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“So I can see if you're going to run like a scared little child at the first sign of discomfort.”
“And why the fuck would there be discomfort?” Hmm. Mouth like a sailor on this one. “I'm already about as uncomfortable as I can get. Not only by the way you're acting or this place, but my life in general right now! Or maybe it’s the fact that I owe some extremely dangerous people an absurd amount of money. Or that I have to hide out. None of which was entirely up to me. Even if it is my fault.” She pulls herself up short, having lost her temper. Exactly what I was looking for, but not in the way I thought.
Definitely in over her head.
Not allowing herself to drown.
She’s perfectly desperate.
“Dreams. Desires. That’s what I do here. Or at least that’s the part of the job I like. Dreams I can fulfill, dopamine for you, dopamine for me. Favors are the drug that keep me doing this.” I’m winging it. Going completely off script.
Hellena tilts her head, a wrinkle forming between her brows. “And people just find you? Come to see you all the time asking for… favors. To make their dreams come true?”
“Usually, I find them. That’s how Sinful works. Most interactions are contactless, via email, hush-hush, secret wants and needs, easily procured, deliciously delivered. Many of the individuals who owe me favors also enjoy paying me back, when they get to do what they love to complete a desire that I need met. Tit-for-tat.”
“Example?”
I flick open a file, browsing the contents.
“This client connected one of my subsidiaries, a recommendation through a colleague. He wants a boy toy. More pointedly, to meet a nice fellow to spend time with. Preferably, a nice fellow who can also… bend.” I leave out that the client is State Senator Phienie. “I know, very specific.”
“And you provide that sort of thing? Like a… pimp.”
“We provide any and everything under the right circumstances. Except it’s a two-way street, not manipulative ownership.”
“How so?”
“I'm not a bookie, Hellena. I am not a pimp. I coordinate serendipity.”
“And have a God complex to go with it, huh?” I ignore the comment, pausing to let it pass.
“So my client has an ask, and lo and behold, my good friend Gillett, obviously not his real name, is a gigolo client of mine who had a dream of his own. All he ever wanted was to be completely hairless and impossibly flexible. He couldn’t afford laser therapy or gymnast training.”
“So you…”
“Precisely. Two years of treatment and training…”
“And enjoy your sexy date at the Lux-Berriat presidential suite?”
“Ha! Not far off the mark.” I lean forward, excitement drawing me into her. “Tell me, what made you say that?”
“Only a wealthy and powerful client would be worth your while to cater to so specifically.” I see her taking notes, calculating. Assessing me and my work as I assess her. She’s clever, sharp. Determined.
I fucking hate how disarming her eyes are.
It’s got me sweating in my silk suit.
Hellena takes a deep breath, those sumptuous breasts swelling behind her button up. Fortunately, she can't see below the desk where I'm fighting against natural urges, my suit pants feeling far too tight.
This is not typically how I behave. This isn't how things go. I need to regain control of the situation and myself. Except, I am having fun.
“Now. I shared far more than I should have. Your turn.” I point one finger at her.
“Fine. I guess you could say I'm a lot like you.”
“How so?”
“I do things for people in exchange for money.”
