Sex For Contracts
I obliged.
I’d changed out of the maxi dress into a suit, with a long-sleeved button-up shirt, a jacket and a pair of pants that reached below my ankles.
I would have preferred to come in a hazmat suit if I had one.
Leon Ferguson was nice at first.
He talked about work, sounded excited at the prospect of working with Candour, even promised to sign a letter of intent today.
His hands, which were kept to himself during the first fifteen minutes, slowly slithered towards me.
He even downed a full bottle of Chateau La Mission Haut-Brion, just so he could blame it on the alcohol later.
He shed his Tom Ford blazer along with all pretence.
I maintained a blank look on my face throughout.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind stooping to brown-nosing if it got me what I wanted.
I got my first Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren at eighteen by giving Dad shoulder massages for a month.
But all the money in the world could not persuade me to suck up to this dirty old tub of lard who was licking his lips suggestively.
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