His Sugar Baby by Roberts, Sarah
Chapter One
Cathy Somerset was desperate. The thought had kept creeping into her mind lately that the only thing she had left to sell was her body. Now here was the opportunity in black and white.
Mature Sugar Baby Wanted—I’m seeking a slender, attractive woman, 24-34, for a friends-with-benefits arrangement that will provide you with up to seven Benjamins per week or about three grand per month.
“I’m crazy,” she whispered. But she was still staring at the ad. She was clearly, seriously considering the possibility. It was disturbing.
If two years before someone had predicted what her life would be like, Cathy would have laughed in utter disbelief. But the black clouds had rolled in, gathering overhead, preternaturally darkening her life, and there was still not a shaft of sunshine in sight.
She had sold or liquidated everything that she could. Her house was gone and most of her furniture. She had sold her nice car with the equally nice monthly payment. Now she drove an older vehicle with no payment. She had raided her 401(k) retirement account and broken her IRAs. She had even taken many of her clothes to consignment shops. In short, anything of any value was gone.
Cathy scrubbed her gritty eyes with the backs of her fingers. Her eyes hurt from the strain of staring at the computer for hours at work earlier and now at home. It was late. She had finished looking through the part-time-job ads online. Then because she didn’t want to sleep, she had looked at eBay listings. Now she was cruising in the personal ads. She was having nightmares again, which was hardly surprising. That was one reason she wasn’t in bed yet. The other reason, of course, was that she had hoped to find a part-time job to supplement her income. The bills were like a black hole, sucking away everything she made and more.
Seven Benjamins a week. Three grand a month.
Her mind absorbed, calculated again the total of the bills that were at that moment stacked on her desk. It would be too overwhelming to factor in the tax consequences of breaking her IRAs, so she didn’t. Over the long, long months, she had gotten very good at sticking her head in the sand.
Rereading the ad, Cathy bit her lip. “I haven’t been with anyone for six years.” Could she do it? Like this? Chills shivered over her skin. Hastily, she shut down the computer, blanking out the temptation.
Cathy got ready for bed and crawled tiredly between the sheets. Her whole body was buzzing with exhaustion. She closed her eyes. But she couldn’t shut down her mind. She switched from one side to the other and back again. Trying to get comfortable, she adjusted her pillow, pulled up the covers to her shoulders, then tossed them back down.
It all came down to money. Seven Benjamins.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Cathy yanked a pillow over her head, pressing her arm down on it.
Three sleepless hours later, she dragged herself up and went into the narrow room that served for an office. In the dark, Cathy powered up the computer. The white light hurt her eyes, but she scrolled until she found the ad and printed it out. She set up a new e-mail account with a made-up name and typed a short message. Then swiftly, before she could change her mind, she hit send.
Cathy sat immobile for a moment, the screen’s white light shining in her face. She had actually done it. Unbelievable. She shrugged. She turned off the computer. When she got back into bed, almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
When she got home from work that night, she opened her new e-mail account. She had a message. Apprehension slid along her spine. She licked suddenly-dry lips. Slowly, she clicked open the e-mail. As she read it, her heart began to pound. Then she proved to herself that she had really gone mad. She sent a reply, agreeing to meet the man who was offering seven Benjamins a week for sex.
They met for coffee downtown on SoCo at an outside café during her lunch hour. His name was Michael. He didn’t offer his last name, and she did not ask it. She said that her name was Winter. He did not ask for her last name.
Michael explained more in depth what he was seeking. He was an IT professional. His career was demanding. He was based there in Austin, but he traveled. He was not interested in a traditional relationship, nor did he want to go to the trouble of developing a relationship.
“Dating is difficult to mesh with my schedule. I want to see someone about once or twice a week, perhaps more, when I’m in Austin. I’ll provide three thousand dollars a month, plus any clothes or anything else that I buy along the way,” he said.
Cathy carefully thought over everything he had said. The strange feeling of distance, as though she was watching and listening to someone else, still had her in its grip. From her perspective, it was a distinct advantage that he traveled extensively and that his profession was far removed from her own in academia. There was less chance of there being mutual acquaintances between them. She would have died even to have had any of her friends or colleagues eavesdrop on this conversation, let alone have them become aware of any such liaison.
The arrangement as Michael outlined it did not sound particularly demanding, which was also an advantage. It was more fluid than a part-time second job, which was an unpleasant option that she had reluctantly accepted to be necessary. That was the only reason that she was even entertaining the idea.
However logically she examined his proposal, though, did not explain how she had come to be there, seated across from this man, calmly listening to him as he laid out his expectations. At the back of her mind, behind the wall of impersonality, Cathy toyed with the suspicion that she was suffering from a brain fever.