Needing Her Read online

  “We’re an ambitious family.” Her leg brushes against mine. “We set the bar high and go after what we want, which is why I plan to take over as CEO.”

  “You’ll have to compete with your brothers for that. I’ve heard they’re very competitive.”

  “Too competitive for their own good. That’s why I’ll overtake them and get the company. I’m also much more persuasive with clients.” She rubs my arm and smiles.

  I turn toward the bar, swishing my scotch around in my glass. “My investment needs are already taken care of.”

  “Are your other needs being taken care of?”

  I take a drink. I’ve barely been here five minutes and I’m already being offered sex. Another perk of being a Kensington.

  She’s still waiting for an answer so I say, “I don’t do relationships.”

  “Good. Because I don’t either.” She waves the bartender over. “Scotch and water.”

  He pours the drink, and as he does, I consider her offer. The safe thing to do is to stick with the girls who’ve been pre-approved. The ones who work for us. But I know plenty of members who go outside the pre-approved list. And tonight, I feel like trying something new.

  I swig my scotch. “Let me see your ID.”

  “What?” She laughs. “What are you talking about?”

  “I need to know you are who you say you are. I need your ID before we continue.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I’m a person who takes risks but I’m not stupid. For all I know, this woman could be a prostitute or someone trying to get money or trying to get pregnant so she can get money later on.

  I wait for her to get her wallet out. She shows me her driver’s license and the ID badge she uses to access her father’s office building. It has her name and photo on it.

  “Happy now?” She pretends to be offended but I think she’s turned on. Some women might think I’m an ass, but a lot of women like a man who says what he thinks.

  I don’t play games with women. I tell them what I want and leave no room for interpretation. If they don’t like it, they can leave. I’m not looking for a girlfriend or a wife. This is just two people meeting each other’s needs.

  “Let’s go.” I toss a fifty on the counter, then stand next to Rielle, grasping her elbow as I lean over to talk in her ear. “I don’t like to wait.”

  She smiles as I help her off the barstool. We leave the restaurant and go out to our cars. I follow her to her place instead of mine. I don’t want her knowing where I live, and going to her place will be another check to see if she’s a Hanniford. When we arrive, I find she lives at the Hanniford estate, but in a guest house, not the main house.

  “Was this another test?” she asks as I get out of my car. “Going to my place instead of yours?”

  “You can never be too careful.”

  We walk into her house, which is large for a guest house. It’s decorated in all white. White walls, white chairs, a plush white rug, and an overstuffed white couch. It’s too much white.

  “Can I get you anything?” She’s standing in front me, loosening my tie. “Maybe another scotch?”

  “I’m not here to drink.” I take my suit jacket off and toss it on the back of the couch. I spot the master bedroom in the back. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re all business, aren’t you?”

  I lead her to the bedroom, and once we’re there I remove the rest of my clothes before Rielle attempts to do it. I don’t like women undressing me. It’s too intimate. Same with kissing. I try to avoid it whenever possible, which isn’t a problem when I’m with one of the associates. They’ll go along with anything. But Rielle will expect a kiss.

  She turns around and I unzip her dress. Underneath she’s wearing very expensive lingerie. I know because we buy the same lingerie for the associates. The members don’t want them looking like cheap hookers so we provide them with high-end lingerie and clothes that are only to be worn with us.

  Rielle turns back to me and reaches up to kiss me as I slip her lingerie off. She has a great body but her breasts are definitely fake. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who didn’t have fake breasts, other than Kristina, but I don’t count her.

  Rielle is giving me hard, frantic kisses, her tongue whipping around in my mouth. She’s an awful kisser. And I’m tensing up the longer this continues. I don’t kiss, and I don’t like being kissed, especially by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it.

  I need to move things along so I pick her up and set her on the bed. The condom is already in my hand. I put it in my pants pocket before I got out of the car so I wouldn’t have to dig through my wallet later. I always provide the condoms. I don’t want a woman making holes in a condom in the hopes of getting pregnant. This happened to one of the members years ago, which is why my father taught me to bring my own condoms.

  I rip the packet open and put it on.

  “Pearce, not yet.” Rielle pouts, which I find annoying. “You’ve barely kissed me.”

  She’s needy. I hate needy. If I’d known this about her, I wouldn’t have come here. I consider leaving, but I could really use this right now.

  “I can’t help what you do to me,” I say, boosting her ego. “I can’t hold back any longer.”

  She smiles. “Then go ahead.”

  I put myself inside her, moving slowly to give her time to warm up. We had a deal and we both need to get pleasure out of this. I reach down and touch her. But she pulls my hand away and yanks me closer, her nails digging in my back, her legs circling my waist. She starts telling me to go faster, so I do, and before I know it she’s done. Either she faked it or she’s really fast at getting off. I wait for her to remove her fingernails from my back, then finish what I came here to do.

  The sex was okay. Nothing great. Then again, when you’re used to doing it with professionals you have higher expectations.

  “That was incredible.” Rielle picks up my arm and settles herself beneath it, her body pressed against my side. I don’t like it. Again, it’s too intimate. I came here for sex, not to cuddle. I’m not the type to lie in bed and hold a woman in my arms. When the sex is over, I get up and leave. Or if I’m with an associate, she knows to leave when it’s done. Except for Sophia, who didn’t follow protocol.

  “I need to go.” I take my arm back and get out of bed.

  She scrambles to get up, the sheet catching on her legs. “Why don’t we have dinner, then do this again later?”

  “I can’t,” I say, pulling on my pants. “I need to prepare for a meeting I have tomorrow.”

  I’m now regretting this. It wasn’t worth it. Rielle’s looking at me like I’m an ass for leaving. It’s wrong for her to do that. I was up front about what this was and she can’t go and change the rules after the fact.

  As soon as I’m dressed, I go back out to the living room.

  Rielle follows me, wearing a white robe. “Can I give you my number?”

  “I told you I don’t do relationships.” I pick my suit jacket off the chair and slip my shoes on.

  “Okay. Then, goodbye. Have a nice life.”

  She looks down at the floor. She wants me to feel sorry for her, hoping that’ll make me agree to see her again. Girls did this to me in college and I fell for it several times. But I’m smarter than that now. Rielle knew what this was.

  “Goodbye, Rielle.” I leave and go straight to my car.

  I’m famished from missing dinner earlier, so I stop at a restaurant, quickly eat my meal, then go back to my loft.

  This is not how I wanted this evening to go. I was supposed to be out celebrating my triumph at work, but instead I’m home, feeling guilty over something I shouldn’t feel guilty about. This is why I use the service and avoid real dating and real relationships.

  The next day I arrive at work early to get some things done before I have to leave for Yale. The event starts at noon, but it’s a forty-five minute drive to New Haven and I don’t want to be late.

  I�
��m looking forward to this. Unlike most people, I actually enjoy public speaking. I’ve done it for years for various events and I was on the debate team in high school. I’ve never given a speech about business ethics, but I’m not worried about it. I’ll just say the things that appear in all the business books about ethics. As my father said, few people actually do business ethically, but business students are still forced to learn about it.

  I get to Yale at 11:45, which is later than I’d planned but I hit traffic on the way here. I set my things up at the podium, which is at the front of a large lecture hall with tiered seating. Students have already filled in the first five rows, eating their lunches as they wait for me to begin. This lecture series is open for anyone to attend but I’m assuming everyone here is in the business school.

  It seems like forever since I was a student here. I’ve seen and done a lot the past few years. Things that have matured me far beyond my twenty-five years.

  At noon, one of the business professors introduces me and I begin my speech. Ethics is a dull topic so I try to make it interesting by adding real world examples, citing companies who just recently found themselves in hot water due to ethical violations. It seems to hold the attention of the eighty or so students who are in the audience. The speech is only a half hour, followed by questions, but at 12:15 I see the door to the lecture hall open and someone walking in. People are allowed to come and go as they please, but I’m still annoyed by the interruption.

  I continue talking, but my eye catches the person who walked in late. It’s a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She’s tall, with long, dark brown hair, wearing a yellow dress. She finds a seat near the back.

  “And with the recent incidents in the accounting—” I stop when I see the woman’s face. She’s incredibly beautiful. Stunning. To the point that I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.

  Her attention is focused on the podium and I realize I’m no longer speaking.

  “Pardon me.” I clear my throat and take a drink of water, acting like the pause was intentional. “As I was saying, the recent scandals in the—”

  She leans forward to get a pen from her bag, her hair falling over her shoulders. She tosses it back as she sits up, her eyes returning to the stage and meeting up with mine. She smiles slightly and I find myself doing the same.

  Someone coughs in the front row, returning my attention to the other people in the room. Shit. I stopped again and I didn’t mean to. What is wrong with me today? I normally don’t lose my focus like this. And why do I feel so out of breath? It feels like my heart is racing. Maybe I had too much coffee this morning.

  My gaze keeps returning to that woman, but I force myself to look away so I can finish the speech without distraction.

  At 12:30 it’s time for questions and a student up front raises his hand.

  “Go ahead,” I tell him.

  “How far do you think the government should go in punishing the unethical practices of private companies?”

  As he’s talking, my eyes wander back to that woman and I forget the question. “Could you repeat that, please?”

  He does, and this time I keep my eyes on the front row and answer him.

  A few more questions are asked and then the professor says there’s time for only one more. The woman in the yellow dress raises her hand. I ignore all the other raised hands and call on her to speak.

  “Why do you think companies find it so hard to be ethical?”

  She has a nice voice. It matches her face. Soft. Innocent. Yet alluring.

  I need to respond to her question but I don’t have an answer, at least not one that’s politically correct.

  “I don’t mean to sound naive,” she says since I didn’t answer her. “I just find it sad that we have to teach a class and give lectures on how to act ethically. It should just be a given. Not something that has to be taught.”

  “I agree,” I say. “But unfortunately, money is a powerful driving force of behavior, and money fuels business. When money is involved, ethics can sometimes come into question and people have trouble discerning right from wrong, so we teach ethics in order to take away any uncertainty. Of course, in the end, people will do what they want to do.”

  She nods and the professor approaches the podium, signaling the end of the lecture. He thanks me for my time and dismisses the students.

  Everyone leaves the room except the woman in the yellow dress. She writes something down in her notebook, then stuffs it in her backpack. I gather my things and make my way to the exit, meeting her there. I hold the door open for her.

  “Thank you.” She smiles and something jerks in my chest. I ignore it.

  “Are you in the business program?” I ask, stopping her before she walks away.

  “No. I’m getting my masters in American History at Hirshfield College. But I live near here, so sometimes I have lunch on the Yale campus.”

  “And you’re interested in business?”

  She looks to the side, her cheeks blushing a little. “Actually, I had some time to kill and I noticed this lecture was open to the public so I decided to check it out.” Her eyes return to mine. They’re the most gorgeous shade of blue. Like a bright blue sky on a sunny day. “I’m really sorry about walking in late. I read the sign wrong. I thought the lecture started at 12:15.”

  “It’s an informal event. People can come and go.” I can’t stop staring at her face. Those big blue eyes. Those high cheekbones. Those soft pink lips. And that smile that could light up a room. Or maybe it’s her that’s lighting up the area around me. She gives off an energy that must be contagious because now I’m feeling it too.

  “Well, it was very nice meeting you, Mr. Kensington.” She holds her hand out.

  I shake her hand and smile. “It’s Pearce. I’m only 25. I’m too young to be a Mr., unless you’re one of my employees. Everyone else calls me Pearce.”

  “You’re only 25? You seem older.” When she sees my expression, questioning her comment, she puts her hand on my arm. “I mean, not that you look old.” She notices she’s touching me and quickly takes her hand away. “It’s just that you’ve accomplished a lot for someone who’s only 25.” She looks up at me and we hold gazes for a moment. “Well, I should go. Have a nice day.”

  She starts to leave and my heart races in my chest, like it did when I was giving my speech. What is going on with me? Do I have heart problems now?

  “Wait.” I take one of my cards from my suit jacket and hand it to her. “If you ever have any questions about business, feel free to call me. I’m usually at the office from six to ten so that’s the best place to catch me.”

  “Six in the morning until ten at night? That’s sixteen hours. You really work that long? Every day?”

  “Yes, but I work fewer hours on the weekends.”

  “You work the weekends too? Wow. I feel lazy now.” She’s still smiling. She must smile a lot. “Thanks for the card. Bye, Pearce.”

  “Goodbye. Wait, what’s your name?”

  She turns back but continues walking. “Rachel. Rachel Evans.”

  Rachel. I even like her name.

  I watch her walk away, waves of dark brown hair flowing down the back of her yellow cotton sundress. My eyes trail down to her narrow waist and her long tan legs.

  My heart speeds up again. I think I need to see a doctor.

  Or maybe I just need to see Rachel again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  5

  RACHEL

  I walk outside the business building and head over to a bench to sit down. I’m completely out of breath, my heart racing from being so nervous.

  I just talked to what I have now decided is the hottest man on the planet. Oh my God. The absolutely hottest. No doubt about it. I didn’t know they made men like that.

  According to the poster promoting the lecture series, Pearce is a graduate of both Harvard and Yale and has an executive level position at Kensington Chemical, his family’s company. I don’t know much about t
hat company other than that it’s very large and that the family who owns it is very wealthy. The poster also listed all the magazines Pearce has been interviewed for. He’s even been interviewed on TV. So he’s a smart, rich, well-known businessman. Why would someone like him talk to someone like me? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with me. I’m just saying that I can’t believe a guy like that would even notice me. He’s probably surrounded by rich, beautiful, powerful women every day and I’m just a plain ordinary grad student.

  Why did I ask him that question? He must think I’m completely naive. I obviously know why companies aren’t ethical. I only asked him that because I wanted to see what he’d say. But now I regret saying it. I should’ve come up with a better question.

  And then I walked in late. How embarrassing! No wonder he kept staring at me when I got there. He seems very professional. I bet he’s never late to anything and he probably gets very annoyed when other people show up late.

  What a horrible impression I made. I usually make a much better first impression.

  Oh, well. I’ll never see him again. Later today, he’ll have forgotten I even exist. Just as I’m thinking that, I see him walking out of the business building down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

  He’s very tall. Maybe 6’5? He’s also wide, built like a football player. When I touched his arm, it was solid. All muscle. I love tall, strong men. I also love dark hair, and he has thick, dark brown hair that’s short, but not too short. His face is rugged, manly, with a strong jawline. And his eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at them. They’re this incredible shade of blue. Almost a grayish blue. Steely blue.

  He’s now at the parking lot and my eyes haven’t left him. He’s wearing a black suit and it fits every part of him perfectly. I love a man in a suit. But this man in a suit? Too hot for words. I watch as he gets into a black Mercedes. He puts his sunglasses on and I swear, he got even hotter. I’m not even near him and my heart’s still beating fast.

  This is ridiculous. I never react this way over a guy. As he drives off, I get up from the bench and walk back to my apartment. I drive to Hirshfield for my afternoon class, then go to the museum and give a tour to a group of seniors from a nursing home. I talked really loud during the tour but I don’t think many of them heard me. But they smiled and were really nice, so maybe they at least enjoyed the parts they heard.