“Are you saying you’re a hooker, Rebecca?”
The use of my name throws me off. No one has called me Rebecca in forever. I hate that name.
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, not that you’d know anything about that, but I sure as hell don’t want to go back to the shelter. My brother and I have to make rent and he’s out of work right now.” I inwardly groan. Why did I tell him that? And why am I embarrassed about it? I don’t do embarrassed.
I see sympathy flash across his eyes.
“Don’t,” I put my hand up before he can turn this into a pity party. Of course, I wasn’t going to sleep with those men, but when I saw the emotion he showed when I first joked about it, I couldn’t help myself. I had to poke the bear a little. “I don’t need your pity. I know how to get by on my own, and I’ve been doing it for years. What I really didn’t need though, is you getting me fired. I liked that job.” Okay, that’s a lie. I hated that job, but it’s the nicest job I’ve ever had.
“I didn’t get you fired.”
“Bullshit,” I retort. He had something to do with it. “But what you’re going to do is get me another job, or I’ll keep making your life difficult. As you can see, I’ve got the time to invest in doing it.” He has to have something for me to do around here. He owns a freaking building, for God’s sake. Who knows what else he owns.
“How old are you?” he asks.
He shoots me a look that tells me he knows I’m full of shit. “Old enough,” I finally say.
“Do you really whore yourself out?” he asks, making his way over to me. I’m shocked when he easily lifts me from his chair, sitting me on his desk and sliding himself between my legs.
“Why? You looking?” I ask. Why would he need a hooker? A couple of the girls from the shelter make easy money selling themselves. I’ve never been that desperate, but I understand why they do it. I don’t judge them for it. My life hasn’t been as rough as some of the other girls’. I lucked out. Might be shitty luck but it’s still luck. I bet women fall all over him, so I don’t understand why he would need to pay to get laid. Whoever this Chelsea is, I’m sure she’d give him some. “No. Honestly, I’ve never whored myself out, but maybe if the price was right. Maybe if I was desperate enough.” Pausing, I look up into his eyes. He presses against me, and I can feel his cock is hard. “Does it make you hard thinking you could buy me? What do you think virginity goes for these days? Maybe I’m in the market to sell after all.”