Sugar Daddy (3 page)

I look in the mirror, still shocked with my new appearance.

Six months ago, I ditched every bit of metal in my face and ears except a hole in each lobe that now sports tiny gold hoops. I’m lucky everything closed up nicely with barely perceptible scarring. I cut friendship ties with Mark and the handful of others, making my life more solitary than normal. I joined a gym, spent my precious money on a trainer, and got rid of twenty pounds that were seemingly welded onto my lower stomach, ass, and hips. I spent even more precious money by coloring my golden blond hair a rich, chocolate brown—eyebrows too—and now my blue eyes sizzle like electric orbs. The dusting of freckles across my nose and cheeks also stands out against the dark hair, and I find I like the look. I’m like a slightly younger version of Jennifer Garner but without the bangs.

Innocent and fresh. Two words that should never be used to describe the dark and damaged woman I’ve become.

My last step to transformation included a full wax, because I didn’t want blond pubes giving away my disguise. It was painful but necessary, should I find myself in a position to take my disguise that far.

I am ready.

I wash my hands and look into the bathroom mirror.

“You can do this,” I murmur to myself, remembering a time ten years ago that I stared into a mirror just before slicing open my wrist. “You can totally do this, Sela.”

Infiltrate.

Murder.

Repeat.

It’s a simple plan, really.

I give a quick scan of my makeup and deem it perfect. I had to have someone teach me, because I never wore this crap before. Never cared about my looks or catching a man’s attention.

Until now.

Now I’m getting ready to step out into the ballroom of the Four Seasons hotel and put myself on display. My dark hair falling in lustrous waves over bare shoulders, my skimpy dress and ridiculous heels I spent weeks practicing in, and a sexy attitude I also practiced, all in the hopes of catching Jonathon Townsend’s eye.

Six months ago, I hurled on my living room carpet.

Within minutes of that, I developed a plan for justice.

It’s taken me a long time to get here, but now today is the first day of the rest of my new life. It’s where I’m going to make things right for poor Sela Halstead.

I’m going to make
him
suffer and then I’m going to end him.

My nefarious plan is quite easy, at least to my way of thinking that admittedly might be colored by an overabundance of rage and an overwhelming need for retribution. After only a few hours of Internet research, I had all I needed to know about my rapist.

Jonathon Townsend, age thirty-two.

Attended Hillcrest Preparatory. Bachelor’s and MBA from Stanford.

Wealthy by birth. Spoiled by circumstance.

Launched The Sugar Bowl three years ago and made millions upon millions.

Playboy. Bachelor. Rapist.

Those are the basics, and I find it hilariously ironic that his own business is going to be my way in to him. My research on The Sugar Bowl was fastidious and there were dozens of articles about it. CNN even did a documentary about the revolutionary and unconventional website platform that hooked up Sugar Daddies with Sugar Babies.

Quite brilliant, actually.

Sugar Daddies are wealthy men, usually in their fifties and sixties, who are looking to regain their youth by dating much younger women. Beautiful women too. Now there are some more youthful Sugar Daddies, but they are few and far between and obviously in high demand. I wondered why the vast majority of Sugar Daddies were old enough to be grandfathers, but according to the CNN film, most wealthy men in their thirties and forties were trying out the family life with cute suburban wives and a passel of kids. It’s usually not until divorce hits and the resulting fat belly sets in that these guys start scrambling to prove their manhood. Statistically speaking, that most often happens in a man’s late forties after the kids are grown and the wife doesn’t give it up anymore.

The Sugar Bowl makes all of this easy for these poor, ignored men by providing a database of willing Sugar Babies.

Sugar Babies are young women, usually between eighteen and twenty-six, although some can be a bit older. CNN says the average age is actually twenty-two, and that’s because most Sugar Babies are joining as a means to get their college tuition paid. At twenty-six, I’m stretching the outer limit of the normal range, but my face is very youthful and I could pass for twenty if I wanted.

While most sugarships—that’s a combination of “sugar” and “relationships”—are formed through introductions facilitated through the Web database, much like some of the popular dating sites, The Sugar Bowl also hosts regional parties where the Daddies and the Babies can mix, mingle, and have face-to-face time to see if there are any common bonds.

What’s the typical “sugarship” look like?

Well, there’s actually a written contract. In a signed agreement, all expectations are laid out. The Sugar Daddy clearly defines what he wants from his Baby. It could be a live-in companion or someone to travel with. It could be as simple as just a weekly dinner date. In return, the Daddy promises the Baby certain things. That could be money, tuition expenses, a car, expensive jewelry, whatever.

Bottom line: the Daddy pays for the Baby.

One thing you will never find in the agreement is an expectation to have sex. In fact, after I joined The Sugar Bowl two weeks ago, it was interesting to read their sample agreement online and find that it actually has a clause that “specifically prohibits discussion and/or agreement regarding sexual acts in exchange for monetary compensation and/or gifts.”

Squeaky-clean on its face, but as CNN showed during the documentary, sex is most often implied. Numerous former Sugar Babies were interviewed. Most of them were very happy with their experiences, having come out of college debt-free. Most of them also admitted that sex was a given and were unapologetic about having their expenses paid in return for a little roll between the sheets.

I find it sickening and repulsive, and yet…here I am. Getting ready to attend a San Francisco Sugar Bowl Mixer, and I have it on good authority from Jonathon Townsend’s secretary, Karla Gould, that he’s going to be here. I’m not the least bit ashamed that I researched and targeted her as an unwilling accomplice in my plans. I learned that she’s thirty-three, divorced, a single mom of three, and desperate for friends. I ultimately stalked her, forming a friendship after a “chance meeting” in her favorite coffee shop. That happened two months ago, and I played up my down-on-my-luck poor college student trying to pay for her master’s degree, which led to Karla suggesting The Sugar Bowl to me. While she’s too old and too overweight to be a marketable Baby, she had no problem with urging me in that direction, and I did a great acting job looking surprised at the suggestion, slightly dubious yet equally intrigued.

Karla was a good inside source, and I even once met her at her office for lunch and got a peek inside the great Jonathon Townsend’s empty office. I almost shuddered in ecstasy as I imagined jamming a letter opener through his eye and deep into his brain while he sat at his desk and computed his millions.

My plan is simple, and as such, will involve a great deal of luck.

I am going to try to catch Jonathon Townsend’s attention tonight. It’s well-known that he prefers blondes, but it’s also well known he prefers big tits, and I have a set of those. My blond hair is not an option, because I don’t want him to recognize me.

I don’t think he will, because I have learned in my research that he’s an egomaniac. I also learned that he fucks a lot of blondes and I have to imagine all of our faces blend together. While I can’t be sure, I’m betting on his cocky arrogance and the fact it probably had him forgetting about me even before the semen in my hair dried that night.

Rage sparks, froths, and bubbles low in my gut as I think about it.

Infiltrate.

Murder.

Repeat.

Keep your eye on the prize, Sela.

Infiltrate…get Townsend’s attention tonight. Make him lust after you. Get him to take you to his house. Make him divulge the other two rapists’ names, which shouldn’t be a problem inducing him to do that given the gun in my purse.

Murder…easy enough. Bullet between the eyes.

Repeat…find the other two and stalk them. Bullets between their eyes as well.

I stare at myself in the mirror just a moment more, taking in the smoky eyes, plump and glossed lips, cleavage on full display. I know what I’m doing is rash, probably not the most airtight of plans, but I can’t help it. I have rage and hate driving me forward. Even if I get caught and spend the rest of my life in prison, it will be better than living with myself having not done anything at all.

Watch out, Mr. Townsend. Your time is almost up.

As much as I sneer at JT’s overusage of the Babies available, I have to admit, it’s one of the perks of ownership. While the mission of the The Sugar Bowl is to help facilitate meaningful and companionable relationships—or sugarships as some freak in the marketing department dubbed them—I tend to pick from the eager stock intent on only one-night stands.

I may be richer than God at this point in my life, but I have no desire to pay for some college sweetie to move into my bedroom just so I can have the assurance of someone playing with my balls every night. Instead, I found out soon enough that most of these women are so hungry in their quest for achievement they’ll set their eyes on the top dogs and will pin all their hopes on just one shot at them.

They have an ulterior motive and I don’t hold that against them. Sugar Babies are beautiful, smart, and calculating. Most would make tremendous businesswomen. But they have an agenda, and so do I. They are seeking a windfall in the form of money, and perhaps a lasting connection. I may own the company that makes this possible for them, but I’m in no form or fashion a Sugar Daddy myself. I have no need of relationships, and while I have the utmost respect for women, even those who are cool with my desire only for a one-night stand, I can’t see that changing anytime soon for me.

So yes, I take advantage of this fucking spectacular perk of owning The Sugar Bowl. I get a hot-as-hell fuck with no strings attached, and the best part is, at the end of the night, I can slink out of whatever room we’re occupying…hotel, public restroom, back of my limo…and not have to look at starry eyes in the morning hoping that I’ll wise up and offer marriage to the young beauty in my bed.

Because let’s face it…that’s what these Sugar Babies want. While their immediate goals might be stability and financial gain, they all have the same long-term outlook. Every one of them is hoping to catch a rich man who will keep them swimming in jewels and furs forever.

And good for them. Use what you have, girl, and work it hard. Just don’t flash that shit my way, as I’m not about to give up my independence to commitment.

My gaze wanders around the ballroom. These Sugar Bowl mixers are opulent and flashy, giving the Babies a taste of the decadence that awaits them. Caviar and champagne. Thousand-dollar suits. Wristwatches that cost more than cars. They take it all in with wide-eyed innocence, and they spread their legs a little further to entice a Daddy to notice them.

I’ve seen it all before.

See it happening right now all over this room as the women flirt, suck on lower lips, and pull their dresses down just a little more to expose their cleavage. The room is thick with lust pouring off the men who see nothing but orgasms in their immediate future after going so long without. The girls see dollar signs. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

Taking a sip from my drink as I stand at the bar, I glance down to my left. Several couples are sitting on stools, drinking cocktails and making small talk. At the very end sits a woman who is strikingly lovely. Her back is to the bar, the stool swiveled so she can face the mingling crowd. A shimmery silver dress hugs her curves, and I lean back from the bar so I can get a better look at knockout stiletto sandals with silver ribbon at the heels that wind up and around her calves.

Pulling my body back in, I take another look at her face. It’s in profile to me, but she’s all gorgeous angles and soft curves. Straight nose, high cheekbones, and full, puffy lips. Dark chocolate-brown hair, and I wonder what color her eyes are, but I can’t see from this position.

She seems to be staring at something intently so I turn my head and follow her line of sight across the room.

Ahhh…there it is.

She’s staring at JT, who is standing with three women huddled around him, all vying for his attention. I look back at the brunette sitting at the bar and find her stare a bit disconcerting. It’s not hungry or calculating; not the way I’ve seen women look at me and my partner before. Instead, she looks sort of angry.

Odd.

Jealous former Baby, perhaps?

I start to put it out of my mind because that’s a complication I don’t need, but just as I begin to turn away, she pushes up off the stool, squares her shoulders, and starts to cross the room toward JT.

She has a sexy as hell walk, full of confidence as her hips sway. Her breasts aren’t bound by a bra under the shimmery dress and they sway in full natural glory. What I wouldn’t love to do to a pair of tits like that, and an image of me fucking said tits crosses my mind.

I watch with interest to see what happens, because while I don’t like confrontation, I wouldn’t mind watching JT get a comeuppance if that’s what’s on the brunette’s mind. Or maybe an old-fashioned catfight between her and the blondes that might involve hair pulling and an errant kick to JT’s nuts. He’d so deserve it.

Fucking JT.

I’ve got my attorney reading over our partnership agreement, poring over case law, trying to figure out if I have a way to force him out, but so far it doesn’t look good. So my choices are going to be stay the course and hope JT gets his head out of his ass, or let him buy me out and walk. It’s an option, but not the best, as I’ve got a lot of pride invested in this business. Do I have the smarts to make a killing off another start-up? Hell, yes. But I’m not ready to give up this ride yet because it could be so much more, and besides…maybe JT is just going through a phase. Maybe he’ll wise up sooner rather than later and this will all be moot.

God, I hope to fuck he comes to his senses, because JT and I have history together. Deep ties that I don’t want to sever if it can be helped. While I might not like him at the moment, I still hold out hope that he can be pulled back from the edge.

The brunette reaches JT’s group and I watch as his eyes connect with hers. He lowers his gaze, runs his eyes all over her body, because hell…who wouldn’t? She’s stunning.

When his eyes meets hers again, she boldly steps in between two of the blondes and holds her hand out to him. While I can’t hear anything because of the chatter of about two hundred people and soft strains of some techno dance music, I can imagine her bold introduction. I bet her voice is smoky…filled with sex.

JT inclines his head toward her in polite acknowledgment and releases her hand, turning his gaze back to the blonde who is now hanging on his left arm. He dips his head to her and she presses her lips near his ear, I’m sure offering to do any dirty thing imaginable he desires, and I know the brunette won’t be looked at again.

Not only does she not have the right hair color, but she screwed up when she approached JT. He likes his women docile and subservient. Her confident strut, I’m betting firm handshake, and direct approach turned him off. Not that he wouldn’t fuck her if there was nothing else available, but for the most part…her type doesn’t do it for him.

Her type, however, does a shitload for me. I like my women confident and feisty in bed. I like a good tussle when the mood suits us both, and I want her screaming at me to go harder because she wants it, not just because I like to give it. I like a woman to look me directly in the eye when she’s sucking my cock, and I’m betting this woman would do just that.

The brunette continues to stare at JT, and I notice with a small amount of surprise her fingers curled into fists that are clenched tightly. Maybe she’ll deck him, which won’t be as good as a swift kick in the balls, but would still be entertaining.

Instead, she turns from the group and her shoulders sag in what I’d consider to be defeat. Her head is still held high though, and when she angles my way, I can see the clear blue of her eyes even across the dim room.

Just fucking stunning, and JT’s all kinds of a fool to let that get away.

But his loss is my gain, and I push away from the bar to intercept her.

We meet in the middle of the ballroom, her eyes widening in surprise as she realizes I’m intent on talking to her. I see almost a subtle hint of a wall going up and her shoulders tighten.

“Don’t take it personally,” I tell her with a charming smile as I take her by the elbow, guiding her to the bar where I left my drink. “He doesn’t like confident women. Threatens his masculinity and all.”

She gives an unladylike snort. “I find that hard to believe.”

Yes! A smoky voice that sounds exactly like sex. I knew it.

“Well, it’s true, and I know him better than anyone in this room,” I tell her truthfully as we reach the bar and I pull out a stool for her. “Let me get you a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She sits down, crosses one smooth leg over the other, and looks me directly in the face. “So…are you going to divulge all of your partner’s dirty secrets to me, Mr. North?”

Ahhhh…she does know who I am.

“It’s just Beck,” I reply as I hold my hand out to her. She takes it and rather than shake, I pull it up to my lips and press a whisper of a kiss on her knuckles. “You know who I am?”

“Techie mastermind of The Sugar Bowl,” she says with a shrug, and I don’t see a hint of calculation in her eyes. Instead, she says, “I’m Sela Halstead, and I was hoping to get a moment with Mr. Townsend to talk about The Sugar Bowl.”

My stomach bottoms out a bit, because I hate deception, and I eyeball her shrewdly. “You don’t look like a reporter.”

She gives a husky laugh and touches her fingertips to my forearm in reassurance. “No. I’m a Sugar Baby, but I am writing a paper in my psych class about the sexual evolution of the human mind. I thought he’d have some interesting perspectives to share.”

The tension leaves my shoulders and I smile at her. “Well, I’m sure I could provide you with the same type of information you’re looking for. I’m well versed on sexual evolution and my mind is quite human.”

She laughs again and I raise my hand to catch the bartender’s attention. I look back down at her and ask, “What are you drinking?”

She stares at me a moment, chews on her bottom lip as if plagued with indecision. Her eyes cut across the room to JT and then back to me before she finally says, “Whatever you’re serving at your place.”