He was able to escape. And after that he was never going to look back.
Until her.
She changed everything.
Chapter 1
Cal
February 28th 2008
Freedom.
Most people think that they’re free, but they’re aren’t. They’re slaves—to their jobs, to suffocating families, to misplaced priorities, drowning under the weight of what should be life. I see them. I’ve lived with them. The pathetic thing is that at one point I wanted to be just like them. Well, a part of me at least. Then things changed. I was lost and now I’m found. Many people would wonder how a 23 year old with no formal education, no background in business, and a pretty shitty attitude—I admit it— ended up with a job making six figures to entertain ass-kissers, all with trust funds from mommy and daddy to convince me of why our company should consider saving theirs. My job is atypical but then again I’m not the typical guy.
There is far more to me than meets the eye. It’s my secret weapon, my gift, and my curse. But every curse can be used to your advantage if you can wield it just right.
I had a lot against me when I was born. The cards weren’t stacked in my favor but if my parents never gave me anything else, they passed along a good combination of their genes, which has given me a little bit of an edge up in the world. Regardless of your personality or your IQ, the right looks will get you everywhere—but, without the right mentality, you can only go so far. Lucky for me, a combination of looks and IQ have taken me from under-paid farm hand in a town most people never heard of to one of the greatest cities in the world, with the best food, the most interesting locations, and—my favorite part—the most beautiful women you have ever seen.
I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. Besides, I’ve already done that once.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to be like everyone else, suffocating in a shell of a man. A yes-man, until he broke in two. He couldn’t handle the pressure of life—the real side of it, not the sanitized made-for-TV version of life that was created for him. He couldn’t handle that reality is ugly. Which worked great because I handle that part just fine. But the beautiful part of life, I’m telling you, is what I love. The life some people never experience. My favorite part of this job is being among the most gorgeous women Chicago has to offer. Like an ice-cream shop, that has any flavor you could think of and I’ve tasted so many I should be embarrassed. Distractions that make me put up with the irritating part of my job.
My prospect tonight is already pissing me off, most of them do. Fucking babies. All used to having their asses kissed. I’m like a breath of fresh air for them, I guess. Somehow not giving a fuck works. And Dex pays me a whole lot to not give a fuck. The first time I went out with him to a business venture boring dinner, the client was a dick. I didn’t even work for him yet and the guy who had my job was just about ready to get on his knees and suck it. I told the client to go fuck himself and that’s how I got my first job. Not your typical interview, is it? But Dexter Crestfield isn’t your typical boss and his training isn’t your run-of-the-mill HR BS.
“… a deal with Crestfield even possible, Cal?” This guy’s voice irritates the hell out of me. It’s like a cross between a pissed-off teacher and a fast-food worker. His expression looks like he hasn’t taken a shit in about four days. He looks irritated and now I’m irritated. Why the hell would I waste my time if a deal wasn’t possible?
“Another drink, gentleman?” One of the bottle girls interrupts us but what a welcome interruption she is. Did I say how much I love Chicago?
I forgot her name, I’ve seen her here a few times before. Michelle, Mallory, something or other. My two clients eye her tits.
“Not right now, hon. Make sure you come back in couple of minutes,” he says with a sly grin. Mr. Constipated, his counterpart, gives her the eye and I try to contain my laughter. I must admit whoever does the hiring needs a raise—a big one.
“And you, sir?” her voice drops an octave as she flashes her bright green eyes at me. I have a thing for women with beautiful eyes but I can tell she’s a pro as she leans into me, slightly licking her lips, a bold red, the same color as her hair.
“That’ll be it,” I whisper in her ear, sliding a bill in her hand. She smiles appreciatively and stuffs the fifty into the valley between her tits before sauntering away.
“What? Do I need a pair of Double-D breasts to get his attention?” Mr. Constipated says. If he wasn’t so fucking cheap, he’d be the one she’d be pressed up against tonight.
“The terms of the agreement you’re offering… I don’t think it’s worth the risk,” I state simply.
“Well, to be frank, we’d rather discuss this with Mr. Crestfield. And in a proper place of business, not this swamp of Jersey Shore elite,” Mr. Constipated says tightly. I grin and signal another bottle girl back to the table.
“Can you pour Mr. Freeman here a drink? Because I think he needs to cool the fuck off.”
“Look, Cal, we don’t mean any disrespect, we’re really anxious to make this deal happen,” the less annoying one says. I hate guys like Mr. Constipated, men with degrees that cost more than people’s mortgages. They know I’m not one of them, they can tell—sense it, blue blood—bull shit. Good thing is, I don’t give a shit. So I smile, the same smile I could flash his wife and have her on her knees in ten minutes and play it cool. After all, it must suck being him.
“I’ve taken time out of my schedule on my day off to hear a proposal, a legitimate offer to take back to Dexter and you bring me this shitty deal? Bottom line is, we have better options to review,” I say before standing up.
“Wait. Wait, everyone. Calm down. Tensions are high. Cal, we really appreciate the fact that you’ve come out to hear our proposals. This is actually one of our properties. Cegan, how about we go see if the property holders are in, and how things are going?”
This is how it usually works. They’re caught off guard. They think the deal is off the table and now their heads are spinning. I pull out my phone as I make my way from the table. I shoot Dex a text saying he has them exactly where he wants them.
I make my way from the VIP area down to the main area of the club. VIP is exclusive and all of that shit but the main floor is where the fun is and, once work is done, it’s time to play and there are so many toys out tonight. I feel a hand slip around my stomach and turn to see the sexy red head from earlier.
“Are you looking for Tori?” she says leaning into me.
Tori’s a bottle girl who works here. She’s supermodel-hot, fun, easy, gives me space but answers when I call. She’s one of my regulars and when I’m in the mood for something different than her for the night, she doesn’t cause a scene or throw a fit. Hell, sometimes she’ll come with me and my flavor of the night. Bad thing about her, she likes to drink on the job, if it wasn’t for me sliding her manager a couple of hundreds to look the other way, she’d have been out on her ass.
“Maybe,” I tell her as I watch her hand slide down my arm and land on my Cartier watch, her finger lingering over it and I immediately know this girl is looking for a cash out, not fun, and I don’t play with her type.