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.