What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(99)

In the two years she’d been seeing him she had not quit her job. It was important to her self-esteem that she work at something other than being a mistress. True, she was away quite a lot. When Nick wanted her to travel with him, she did. It wasn’t as though her supervisor was going to complain. Nick was a very valued client.

Jennifer relaxed in the luxury of the Gulfstream, a glass of champagne on her side table, a novel in her lap. Nick, however, had been on the phone since takeoff. He frequently stood up, paced, raised his voice or shook his fist at the air. She picked up a few words here and there—”Look, goddammit, that’s been the program for years!” and “If it’s not delivered on time, you’ll pay, and you’ll pay big!” Jennifer had nearly perfected the fine art of being oblivious. His business wasn’t her business. If she got nosy while he was all riled up, his mood would only get worse. She understood that any man who had the amount of fiscal responsibility that he had might have a short fuse now and then.

After a couple of hours in flight, he’d had enough. Jesse and Lou were sitting in the first two seats on the plane, reclined and sleeping, their backs to Jennifer and Nick. Nick asked the flight attendant for a Chivas on the rocks and came over to where Jennifer sat with her feet up on the ottoman. He sat beside her feet and put a hand on her knee.

“What are you reading, babe?”

She gently closed the book and smiled. “Romance.”

His hand moved slowly over her knee and under her skirt, caressing her thigh. “That’s a good idea,” he said with a smile. He sipped his drink and swirled it in the glass, clinking the cubes against the crystal. And his hand went a little higher.

Jennifer stopped him right there. She pressed the book down, refusing his hand farther passage. The flight attendant had handled a little of everything on this job and would probably know enough to turn discreetly away, get very busy in the galley or something, but Jennifer wasn’t having that. “Behave yourself,” she told him sternly. “And try to be patient.”

Nick chuckled and removed his hand, but he leaned toward her. So she kissed him, a deep and promising kiss. She could taste the Scotch on his lips, in his mouth.

When they parted she said, “You be a good boy and you can get in the hot tub with me tonight.” But she knew she would probably be splashing around alone while Nick was preoccupied with poker.

The palm of his hand gently brushed her breast. “Yes, Mommy. Let’s see what movies we have.” He picked up the remote, turned on the overhead screen and read the directory until he found one he liked. Then he settled back on the leather sofa and shared the ottoman with Jennifer, keeping a proprietary hand on her thigh.

She went back to her book. She knew how to make her gentleman toe the line and that was imperative. It kept them interested. They could be like children sometimes, craving limits. She had very strict standards; she must be treated with respect and dignity. The minute a man made the mistake of treating her as property, she was gone.

Jennifer was a professional girlfriend. A mistress. Not a call girl or prostitute. She was an excellent girlfriend. The greater part of her subsistence came from her current gentleman, but she absolutely never asked for a thing. Never. It was always a gift, sometimes with her input, sometimes a surprise. The two diamond rings she wore were surprises, but last year Nick wanted to buy her a car and they went together to pick out her Jag.

Of course, had Nick been less than forthcoming with such gifts, she would have moved on long ago.

How does one get into a profession such as this? In Jennifer’s case, quite by accident and in all innocence. She was nineteen when her mother died and there was a little bit of money from the sale of her grandparents’ house. Just enough to get her from Ohio to Florida and pay first, last and security on a small efficiency. She longed for the sun to warm her heart, for she had found herself suddenly all alone. She had nothing and no one. She didn’t know what to do or where to turn. It seemed she had spent her entire life up to that point keeping an eye on her mother, and when she was gone, exhaustion combined with her grief. She needed a change and a little rest.

She got a job in a fine-dining restaurant in Fort Lauderdale bussing tables on her way to being trained as a waitress; she’d heard the money was good when diners dropped a few hundred on their meals and wines. When one of the slim, young hostesses was a no-show for work, the manager slipped Jennifer into a narrow black dress—the hostess uniform—and she began booking reservations, showing people to their tables and in general making nice with the patrons. She did it well, so they kept her in that job. At nineteen, she was hardly a knockout, but she had a kind of slim elegance, an aloofness, that was underscored by the fact that when she smiled she hardly ever showed her teeth because one front tooth was a little gray and she was embarrassed by it.

Within a couple of weeks she was asked out by an older man named Robert who frequented the restaurant. She shied off, declining. Why would she wish to go out to dinner with a man old enough to be her grandfather? “Because he’s richer than God,” said one of the other hostesses. “And he’s sweet as a kitten. Tell him I’m free.”

That set her to thinking. She was too alone. She had no family; not even a close girlfriend. She was barely getting by on what little money she made. Her best dress belonged to the restaurant—the little black number she wore for hostessing. And this was a nice man, well known around Fort Lauderdale. He was the least dangerous person alive and very, very chivalrous. He just happened to like young women.