Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Am I supposed to know who he is?” I lived in my own world, focusing on getting through the day. I didn’t have time to pay attention to rich playboys who spent their money on ridiculous things—like people.
“He’s pretty well known. He owns all the Remington hotels and resorts.”
I recognized the chain. It was a luxury line of resorts that existed all over the world, not that I could ever afford to stay in one.
“He owns a few other companies too,” she said. “But I don’t remember what they are.”
I grabbed my phone and typed his name into Google, curious to see what he looked like. He was probably an older man with disgusting fetishes, a guy who couldn’t get a girl growing up, so now he just paid for sex.
The search results popped up—and Slate Remington was nothing like I thought he would be.
Young.
Handsome.
Fit.
Sexy.
He did not look like a man who had to pay for sex. “This is him?” I held up the phone.
“Yep. Sexy, right?”
“Super sexy.” I pulled the phone back to me. “I’m surprised this guy wastes his money like that. He must get ass handed to him all the time.”
“Probably. But every guy has his kinks. Why are you so interested?”
Because I was desperate and pathetic. “Just curious…”
Cindy didn’t press me on it. “His brother owns a bunch of companies too, but I guess they haven’t spoken in a long time. He’s private about his life. The only reason why I know he’s the Cherry Popper is because my friend told me. But I guess she wasn’t supposed to mention that…”
“Well, it doesn’t make him look very good.”
“I doubt he cares. A man that rich and good-looking probably doesn’t care what people think of him.”
“Yeah…probably not.” I looked at his Wikipedia page and saw that he was thirty, fairly young to have so much success.
He was seven years older than me—and a million times more experienced. I locked the screen on my phone then looked out the window again, unable to believe I was even considering this.
It was so degrading.
Would I really give up my V-card for money?
If I weren’t up to my eyeballs in debt, I wouldn’t be enticed by the money. But my future would be infinitely more difficult if I carried all that debt. I could never start a family because I wouldn’t be able to provide for them. I would be too tied up in my loans. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to college and should have just stayed in Connecticut. I could have started at a bank and worked my way up. I wouldn’t have any loans, and the rent would be cheaper. Honestly, I was probably better off going that route than taking out hundreds of thousands in student loans.
I wish I could go back in time and redo it all.
Or I could give up my virginity and make my life a little easier.
2
Monroe
For the next week, I continued to debate with myself.
Could I really do something like that?
My initial reaction was no, but once I saw what he looked like, it didn’t seem so bad. He had short, dark hair, a masculine jawline, brown eyes that looked a little scary, and a muscular physique that must be perfectly manicured every single day. His suits fit his sculpted shoulders and arms like a second skin, and he was tall. Pictures could be deceptive, but anytime he was around other men, he was always the tallest one in the group.
Maybe it was immoral. Maybe it made me a skank.
But I needed to live.
And unless I won the lottery, that wasn’t going to happen.
It would be an embarrassing story when I told my husband. He might think less of me for giving up my purity for a check. Or I could just keep it to myself and never tell another soul. No one would ever know.
But I hated keeping a secret like that.
By the end of the week, I only had twenty bucks in my account. I still needed to eat for another week, so that meant I would be dining on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal until I got paid.
That was all the convincing I needed. I couldn’t live like this much longer, and if I had to get on my back for thirty minutes while an asshole fucked me, that seemed like a small compromise. I could pay off my undergraduate degree completely—and eliminate one loan payment altogether.
That would save me $1,000 a month. To someone like me, that was a fortune.
I was in a bad situation, and I didn’t have the time to be noble or classy.
I had to survive.
And I wouldn’t apologize for it.
I did some research and found where his main office was located. It was the administrative building for his chain of resorts, and it was in Manhattan. I wasn’t sure what to wear because it wasn’t a job interview, but I didn’t want to walk in looking like a prostitute either. I settled for a pencil skirt and blouse, something that outlined my curves but didn’t give away too much. I did my hair and makeup then left for his office.