chapter 2

                                    

                                          
I really wasn't prepared.
What takes me aback isn't just his good looks but the fact that he doesn't seem all that old—probably in his early to mid-thirties if I had to guess. He sits comfortably in his leather chair with soft black hair, a strong jawline and a bespoke suit that fits him like glove while reviewing the file in his hand, dark eyes not once glancing my way.
He seems awfully disinterested for someone who'd reached out to me first.
Finally, he closes his file and looks up for the first time, dark gaze cataloging my face, "I believe, you are already well briefed on everything by Mr. Berardi?"
I tip my head in a reluctant makeshift nod, "Yes, sir."
"Then, start by undressing."
"Excuse me?"
He doesn't repeat himself, simply stares back at me with a blank expression, "If you plan on simply standing there and squandering my time, you may leave."
"No, I'm sorry. I was taken aback." I say, my nervous fingers working on the pearl buttons of my blouse, before slipping it off my shoulder, revealing a green bra.
I pause for a second only for him to raise a brow, "Pants too."
Feeling blood rush across my cheekbones to the tips of my ears, I undo my pants and let them slide down, pooling around my feet. I'm almost naked and he's completely dressed—the power imbalance isn't lost on me. 
I am a model. I've been scantily dressed in rooms full of people before—of course, it was different with just one other man openly judging me but it doesn't feel all that unfamiliar. 
I'd been working since I was ten or eleven maybe, so I'd pretty much done it all—bartending, waiting, cleaning, babysitting and whatnot. Sometimes I really did think I'd rather be sucking cocks as Piero advised but apparently I can't choose to only sell my body to hot johns which is a bummer, really.
This john is pretty hot.
Besides, I'd already put my mind to it when I decided to call his secretary. If the only fates I could choose from are a sex trafficker and a sugar daddy then I'd gladly choose the latter—at least I'll only get degraded by one man and would actually be getting something out of it.
The situation reminds me of the hotshot director who'd caused my downfall. I was young and ignorant to the ways of the film industry back then, but it makes me wonder now that if I'd just swallowed the bitter pill and slept with the old man, would I have been able to provide a better life for my family?
"You will do," He says and I press my lips together, refusing to let my indignation show, "Have you ever been with a man?"
The intent of the question is pretty obvious. Men looking for women to date usually prefer a negative answer but ones seeking out a sugar baby or fuck buddy want the opposite.
"I have." I lie easily. I'd come way too far to lose the deal over something so stupid.
I'm not super conscious about my virginity, nor am I waiting for the perfect guy to give it up to; I'm just surrounded by trash who turn me off. 
And while Adriano Accardi seems no better, at least he's attractive enough.
"Great," he says, leaning his temple against his fingers, propped on the arm of his chair, carrying the patina of old money and inborn arrogance, "If you are currently seeing anyone, break it off within this week. I would prefer not to deal with any interferences of that kind."
"What exactly do you expect of me?"
"Unfettered access to you. Act as the lover I'm so enamoured with and I'll treat you as such," he tells me, "Do we have a deal?"