a copy on my desk. No one forged your signature, right?” He pushed past a group of giggling teens spread out along the width of the sidewalk.
Their laughter increased as he shoved through them. In a burst of paranoia, he growled, “What are you looking at?”
The group quieted, halting in their tracks. One of them said, “It’s private. Mind your own business.”
“Fuck you,” he barked. “Sorry,” he said to Effie. “Did you read the contract?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding nervous.
“And? What did it say?”
“It said, basically, you own me for three months.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s what you read? That I own you? You’ve put a clever spin on contract language.”
Ignoring his snark, she said, “And, it said, I can revoke our arrangement, but I’ll lose every penny you gave me. And, I’ll have to pay back the money you gave me. The terms of this business arrangement are crystal clear.”
“Right. I wanted to give you a ‘get out of jail’ clause in case being with a cripple doesn’t suit.”
“Some get out of jail clause. I’ll owe you more than I have.” A huffy sigh met his ear.
“If I behave, I can earn rewards,” she said, in a voice laced with sarcasm. “More money. I’m to be like a trained poodle dancing for dog treats. I don’t need more money. I only need tuition.”
He let out a genuine laugh. “Trained poodle…can I dress you up in hot little outfits?”
Thick silence seeped through the phone.
“And, at the end of our arrangement, I’m basically to disappear. I can never mention this arrangement to anyone. It will be as if I never existed. You’ll deny any allegations I might make about ever knowing you. Except that, I assume if I’m to accompany you on dates there will be some knowledge in people’s minds that I exist, right?” Effie’s words came out clipped.
“Right,” Zander said. “I’ll tell whoever asks I did a favor for a friend. I helped him out by taking out his sister for the summer.”
“Great,” she said, flatly. “I’m someone’s favor.”
Another smothering silence stretched between them.
“Can you tell me where we’re going today so I can dress appropriately?” Effie said.
He considered for a moment. The only soothing thing he could think of was to get outdoors, as far away from here as possible. “Jeans. Jacket. Hiking shoes. Something comfortable. We’re going to the river.”
“I’m not a river person.”
For a second, he thought about laughing. How could he have signed up with a sugar baby who didn’t like the river?
“Are you or are you not my sugar baby?” he demanded.
“I am,” she said, in a small voice.
“Then, I’ll pick you up in fifteen, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, softly.
He disconnected the phone. So, I’m a dickhead. I get to be whatever I need to be. I’m paying for her, right?
His heart, however, told him he’d just put the first nail in the coffin of what could have been a decent friendship. But who the fuck cared? Me and my ‘tendencies’ would only fuck things up.