Audacity: Chapter 7

If I’m still slightly embarrassed by how quickly I called Camille after Athena left my offices yesterday morning, then I’m also ecstatic at how quickly Camille called me back to confirm a dinner with Athena tonight.

Even if she’d looked like Gladys, I would have got down on my knees and begged her to take the job and put me out of my misery.

As it is, I’m thrilled to report that she looks nothing like Gladys and is, if her presence across the table from me is any proof, open to taking this process to the next round.

Upstairs.

We’re dining in an intimate alcove in the excellent seafood restaurant at The Montague Hotel in Knightsbridge. It’s an elegant, discreet restaurant, perfect for clandestine dates or morally ambiguous ‘job’ interviews. Around us floats a soundtrack of dinner jazz and low voices and cutlery being employed.

I was waiting at the restaurant’s bar when Athena arrived, a fact that seemed to surprise her. It was worth it to enjoy the view of her walking across the stylish space in a dress that’s far sexier than the one she wore yesterday while being far too classy to hint that her profession might be the oldest one of all. It was black lace, hitting just below the knee and fitted enough to showcase her fantastic curves. I didn’t miss the appreciative, curious glances she got from both men and women, and the hit of intense smugness I experienced when she stopped in front of me and allowed me to kiss her on both cheeks was decidedly unchristian.

‘You know,’ I say conversationally once our champagne has been poured, ‘you’re the first woman I’ve taken out to dinner for years and years. Aside from my mother, that is. Oh, and the Mother Superior from our local convent in Willesden once or twice.’

She gives me a sardonic smile. ‘I’m honoured.’

‘Don’t be. Mum tells me my dinner conversation is terrible. But I’ll try not to talk about Scripture too much tonight.’

‘That would probably set the wrong tone,’ she muses.

There’s a pause while we each take a sip of our champagne. She’s surveying me with something akin to low-level amusement, I think. It’s as if she can smell my nerves, as if she knows exactly how apprehensive I am about this conversation. I’m sure she’s not apprehensive at all. I’m hoping this is very firmly in her comfort zone—in fact, I’m counting on it.

‘I hope you can tell me how the fuck this thing is going to work, because I haven’t got a bloody clue.’

She sets down her glass, narrowing her eyes. ‘Please tell me you’re not talking about your dick, because that would be very disappointing.’

I bark out a shocked laugh, both at the fact that she’s gone there so soon and at her perfectly deadpan delivery. My guffaw is loud enough that a woman at the nearest table glances over in alarm.

‘No. I’m pretty well versed in how that works.’

‘Are you sure?’ She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ‘You can take the guy out of the priesthood…’

So this is how it’s going to be. I needn’t worry about transitioning from our mostly formal conversation yesterday to something darker and hotter and slicker, because she’s already setting the tone. It makes sense, I suppose. I’d hardly expect her to clutch her pearls.

‘I promise. Anton’s had me in training for this. Hard.’

At Anton’s name, something flickers across her face. Agitation, maybe. She looks a little flustered. ‘That’s one hell of a visual,’ she murmurs, and I shake my head, diverted.

‘He signed me up to Alchemy.’

‘Oh, yes. That’ll do the trick.’

We’re silent again for a moment, then she says, ‘In terms of how this works, the answer is that it works however you’d like it to work, and it can be fluid.’

I nod. ‘Without breaking confidentiality, can you give me any idea of how you’ve managed in the past?’

‘It really depends on my employer. I’ve only had four placements so far. Some of them liked the kink factor, obviously. As in, the actual fact that they were paying me to fuck them whenever they wanted was the primary appeal.’

I nod again, reaching desperately for my champagne flute. Jesus. Having this conversation sober and dispassionately and face to face with this beautiful, sexy woman will be harder than I’ve anticipated. I wonder if she can see how out of my depth I am.

‘Often, I’m a tool. An upper or a downer. In the same way that leaders with a lot of responsibility might deal with it by snorting coke, or drinking too early in the day, or having a masseur or a chiropractor or a PT, depending on how health-conscious they are, other guys use women like me to screw it all out of their system. They need to fluff themselves up before a big meeting—they fuck me. They need to celebrate a win or get over a bad meeting—they fuck me. It’s amazing just how many professional headaches can be eliminated by an excellent blowjob.’

She pauses, and I focus very hard on not reacting outwardly, because the fact that my reality will soon consist of a woman who looks like Athena getting on her knees for me whenever I want during the working day is really breaking my brain.

‘Some guys want me as a trophy. And,’ she continues with an elegant little shrug, ‘some guys just want efficiency. Or productivity. The ones who are less patient than you, naturally.’

She gives me a teasing smile that I find I like a lot. She didn’t smile much yesterday, but she’s undoubtedly more mellow this evening.

‘You talked a good game about productivity yesterday, Athena. But the way you look is going to be by far the biggest risk to any productivity I might have.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ She licks her lips. ‘Don’t underestimate me—or yourself. All those transition reports I said I could draw up for you? You can read them while I’m under your desk, sucking yo⁠—’

I lean forward, cutting her off. When I speak, my eyes are on her little pink mouth and my voice is lower, gruffer, than I’ve intended. ‘If you think I’d be able to focus on anything but you when you were getting me off, you are far more naïve than I thought you were. Remember what I told you? Sometimes slow is way better.’

The smile she shoots me is self-satisfied. ‘So that was an innuendo yesterday. You were fucking with me. I couldn’t be completely sure.’

I sigh. ‘A parish priest has to be almost as patient as a lifer in prison. I was telling the truth. I am a patient man.’ A pause. ‘But yeah, I was fucking with you. Just a little bit. I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you.’

‘I like that.’ She hesitates and looks down, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. ‘As soon as you said that, I imagined your mouth between my legs and your hand on my stomach, holding me down while you took your time with me.’

A muscle clenches, low and insistent, in my belly.

I realise she’s paid to do this. I realise it’s her job, and she’s very, very good at it. I realise she’s essentially an echo chamber for my ego and my desires.

But God if it doesn’t feel real when she says things like that.

More pertinently, real or not, it seems like it’s going to happen tonight.

‘Good. I wanted you to imagine that, because I was imagining that too.’

She looks up at me, her face rapt. ‘I was a little worried you’d be holier than thou.’

I roll my eyes. ‘The fact that I’m trying to hire you suggests otherwise.’

‘Touché. And now that you’ve brought it up, why don’t you start by telling me exactly how a man who used to be a priest comes to an agency like Seraph. Maybe then we can work out how “this thing” is going to work. It might give me a starting point for how I can help you, at least.’

‘Did Anton tell you anything?’ I ask, watching her face. ‘I know he put in a call.’

Her mouth twists in amusement. ‘He said you were struggling with burning the candle at both ends—you traumatised one of the cleaners at Alchemy, I believe?’

I suck in a rueful breath through my teeth. ‘You could say that, yeah. Anton and Max suggested I might do better to optimise my workdays, shall we say. They both spoke very highly of you.’

She shoots me a proper smile, and it is absolutely dazzling. ‘Ahh, Max. He’s a bad, bad boy.’

If the nostalgia she seems to be indulging in behind that smile is any indication, she really does enjoy the sexual part of her job. That should assuage my lingering guilt over paying this woman for sex, but I do not enjoy the pique that hits me right in my gut. ‘So I’ve heard. Totally reformed now, of course,’ I add hurriedly, lest her stroll down memory lane turn X-rated. ‘Completely loved up, twice over.’

‘I saw that. Wonders will never cease. But yes, those two definitely knew how to “optimise” their working day. And you want to do the same, I assume?’

I hesitate. ‘I won’t pretend this is a no-brainer for me. From celibacy to paying for sex is a far bigger moral leap than I could ever have seen myself making, and I’m working through a lot of shit related to that. But’—I sigh—‘I’m damned anyway. I’m very far from celibate these days, and the Seraph proposition is extremely attractive. As are you, obviously.’

She leans forward, giving me an excellent view of the shadow of her cleavage. ‘Gabriel. I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through during this transition but I can assure you, there’s no need to feel any guilt on my account. This is purely transactional, just like you hiring me as a regular EA would be transactional.

‘If anything, this should relieve you of any guilt you have around going after sex. You don’t have to pretend you’re going to call someone, or worry about leading her on. You’re paying me. The boundaries are very clear, and I’m a professional. I can look after myself. You don’t need to cuddle me after sex, or send me flowers, or worry about me falling for you. You fuck me, you pay me, that’s that.’ She sits back in her seat. ‘When you think about it, it’s pretty refreshing, actually.’

I smile at that. ‘That’s reassuring, thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ she says coquettishly.

‘Can I ask you a question? I realise you may not give me a genuine answer, but if you feel you can be honest, I’d appreciate it.’

‘Of course. Honesty is very important.’

I’m galvanised by her response to Max Hunter’s mention just now. She doesn’t seem traumatised by whatever the fuck he and Anton did to her. On the contrary. ‘Do you enjoy the sexual side of your job, or do you merely tolerate it? Is it just a means to an end?’

She gazes at me and worries her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that tells me she’s giving my question serious consideration.

‘If you want full honesty, then it’s both. It’s a rung on a ladder that everyone has to climb, only my ladder is steeper and gets me much, much further than most people’s. But I enjoy the climb very much, and I’ve chosen this stage in my career very intentionally. I haven’t been forced into it at all. I get unimaginable access to powerful, inspiring men and I learn more than I ever could as a graduate trainee.’

I watch her lips move as she enunciates the next part more deliberately. ‘And, for the most part, I enjoy fucking powerful guys. I fucking love it. It turns me on to have them use me, to know that everyone wants a piece of them and they want me. These are men who command people’s attention effortlessly, but I’m often the centre of their attention. Does that answer your question?’

It’s answered my question so fully that I’m semi-hard under the table now. I believe her. She’s bloody convincing.

‘What do you enjoy the most?’ I ask her, my voice low and rough. The restaurant around us is forgotten. There’s only Athena and her beauty and her wantonness and her candour.

‘I’ll enjoy whatever you enjoy,’ she recites, and I scoff.

‘Athena. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘Fine. I told you. Being used. It’s the filth of it that does it for me most of all. My current boss is very… sweet. Respectful. He worships me, which is lovely, but there’s not much throwdown. I’m happy there, but I’d like to try a new sector. Which is why I agreed to meet with you.’

I don’t let my eyes stray from hers, even for a second. ‘I think we established yesterday that my company would present you with plenty of intellectual challenges.’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘So that’s a given. Now, forget the sector for a second and tell me what you like.’

So help me God, I want to imagine it. I’ve met this woman twice and she’s already got under my skin. I’m aware I have my work cut out.

How the hell can a guy who willingly abstained from sex for years begin to satisfy a woman like this, who is so in touch with her needs?

But I already know I want to. I already know this is what will be the kindling in my relationship with Athena, however transactional. This is what will bring purpose to my days:

Challenging her.

Commanding her.

Conquering her.

My tone has her huge eyes widening. It’s almost as if she needed to hear that a man she must be thinking of as too virtuous for his own good is capable of speaking to her like that.

A server materialises with our Achill oysters and places the platter deferentially on the stand between us. When he’s left us, I nod at her to continue.

‘I like being your… property, I suppose,’ she says more quietly. ‘I love putting my business brain to good use while all the time knowing that I’m at your beck and call, that you’ll treat me like nothing more than a set of warm, tight holes when I least expect it.’

I swallow at her debasing, hypnotic words. ‘Go on.’

‘I love that you can just shove me to my knees whenever you like, or prop me up on your desk and play with my pussy for hours while you make calls, teasing me and teasing me, but I can’t make a sound. Or that you can lock your office door and get me on my hands and knees and fuck me, literally whenever you want. And my absolute favourite thing would be being your trophy.’

I shut my eyes for a moment, steeling myself to make it through at least the starter of this meal before shooting my load. I’m rock hard now. She mentioned the term trophy earlier, and I have a horrible feeling I know just where she’s going with it.

‘Tell me more about that,’ I say, my throat tight with desire.

She pauses and picks up an oyster, adorning it with vinaigrette and lemon juice before raising her chin and tipping one down her throat. She swallows it whole—shocker—and I watch like a filthy pervert as the pale column of her throat contracts around it.

She licks her lips. ‘Those are truly excellent. As I was saying, the trophy thing really gets me off. Think about it—what’s the point of spending a million pounds a year on me if you don’t get to have a little flex to your friends? I’m your biggest status symbol and your most lethal secret weapon.’

Under the table, I wipe my palm down my wool-covered thigh. I’m sweating. ‘Go on.’

‘If you want to show me off, you can. Play with me in front of your investors. Get me to strip. Lay me down in the middle of the fucking boardroom table and use me as a sushi platter for a lunch meeting—I’m down with it all. Think of how jealous they’d be that you have a fuck toy like me and they don’t. Think of the bragging rights. Let them get stuck in, if you’re feeling kind.’ She lowers her voice until it’s barely more than the most filthy, suggestive whisper. ‘Or if a counterpart isn’t playing ball, that’s when you wheel me in. You can use me as a carrot, if you like. Get me on my knees in front of them and they’ll sign whatever building permit or God knows what else you want.’

My mind is reeling. A woman more intelligent, more highly educated than the vast majority of the people I’ve interacted with—both within the Church and outside it—is hitting me with shot after depraved shot of sin and corruption and deviance and exploitation. The part of me that has always taken the pastoral needs of his flock to heart is horrified, but there’s a darker, baser, part that’s downright desperate for a better glimpse of this twisted dynamic she’s describing.

I couldn’t give a fuck about bragging rights—exploiting a woman like that to “flex”, as she puts it, is anathema to me.

But the rest of it is hot as fuck.

Why is that?

Why is the picture she paints of me using her and enjoying her publicly and passing her around my friends so intoxicating? It’s the power dynamic, I suppose. It’s far less about establishing superiority over any business associates than it is about establishing power over her. Of being her master, of having such a spellbinding, impressive woman willing to do all of those things at a single command from me.

The realisation disgusts me, even while it has me hardening, impossibly, all the more. But what she’s saying shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to me, given that anonymous review that still burns my retinas.

THIS WOMAN LOVES DICK.

She wants it from you.

She wants it from your clients.

She wants it from you IN FRONT OF your clients.

Ask her yourself.

The shock, therefore, lies in hearing it from her own pretty little mouth. This is what she wants.

I asked her to tell me, and she’s telling me. And I’m judging her, probably because of some antiquated, misogynistic assumption that women can’t have obscenely high IQs and adore getting dicked down and probably also because I’m so terrified of how much I want everything she’s just described that I daren’t allow myself to believe that she might want it too, just as badly.

If Athena is telling the truth, then it seems like I may have to get used to her taking me to places I didn’t even know to conceive of before.

As problems go, that’s a high quality one.