Sugar Daddy (7 page)

He handed me a pen as heavy as the sheaf of papers, something surely meant to sign the Declaration of Dependence.

I perused the lingo and peered at him. “So, fraternization’s encouraged?”

“Definitely.” A corner of his mouth rose in delight.

Wiggling my hips as I leaned over his desk, I asked, “And this isn’t a dress code infraction?”

His palm ran along my thighs, rasping the lacey band of my stocking. “This attire is deemed appropriate.”

“This would probably be easier if you chose a different applicant.” I gasped when his hands passed over my bottom to my waist.

He slid my hair aside and feathered warm lips along my neck. “I assure you, I’m up
for the challenge.”

It didn’t take a MENSA genius to feel the truth of his statement.

“One final question. Have you ever been seduced?”

Seduced? Romanced? Off the record, not so much. Any seduction nowadays came by way of my DIY army. I had no problem setting a speed record from zero to orgasm by my own hands, but it sure would be nice for a man to take the place of my battery-op boyfriends. “No.”

“Then it’ll be my pleasure. But you need to sign first.”

His bold John Hancock scrawled all over the pages.

While I held the pen poised over the paper, he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. “You can take it to your solicitor to look over.”

My solicitor, yeah, because I had me one of those. He shared an office with my Spiritual Advisor. Only one solicitin’ anything here was Reardon.

“Or you can decline.” He pushed away to study the Cooper River vista outside his study.

“Where do I sign?”

I initialed all the sections he marked and asked, “Seal it with a kiss?”

When he rose, I was reminded of his strong bearing all over again. Towering over me, he touched my chin. “I told you, I won’t force my intentions on you. You have two months to capitulate.”

I swayed toward him. “And the kiss?”

So close, he met the bow of my upper lip, the fullness of the bottom, and both corners. A hush of his mouth and not one bit closer. “Next time, depending on your job performance.”

Dirty Rotten Rat Bastard Roue!
Performance?
Shoot, I could perform with both my hands tied behind my back, and I bet he’d like that too, kinky sumbitch.

Settled against the desk, he crossed his feet so the peaked creases of his trousers shouted toward his crotch:
Orgasms, This Way!

When he folded his hands over the package in his pants, a new caption appeared:
Yes, Shay, I’m talkin’ to you.

“Are you flexible?”

Oh boy, if only he knew. I wasn’t doing yoga for nothin’
.
“Referrin’ to?”

“Much as I’m looking forward to finding out how limber you are, I meant your hours of availability.”

Oh, that
.
“I’m at your disposal.”

“Shay,” he sighed. “I don’t want our relationship to be that way.”

“Surely you mean business relationship.”

His expression closed. “I’d rather not talk about this right now.”

Plucking bits of lint from my blouse left by my ten-year-old Kenmore dryer, I challenged, “Meanin’ I’m not gonna like whatever you have to say on the matter.”

He stalked forward, falling back on the big come-on.

I jumped away from him. “Oh no you don’t. I know all about your ways and means, buster.”

Ways and means?
Was I lobbyin’ for Congress now?

He crossed his arms, waiting.

“You’ve done this before.” I pointed my finger to his chest, a wall of unmoving muscle. “How do you manage it?”

“I like to have all loopholes closed. I took my first mistress off-spec. It was a messy affair.” He tapped his fingers at his hips. “The next time, I went about it in a more thorough
manner. She was on the books, accountable. I found it worked well.” His frosty tone dared me to run. “My business partner agreed to an additional part-time personal assistant.”

“How many runners-up did you have?”

“This time? None.” His hands shoved into his pockets, he shrugged. The man-on-the-make mask was replaced by honest longing.

“Just me?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

My heart skipped. Warmth spread from my belly, flushing my cheeks. To be wanted again, my turmoil over right and wrong was taken over by shy disbelief. “Really?”

His smile was beautiful. “Yes, Shay. Just you.”

The last of my resistance evaporated. “Okay.”

“Of course, it doesn’t really matter now, since you’ve already signed the contract.” He winked.

I laughed. “You really are a dirty dealer, aren’t you?”

“You’re going to find out just how filthy I can be, darlin’.”

Uh, what?
My panties disintegrated with his provocative promise.

He brought me to his side. “May I walk you to your car?”

“Please.” The chaste touch of his hand holding mine hinted at all I’d been missing.

Outside, evening was painting orange and pink swatches across the sky, and the raucous crickets reanimated in a loud chorus.

Opening my car door, Reardon watched my legs swivel inside. His arms crossed on top of the open window. “Monday evening. Seven o’clock. Be prepared to work late.”

Yessir, oh Yes sir
was on the tip of my tongue, until he sent me off with a knock on the roof and a flippant, “Looks sturdy enough.”

Rat Bastard better be talkin’ about my Honda, and not me.

Chapter 4

Trade Secrets

The following morning, I dreaded my Saturday date with Momma. We’d been through enough she could read me like an unauthorized tell-all biography. This time I needed to keep my trap shut and my nose clean.

When I let her into the house, she planted her habitual kiss on my cheek with a, “Mornin’, Sunshine,” before carrying on into the kitchen. “Hello, son.” She nodded at Palmer while he scarfed a breakfast of fried eggs and ketchup.

Stylishly dressed, my momma took pride in her appearance. No one would ever guess she trawled the bargains at TJ Maxx and scoured the racks during senior citizen discount day at Ross.

Soft as chamois cloth with her love, she was hard as a quintessential ass-beating wooden spoon when needed, and she sure as hell didn’t mince words, setting Palmer straight. “Now, son, I know you’re not gonna let my daughter come back to a house fulla mess this afternoon.” She indicated his muddy boots housing cheesy smelling socks lying on their sides, his belt swinging from the stair banister, and the mark on the arm of the couch where hours of passing out in front of the TV had left a stain from his hair.

“Why, Momma Letha, I know you’re not tellin’ me I don’t do enough around the homestead. I support this family.” His harsh chuckle reopened the gross wound in my heart.

I spun from the door. “Well, that ain’t true anymore, is it, Palmer Jefferson Greer?”

He shot out, “Yeah. ’Bout damn time too.”

He was right. There were a hundred mornings in the past year I hadn’t even bothered dragging myself out of bed, yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Keeping us afloat, he couldn’t let the anguish swallow him whole as it did me.

The price of his carrying on while I wallowed in pain? A broken marriage. An unpleasant home. The death of our love.

What we’d had was a mock-up just like our little look-alike home. A house of cards built on a fault line waiting for one fissure to collapse the entire damn structure. We’d been the Couple Most Likely to Succeed in the Wando High yearbook. For a long time, we’d believed it, without question.

Showing Momma the door before she got another crack in, I rounded on him. “I know you did good, Palmer, in the best way you knew how. But don’t you badmouth me in front of my family.”

His ugly expression fell, revealing the man beneath, scared and hurt as me. It broke my heart. I stooped down and took his face in my hands and whispered, “You’ve been a good man. In spite of everything.” I placed the first kiss I’d given in months upon his mouth, just a remembrance. “I’m sorry for it all.”

“You never did nothin’ wrong, Shay.”

I walked away to his tired words. I didn’t believe him.

Didn’t matter anyhow, because I was about to.

Inside Momma’s sedan, the air was dense with unasked questions. “You know, Sunshine, I don’t approve of the way Palmer treats you.”

Guilt wormed through me. “Oh, Momma, please don’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do, young lady. I birthed you, raised you, and made a home for you.” She gentled. “You’re my baby girl, my only child, and I will not abide you bein’ takin’ to the dogs. Besides, you could be happy.”

“I’m not unhappy
.
”

“Pshaw
.
”
Pshaw? Really?
“Y’all have had a difficult time.” Her eyes welled up as she reached across the console to grab my hand.

Her hands back at ten-and-two, she told me, “A husband should look after his wife, no questions asked. That’s Palmer’s job.” Leave it to my momma to make it black and white. “That’s how it was with your daddy and me, most times.”

I’d been Momma’s Sunshine, his Tiger Lily.

Alexander ‘Zanny’ Motte.

“I never did tell a soul.” While we stopped at an intersection, an ambulance blazed a strobing red path behind us. She pulled to the verge where pink flowers from the crepe myrtle rained down on the windshield. “Not even my own momma.” She reached for the vice she’d given up long ago–my cigarettes–before pulling back. “Your daddy had an affair.”

“What?” I stumbled out of the car.

Momma followed. “You were ten. Times were difficult.”

Was this shit genetic?

“You took him back?”

“I ignored it. I was a coward. Then I took it to heart. I gave Zanny my trust again. I’m as much to blame as he was.” She stroked my cheek. “It was after I miscarried Shawn. My third baby in six years.”

“The babies.” Tears leaked down to my lips.

“It’s how he dealt with it.” She plucked a Kleenex from her sleeve and wiped my face, as she always had.

“And you?”

“I had my own crutch, darlin’.” Her smile was laden with memories. “I had you
.
”

“Don’t you regret–”

“Yes. I wished I could have saved all my babies.
Of course I’d rather your daddy had never slept with another woman! But that ain’t how life works. We take what we’re given and make it fit, or we follow a different path.”

An ambulance and two fire trucks blazed across the intersection; cars merged back onto the road. I ushered Momma to the driver’s side.

I couldn’t make sense of this. Daddy had been infallible to me. My thumb worried the compact diamond on my engagement ring. “Why’d you tell me?”

“You’re old enough for the truth. No one’s either all good or all bad. There are decisions to make, even when it feels like life is beyond your control.”

“But Daddy–”

“He did wrong, and I’m not makin’ excuses for him. Our marriage changed. His goin’ off hurt us
.
” She sighed. “This isn’t making any sense. I’m sorry.” For a moment, she took her eyes off the road and maintained my gaze. “We loved each other through the worst moments, and I don’t regret it one little bit.”

“What about you and George?” I asked about her Diamond in the Rough.

“George?” She laughed. “Well, he’s my bit on the side.”

“You’re not planning on settlin’ down again?”

“Lawdy, no. I’m footloose and fancy free and enjoyin’ it. I’m not fool enough to think there’ll ever be more than one great love for me–I’m an old romantic at heart–but that don’t mean I’m not gonna enjoy a man’s company. George doesn’t interfere with my lunch dates and Bunko nights with the girls, and we get along just fine.” She whispered conspiratorially, “He’s no Rhett Butler, but he’s not ready to be put out to pasture either.”