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"How many inches are they? Ten?" I ask jokingly, a twisted part of me teasing about the things she wrote about my dick size. The things I should not have read. If only I hadn't read them—maybe this interaction wouldn't be so uncomfortable.
"Ten?" She chuckles. "These are four. Can you tell I'm not used to them? I bet ten inches could finish me off."
My heart rate spikes. I could finish her off… "Right." I can tell she has no idea I know about her journal—and the ten-inch joke didn't register. Good. I should be a better man and not toy with these things. I'm clearly not.
We arrive at the parking space where I left my Aston Martin, and I open the door for her. Only an old-fashioned Southern mannerism, I remind myself. Nothing more. After all, this isn't a real date. For all I care, she could be taking notes as I drive.
A small part of me laughs. I don't usually get this amused internally or externally in her presence. Hazel has been my assistant for the past year. A good one. I have to remember that.
"Are you comfortable?" I ask after we're both seated and I turn on the engine. "You may want to make mental notes of some of the stuff that happens tonight," I add, slipping into my boss role. I should remind her what's at stake.
"Of course. I'm always making them."
"What's your current note?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said you're always making them."
"Oh. My current note is actually a question. Why is this Sugar & Silk deal so important to you?"
"I love to take advantage of a good opportunity. So much so that I can't let it go when good ideas cross my mind. The collab will be a great way to get Cromwell Travel good publicity. And it'll serve their partners well, too. I've studied their business model: sugar babies and daddies. Usually, there's a vetting process for both, and then they get on the agency and the app. What if they also promoted trips to exclusive locales, where they could meet people more organically?"
She crosses her legs and turns to me. "Isn't that the point of the agency, though? To vet people to make sure the women aren't broke crackheads and the men aren't creepy old bastards who want to screw someone half their age?"
"Wow. I didn't know you thought about them so highly," I say dryly.
"Oh, I think what they do is fine. I mean, some girls my age have used it, Mr. Cromwell."
I clear my throat. Images of her calling me Mr. Cromwell as I fuck her deep flash in my mind. "Call me Archer," I say. "Tonight," I add, wondering if I'm underlining this boundary for her or me. I have to remember that on Monday, we’ll go back to being boss and employee. Hell, I have to remember right now that we're boss and employee. "Have you ever been a part of a sugar baby and daddy agency?"
"No."
Relief pours over me. I chastise myself, once again despair cutting a hole in my chest. Her answer shouldn't matter, but it does. The idea of any man, her age or older, coming near her and touching her gives me a sick feeling in my gut.
"Would you?" I ask, skating on thin ice.
"What?"
"I mean, you're twenty-one. You're their target audience. Your insight is valuable. Would you rather meet a guy on a trip or through the Sugar & Silk app?" My tone is casual, like I'm asking her simply because I want her perspective.
She taps on her chin, looking away for a moment, considering my question. "I’d join the app. Vacation romance never ends well."
Her response irks me—not only because she's downplaying my business idea but because she admits she'd join the agency.
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. "You may not want to tell them that."
"Oh, yes, sorry. I thought you asked for my opinion."
I glance at her. "I did."
"It's just that when you meet someone on vacation, everything is great. But the daily grind is different. Reality."
"Didn't take you for a cynic, Hazel."
"I'm not. I guess it's been a while since I met anyone in any possible way, so I forgot what it feels like."
I take in a deep breath. "I feel that."
