“Is that what you do? Transport dogs?”
“Sometimes. I’m an acquisitions expert for those with spectacular taste and loaded wallets.”
“Is that your official title?”
“It’s not what I have written on my business card, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She leans back in her seat and studies me. “I don’t get it.”
“People pay me money to hunt down the things they want.”
“So, you’re like an errand boy?”
“First off, I am a man, not a boy.” I hold up a finger. “Secondly, what I do is a little more complicated and involved than running errands. Jesus. You make it sound like I’m offering overpriced delivery boy services.”
“Don’t get offended. I’m just trying to understand how you can afford to drive this. And wear clothing like that.”
“Careful, Rachel, it almost sounds like you’re giving a compliment.”
“There you go again, skirting the topic. Do you deal drugs? Is that where the money comes from?” Her brows shoot up along with her hand. “Wait. No, don’t answer that.”
“Ha! It’d be lucrative, but I don’t deal in anything illegal.” Despite the rumors and despite the legacy my dad left me, I learned my lesson early on to steer clear of anything that could be construed as a slippery slope. Sure, there’s money in cleaning up messes, or providing escorts, but I don’t work my ass off to be mistaken for a high-class pimp. My clients understand my expertise lies in legally acquired goods and materials.
“So, you’re the dealer? The go-between? And people actually pay you good money?” She shakes her head. “I’m in the wrong biz.”
“Now they do. I hustled for years to build my business to what it is today. All my clients come to me on referral. I’m good at what I do. I always deliver.” I flash her a cheeky grin, and am rewarded with one of her exasperated groans. Though I don’t miss how she squirms a little in her seat. Good. I want her as hot and bothered as I am. “The puppies I delivered yesterday were a present for a client’s daughter. I got him exactly what he needed, and he didn’t have to lift a finger. Just pull out his wallet.”
“Must be nice.”
“Something I discovered a long time ago is that people who have money never have enough time to spend it all. I help with that.”
“A real humanitarian.”
“I do what I can.”
The jingle of my cell phone ringing interrupts our conversation.
I glance at the caller ID and inwardly grown. Pierce Bowen. One of my best-paying clients. We went to prep school together and our fathers were friends. Pierce’s dad always gave me a scummy vibe and his son does the same. Only, he really is one of my best repeat customers and I have no doubt whatever it is he wants will pay next month’s rent. I turn to Rachel. “Sorry, do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
I press the button on my steering wheel that allows me to accept the call. “Hey! Pierce, my man, how’s life?”
“Jude! It ain’t all strippers and blow, but I can’t complain!” He chuckles. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I need something.”
“Tell me and I’ll find it for you.”
“I’ve recently delved into the . . . darker side of pleasure.” His rough laughter comes through the line, dropping his voice just above a whisper. “How versed are you on the BDSM scene?”
I don’t want to look at Rachel. I don’t even want her in the car right now. Jesus. Why did I pick up on speaker? I should’ve sent him to voicemail. But then he’d have gone elsewhere and I cannot pass up an opportunity. It’s why I flash her my most apologetic smile before speaking confidently. “Are you looking to go antique or new? I have a carpenter who does amazing custom work, and he can match any look you’re going for.”
“Damn, Jude. Should’ve known you’re a kinky fucker, what with the way girls fawned all over you back in prep school.” Over sixteen years ago, which is not much to brag about. We were young. Everyone was stupid. But I caught the attention of Pierce’s then-girlfriend and kissed her behind the bleachers at the start of our homecoming game. By halftime she’d dumped him. He was sore about it then, and brings it up enough that he probably still is.
I have no interest in reliving the glory days of my youth. They weren’t all that great, and nothing to boast about—not when you’re a thirty-four-year-old man. I also don’t want to piss off a paying client. “I know a few things.”
“Yeah you do.Bastard.” He laughs. “Have you been to The Dungeon in West Hollywood? Their red room? I want it recreated in my basement, right down to the last detail. But you know how my father is. Doesn’t care what the fuck I do, as long as there’s no paper trail.”
I haven’t been, but I’ll find a way. “Do you have a completion date in mind?”
