“Finding privacy.” He closed the door. The storage room was small, half-lit, and smelled like industrial cleaner and stale coffee. Various discarded decor items were propped against the wall. An old menu board. A mirror with a crack in it. A broken chair. He turned and faced her, leaving barely any space between them. “I figured this chat was best had without an audience.”
“Chat? No. I don’t have time for this. I need to get back to my date.”
He smirked. “You mean your financial planner, right?”
She gave him a warning look. “Maybe he’s both.”
“Or maybe I know exactly what he is.”
The words punched the air from her lungs but she forced her face not to react. “Whatever, Lane. Let me out of here before I scream.”
He moved aside. “You know what they used to call Isaiah?”
She scooted by him. “I don’t care about stupid college nicknames.”
“The Golden Tongu
e.”
She stiffened, the words halting her step.
“Because he could sweet talk his way into a rich housewife’s bed like no other.” Lane’s voice was quiet in the small space. “He could get the ones you’d never think would go for that kind of thing. But the temptation he’d lay out for them was too much to say no to. Because he knew how to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. How perfect they were, how smart, how talented, how he couldn’t bear to see such beauty wasted on a husband who didn’t take the time to take care of his wife.”
Elle went cold all over and turned to face him.
He stepped close again, his eyes holding challenge. “Is that what you want, Elle? Some smooth-talking guy to whisper lies in your ear and then get you off on time so he can get paid and go to the next appointment?”
She closed her eyes, her breath stuttering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He pressed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up and forcing her to open her eyes in the dim light. His gaze was intent now, edging on concerned. “Look, I know what’s happening out there. Let’s not stand here and play the who-can-lie-better game. He’s not your financial planner and he’s not your date. You’re about to pay for sex. I’m telling you it’s a bad idea.”
Her jaw clenched and she had to breathe through the urge to lie again. “Why? Because it’s not the therapeutic kind you dish out, so you get to judge me?”
Lane’s expression hardened. “No. Because I don’t know Isaiah from college.”
The words didn’t register at first. She blinked a few times. “What?”
The smile that touched his lips was a bitter one. “I guess this is the part where you get to hear that you were right when you called me a whore. I’m not now, but I used to be. Isaiah and I were roommates and worked for the same company—if you could call it a company.”
Her lips parted, words extinct.
He released her chin with a sound of disgust. “Yeah. So I know exactly what game is being played out at that table. And I’m telling you that you need to walk away. It’s not for you.”
The shock of finding out Lane used to be an escort was enough to have her ears ringing. She had questions. So many questions. But the last part of his declaration set off a knee-jerk response. “And who are you to tell me what’s not for me? Is he a bad guy? Dangerous?”
“No.”
“Then we’re done here. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to school me on it. I’m not some pampered debutante who’s going to pretend this is something other than it is. All I care about is having a good time with a guy without having to worry that it’s going to get complicated. This is a business exchange and you’re interrupting the deal. Now let me get back to it.”
He didn’t move. “So that’s your kink, then? You want to have a rent boy you can pay? Want to call all the shots and make him do your bidding?”
Her stomach dipped, but she didn’t let him see her flinch. “So what if it is?”
“It’s not,” he said, stepping fully into her space, his voice softening. “And you know it. If it was your thing, I’d tell you to go for it. But that’s not what gets you off. You could have that any day of the week without spending a dime. Willing men wanting to please the pretty doctor. You’ve tried that already, haven’t you?”
She had to fight not to look away, not to reveal he was hitting targets.
“Did you have to imagine filthy things while they were fucking you to get off? Pretend that they were holding you down or being rough instead of gently coaxing an orgasm out of you?”