But instead of calling my mother, I pull up the contact info for Sterling House before I can change my mind.
As I wait for it to connect, my cock twitches. I know I should get rid of Jax; that’s the sensible thing to do. Right now, I’m paying through the nose for a feisty redhead who won’t fuck me even though I’m paying her to.
I should demand a new escort from Pippa and wait for a compliant little blonde with a pouty mouth and a tight ass to turn up.
“Pippa Grooman.”
My fingers clench around the phone, my ire rising at my own weakness. “Hi, Pippa, it’s Gray Jones, sorry to call you so late.”
“Mr. Jones, it’s good to hear from you again. Have you changed your mind about Jax?”
For some reason, I don’t like her tone. It’s like she’s been waiting all day for me to tell her how useless Jax is. It’s patronizing, and I don’t appreciate it.
Why do I care what this woman thinks of Jax?
“On the contrary,” I say. “Things are fine. I wanted to get clarification on something.”
“Certainly. What can I help you with?”
“You mentioned that after-hours was not something you offered as standard, but that if the women are amenable, you make exceptions now and then.”
“That’s correct. We tend to err on the side of caution before making after-hours interactions the norm. However, some of our clients do negotiate different terms in some cases.”
“And if I wanted to, for example,callJax after work, how might that work?”
“It would be charged between three and five hundred dollars an hour, depending on the requirements of the call. Those would usually be stated beforehand and agreed to in advance.”
I smirk. “Alright, let’s say I haven’t had a chance to speak to Jax about it first, but I’d like to surprise her. How much would that be?”
“With the understanding that she can refuse at any point, I would say five hundred dollars would be appropriate.”
“And for phone sex?”
“An additional thousand.”
“Thank you so much, Pippa,” I say smoothly, shifting back in my chair, already anticipating the pissed-off voice I’m going to get the second Jax answers. “Would you please send over her number?”
“Right away, Mr. Jones.”
Chapter 12
Jax
I’m speaking to one of the new DJs in the Green Room as he sets up for the evening. He’s nervous and looks scared to death, but I’ve heard his set before, and I know he’s gonna kill it.
My shoulders ache pleasantly from my gym class. The exercise did the trick. I’ve managed not to think about Mr. Jones, or “Mr. Asshole” as I’ve decided to christen him, for almost three whole hours.
The DJ is nearly done setting up when I see Scott come in at the back of the room. His easy smile is firmly in place, curly mop of dark hair dangling into his eyes, and the shaved sides making him look more rugged than usual.
A lot of the women watch him as he makes his way through. He’s wearing a white fitted shirt and a pinstriped vest. He looks like a 1930s mobster, but it works for him.
Is that a watch chain coming out of his pocket? My brother is ridiculous.
Then I look at his expression and tense up. Despite the forced smile, he looks haggard and worried. I check that the DJ has everything he needs and leave him to it, stepping down from the back platform.
Walking through the room, I skirt around a tall guy with bright green hair who is shouting into his friend's ear too loudly for the quiet room. I step past them when Scott almost collides with me. My brother’s eyes are focused on the floor, a deep frown on his face.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, imagining every kind of terrible scenario.
