“I will offer you money and security in exchange for live encores of the little performance you sent me last night. In addition to meeting my other needs.”
“And by ‘needs,’ you mean…sex?”
He tilts his chin down and regards me solemnly. “How explicit would you like me to be, Ms. Carson?”
What.
“So this—” I raise the blue folder in my hand. “—is a sugar daddy contract?”
His brow furrows. “I’d prefer to call it a ‘Friend With Benefits’ contract.”
“But we’re not friends.”
He smirks. “Fair enough. No, we’re not.”
There’s a throbbing in my head that reminds me of the first time I got drunk. Sienna and I had snuck into Dad’s study the eve of my sixteenth birthday and stolen a 1984 Chateau Latour. We passed it back and forth, taking turns sipping from the bottle like it was cheap bagged wi
