“That’s my wife.” Tori smacked a kiss on her cheek.
He zoned out on the drive home and only noticed the Prius’s exceptionally sluggish handling when he put it in Park in the apartment lot and it made a gasping, wheezy noise when he turned it off. When he tried to start it again, nothing happened.
Jem leaned forward and banged his head gently against the steering wheel. As far as signs from the universe went, this one was pretty obvious.
Chapter Two
Be My Sugar Baby
Jem figuredit would take some time for the whole sugar-baby ball to start rolling. Background checks, police clearances, identity verification—this wasn’t just some online hookup service. And surely whoever was on the other end would want to, like, think things through or whatever. He probably should’ve known better; rich people treated sugar babies the way they treated everything else—the newest thing was the best thing.
Jem got his first response half an hour after he received notification that his profile had been cleared and activated. They wanted to meet the next day at noon. As he stared into his closet that night, he called Ivy and said, “Hey, what do I wear to meet a potential sugar mama?” because Tori’s idea of fashion was a clean T-shirt and pants with enough pockets to double as a tool box.
After a five-minute FaceTime call, Ivy picked an outfit that embodiedpool boy—deck shoes, white pants, bright polo, sunglasses—and pronounced him fit for consumption.
Which was about right, Jem thought, because the woman who sat across from him in the private back room of the high-end café she’d selected for this meeting looked like she wanted to eat him.
“You must be Jem,” she said smoothly as she rose from her chair. She was Caucasian, slender, with a bright purple manicure and highlighted red-brown hair. She could’ve been forty or sixty, though Jem guessed it was closer to the upper end. “I’m Caroline.”
Jem debated half a second before shaking her hand instead of kissing it. She had a firm grip and the kind of smooth skin that spoke of expensive moisturizer. “Nice to meet you, Caroline.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she said lightly. Then, lips pursed, lashes fluttering, “Well, maybe notallof it.”
Laughing, Jem sank into the chair across from her. “That’s one way to break the ice, I guess.”
“I have some experience with first-timers.” She paused and actually seemed embarrassed by the implication. “Oh dear. I mean first-time… companions. Not virgins. Christ. You’re not a virgin, are you, Jem?”
“Not the last time I checked,” he answered faintly. This lady was dangerous.
Caroline laughed. “Okay, good. Nowthat’sout of the way, do you drink coffee? Tea? I personally love a flat white, or Jeremy makes a mean London fog.”
“How does Jeremy feel about iced coffee?”
“If he’s a snob about it, he’d better keep that information to himself,” Caroline advised. She took out her phone and sent atext message—their drinks order, presumably—and then placed it back on the table, facedown. “So, Jem. Can I tell you a little about myself, or is that too forward?”
“At this point I think it might actually count as going in reverse.” Jem could tell he was flushing, a little, but she was an attractive woman and her candor put him at ease. If he was going to be interviewing for the position of sugar baby, he’d have to get used to conversations like these. At least Caroline made it fun.
She chuckled, then leaned back in her chair as a barista—Jeremy, presumably—came in to deliver their drink order.
When Jeremy left again, Caroline folded her hands around her coffee cup. “As I was saying, I’m Caroline. I’ve been widowed once and divorced twice and I’m just over the whole”—she waved a hand—“soul matething. But that doesn’t mean I like being alone.”
“I get it. I get tired of my own company too.”
“So you understand.” She smiled in delight. “It’s boring, rattling around in my big old mansion alone all the time, so I throw a lot of parties.”
Jem thought,Sex parties?and it must have shown on his face, because she shook her head. “Industry parties, Jem. Introducing people to each other. Networking. No fancy underpants required.”
To give himself a moment, Jem picked up his iced coffee and took a sip. Jeremy was a fucking wizard. He made a pleased noise, set the cup down again, and asked, “Fancy underpants optional?”
Caroline chuckled again. “Oh, that depends on the guests. But mostly they’re R-rated at most. For language, smoking, drinking. Occasionally other substances. So the first thing I’mlooking for is a young, handsome, charming cohost. I have to say, you’re nailing that part of the interview.”
“Aw, shucks.” But he tapped his fingers on the table, because he did have to draw a line. “I’m assuming participation in the other substances is optional? The day job is not beyond occasional random drug testing.”
“Of course,” Caroline agreed. “I should have realized—you did sayyoung professional, didn’t you? Can I ask what you do for work?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, I teach kindergarten. Private school.”
“Shaping young minds,” she said approvingly. “How darling. Well, you don’t have to worry. You can abstain from anything that might get you in trouble.” Her smile turned mischievous. “In trouble at work, at least.”
