The rate for his services was high. His quality was high. His acting skills were good enough that he could be a completely different person, and you'd never know.
However, the role he was least comfortable playing was Oliver.
Oliver Addams was a b...
It didn't take long for me to fill out the paperwork. I marked off the things I was comfortable with. I had filled out a lot of company-generated contracts. This, however, was the first that asked what I was okay with doing in the bedroom.
I knew what I liked. It's just that no one had ever cared what I liked. Had a client wanted to smack me around or leave me tied up in a corner, I wasn't to argue.
Now I was sat in my room, shoveling popcorn into my mouth as a cartoon played in the background. I think it was some old Cartoon Network show I hadn't seen for a least a decade. One of the perks of being the property of rich people was that they always had the best streaming services. Any type you could imagine, they were all here.
A knock sounds at the door. "Excuse me, Mr. Addams?" Dessa asks.
"Oh, it's open," I answer.
"It's dinner time," Dessa says, peeping her head through the doorway.
"Right now?" I ask, pushing off the blanket that I had surrounding me.
"Yes, Mr. Hendrix has asked for you to attend dinner with him," Dessa says, shuffling uncomfortably.
"Alright. Let me get changed." As soon as Cal and I had finished with the contract, I had gone back to my room and changed. I had slipped out of my pants and shirt. Now I had been chilling in my boxers for a while.
"Actually, Mr. Hendrix asked for you to come immediately."
I sighed and rolled out of bed. "Fine, fine." I grab a shirt off the ground, pulling it over my head quickly. "Let's go."
It didn't take long for the both of us to enter the dining room. Cal sat at the head of a table, looking like the billionaire he is.
I sit opposite him, at the other end of the table.
"No," Cal says without looking up from his drink. It appeared to be some kind of brandy again.
"What?" I ask, staring directly at him.
"Come down here." He beckoned me over to him.
"I-" I start to say something along the lines of disagreement, but then I think better of it.
"Alright." I push my chair out and move to the one sitting next to him.
Cal looks me up and down. "Why aren't you wearing any pants?"
"Oh, well-"
He cut me off. "Were you jacking off when Dessa called you?"
"Excuse me?" This man. Perhaps being rich gives you a sense of entitlement that the average person just isn't privy to.
"Hey, just a question." He shrugged, letting out a little sigh.
"A rude one." Cal shoots me a look because I didn't answer his invasive question.
"I was just hanging out in my boxers when Dessa knocked. I attempted to put some clothes on, but she made it seem like you couldn't possibly wait. So, I grabbed a shirt, and now I'm here, sitting across from you, having this conversation that seems completely unnecessary." I cross my arms across my chest let out a slight huff. Billionaires are either the smartest or stupidest people you'll ever meet. This client seems to belong to the latter category.
Cal hmms out a sound, the meaning of which I am unaware of. A woman who looks vaguely familiar brings me a plate of food and a drink. The dish is chicken linguine and broccoli. For the drink, red wine.
I thank her, and Cal is watching me intently. His gaze is making me uncomfortable, and I can't place why.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask finally. The same woman who brought me my plate had already brought him his. I hadn't started eating as his staring had killed my appetite. Cal was looking at me like he was expecting something. Did I have something on my face?
"How did you become an escort?" Cal asks, taking a bite of the food to punctuate his question. The question didn't warrant the amount of staring he had been doing. There was no reason Cal needed to lock eyes with me for that long to ask such a question. From the way he was looking at me, I thought he about to ask me to strip and get on the table like I was the meal.
"And you needed to stare like that to ask me that?" I twirl the pasta around on my fork.
"That's not an answer." Okay, I see we're choosing to ignore the staring bit and go straight to the asshole-complex.
"Well, I was out of high school. Had turned eighteen that same week and needed a way to afford to live on the busy streets of Chicago. Living isn't cheap, and my McDonald's salary wasn't enough for an apartment." I conveniently choose to leave out the part that I had gotten kicked out of my foster home as I was now eighteen. The environment was awful. I had been paying rent since I could work and even buying my own food, so there was no money even saved up.
"One day, I was approached by a woman. Apparently, I looked like the person she was supposed to be meeting. She had mistakenly given me a business card and asked me to come to the address on it at a specific time. I looked up the website, after following the encrypting instructions, I figured I'd give it a try." The company won't hire anyone who isn't recommended by an employee that already works there. "Now, five years later, you're my last client." I hadn't looked back up at Cal since I started talking, so I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he remained quiet.
"So it was an accident?" Cal asks.
I tear my eyes away from my food and look up at Cal. I grab my glass and all but down the wine. "More or less."
"Do you enjoy the sex?" Cal's voice is smooth and calculated as if he isn't asking me about my sex life.
I choke on the wine. What kind of man did I sell my soul to for the next five years.
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