9. Evan

9

EVAN

B ehold the classless rabble.

Take this man, Jonathan Hendrick. Completely useless.

A thief, a swindler, a drunk, an abuser, both of substances as well as his lovers, business associates, and his own children. A complete waste of life and space.

These are the kinds of cases that I hate.

I can't say no to any case out of hand. There is always money, and even more so, favors to be traded to an end that benefits everyone. Because favors make the world keep turning.

And I deal in favors.

Dreams.

Fulfillment of whims and desires.

My name is Evan DeSante, heaven to some, a mystery to most. I make dreams come true. I make wishes come to life, no matter how fleeting.

Sometimes the price is cash, sometimes the price is another favor to be named at a later date.

No matter the job, the one thing I cannot stand is a waste of life and a person who destroys dreams, like Jonathan Hendrick.

People like him make my job tiresome. Difficult. A chore.

I take my job very seriously. And I always get the job done. Now, I'd much rather enjoy my job, and for the most part, I do. Even when it involves eliminating someone. These, we take extremely seriously. They are few and far between.

I detest them.

Not that I have to do those dark deeds myself. There are always others to do that sort of dirty work who don't seem to mind soiling their hands. Then I owe them, and then they owe me, and then it comes back around full circle.

Typing up the summary for those jobs is almost as unsavory as the details of the persons involved. I feel a sigh coming on as I look at the stack of other cases on my desk. If it were up to me, there would be a much classier, or at least less tedious way of dealing with this work. Try as I might, I'm still just a glorified accountant at the end of the day.

Which is why we make them think we are all-knowing, mystical.

We can't have clients dragging us down to their level.

My mother would say I'm projecting, and that I need to exert more control over my surroundings. Control. As if she ever had any.

So she tried to control me.

Which is where I learned the unfortunate truth that come cases are terminal. Fatally so.

The stack shrinks slightly as the day rolls forward, most of them simple tasks or things that I choose to dismiss out of hand. Petty revenge. Things that will sort themselves out and aren't worth the time or money. You start policing petty squabbles, and pretty soon, you're at the center of everyone's attention, with all of them blaming you for the entire situation they created.

My grandfather's old clock rings the hour and I glance up, enjoying the dark walls of my sanctuary, the dark wood of my furniture. The beauty in things soothes me. The quiet.

Noting the time, I realize I lost track of it. Rare.

My next appointment should be arriving soon.

Another desperate college dropout in need of a large amount of money to pay her way out of trouble. I almost threw this one in the trash.

Until I looked into the ‘why'.

Which led me to the ‘who'.

"Mister DeSante, your three fifteen is here." My intercom hums with Genaviv's smooth tones.

Good thing she showed up on time.

I hate waiting. Anyone who shows up late is turned away out of hand.

The most common story is the rich kid in over their head. Daddy cuts them off. Refuses to bail them out to teach them a lesson. They come in expecting, no, demanding that I help them. Typically, I turn them away, make sure they understand to never try again. Not my problem.

That is not, however, who this young lady is.

The woman who walks through my door is different. She's also not at all what I expected.

I expected a blonde. Fake tits. Tall, arrogant. Desperate.

"Miss Michaels, please come in."

Everything I've heard says she's competent, driven, capable. In charge, like me. At least in her own circles. Which usually means a person who indulges in trying to look the part, overcompensating to sell the image.

"Hellena is fine." She says her name casually, confidently reaching to shake my hand. She moves gracefully, balanced. Her hands have known hard work, but she takes care of herself at least.

She's dressed completely normal. Unrefined. Black slacks. A cheap blouse. Hair tied up in a ponytail. Although, it is incredibly long and lustrous.

Aside from that, she appears to have no class whatsoever.

"DeSante." I lean back in my chair. There's just a twitch of surprise. She expected me to stand, like any gentleman would. Maybe she does have manners.

"Hmm. No first name? No Mister? I guess that suits the mystery." Her lip curls, a tiny, mocking smirk.

"I don't share personal details with my clients. Not part of the deal."

Contradictions keep me staring at her for a few seconds, trying to reconcile what I expected with what I'm seeing. I debate how to play this, how to test her, to see what I want to see.

She's gorgeous. The more I look, the more I notice.

Her eyes are striking. Stormy, gray blue.

It's too bad she dresses like a slovenly bank teller. The only highlight of her outfit is the way the deep neck of the blouse shows her perfect cleavage, a sight I have to forcibly resist looking down at.

Not too hard, considering the way she's caught me with those eyes. Piercing.

"And what is the ‘deal'?" She stays, standing. Waiting for me to offer her a seat. Or she's waiting to see if she wants to stay. Ready to leave quickly if she doesn't like what I offer.

Interesting.

I catch my eyes drifting. The fullness of her figure would normally belie laziness, but I saw the way she carried herself when she came in. She's graceful. Yoga? Maybe even a dancer. I have to stop myself from imagining those curves moving…

"We'll get to that. Why don't you tell me about yourself? Succinctly." I'm impressed that she's not blubbering, not babbling from the second she comes in the door. She's quiet, thoughtful, and she's… irritated with me.

"What?" She cuts to the chase, to the fact that I'm staring.

"It's strange. Usually, the look I get is fawning, or awe. I am exceptionally good-looking." Her eyebrows rise at my statement, a hint of disdain on her face.

Odd.

"I don't mean that to sound haughty. Most people are disarmed with how good I look when they come to see me. I can also be charming when the mood arises." The mood does not.

So I motion for her to sit down, barely giving her the time of day. This seems to rankle her even more, which has me fighting a smile. Still, she takes her seat on the edge of the chair, maintaining her composure.

"So? What is your sob story?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing, but since you're not a sharer…" A mocking smile, this one sharper. Angry. She's got claws… Distracting. "Before I do, would you at least tell me what you do, what this is?"

"Well, I assume since you made an appointment with me that you already had a pretty good idea of what it is that we have to offer."

"Right, because your card is so informative. Why don't you enlighten me? Pretend I'm an unwitting customer."

"Unwitting, yes. I doubt that's far from the truth." She openly scoffs as I say it, clearly not on purpose, but she regains her composure quickly. Some self-control. "People come here… looking for relief."

"Is that a come on?" The response is snappy and quick.

"Would you like it to be?"

Her lips press into a thin line. Damn. Not quite the right direction. I find myself momentarily captivated by those lips. Full. Perfect, really. With just a hint of dark lipstick. A flash of it nipping along my collar…

Stop. Focus .

"We make dreams come true." I open my palms, smiling.

At that, she laughs right in my face.

A sneer pulls at my lips. How dare she…"You came to me looking for my help, might I remind you."

"Sorry. Can we start over? Maybe you introduce yourself to me, offer me coffee, tea, a bottle of water, treat me like a human being, and we go from there?" Her expression is calm. Cold.

My, my.

I wait to see how she'll proceed.

"You really know how to play host, don't you? Just because you have the upper hand here, you think you can taunt me, test me, toy with me. Thank you, but I've got more important things to do." She rises.

Shit. Pushed a bit too hard.

Usually, I rig the game, always knowing just a little more than the other guy. I come off like I'm doing them a favor. I mean, the whole point of this endeavor has always been for me to come out on top. For my organization to win.

The way to do that is to get people to do what I want them to do, thinking they've won the lottery in doing so. It's simple, because people are simple.

Hellena, apparently, is not so simple.

"Wait. Please." I gaze to the next few files on my desk, cases more in line with my natural inclinations. It gives me an idea.

I wonder…

"You haven't seen me begin to play host. Allow me to reset. Sit down. Consider this a negotiation . I simply wanted to see how you behave. How you react." I wave toward the chair.

"Why would you need to see how I behave ?" A blush suffuses her cheeks. Lovely.

"So I can see if you're going to run like a scared little child at the first sign of discomfort."

"And why the fuck would there be discomfort?" Hmm. Mouth like a sailor on this one. "I'm already about as uncomfortable as I can get. Not only by the way you're acting or this place , but my life in general right now! Or maybe it's the fact that I owe some extremely dangerous people an absurd amount of money. Or that I have to hide out. None of which was entirely up to me. Even if it is my fault." She pulls herself up short, having lost her temper. Exactly what I was looking for, but not in the way I thought.

Definitely in over her head.

Not allowing herself to drown.

She's perfectly desperate.

"Dreams. Desires. That's what I do here. Or at least that's the part of the job I like. Dreams I can fulfill, dopamine for you, dopamine for me. Favors are the drug that keep me doing this." I'm winging it. Going completely off script.

Hellena tilts her head, a wrinkle forming between her brows. "And people just find you? Come to see you all the time asking for… favors. To make their dreams come true?"

"Usually, I find them. That's how Sinful works. Most interactions are contactless, via email, hush-hush, secret wants and needs, easily procured, deliciously delivered. Many of the individuals who owe me favors also enjoy paying me back, when they get to do what they love to complete a desire that I need met. Tit-for-tat."

"Example?"

I flick open a file, browsing the contents.

"This client connected one of my subsidiaries, a recommendation through a colleague. He wants a boy toy. More pointedly, to meet a nice fellow to spend time with. Preferably, a nice fellow who can also… bend ." I leave out that the client is State Senator Phienie. "I know, very specific."

"And you provide that sort of thing? Like a… pimp."

"We provide any and everything under the right circumstances. Except it's a two-way street, not manipulative ownership."

"How so?"

"I'm not a bookie, Hellena. I am not a pimp. I coordinate serendipity."

"And have a God complex to go with it, huh?" I ignore the comment, pausing to let it pass.

"So my client has an ask, and lo and behold, my good friend Gillett, obviously not his real name, is a gigolo client of mine who had a dream of his own. All he ever wanted was to be completely hairless and impossibly flexible. He couldn't afford laser therapy or gymnast training."

"So you…"

"Precisely. Two years of treatment and training…"

"And enjoy your sexy date at the Lux-Berriat presidential suite?"

"Ha! Not far off the mark." I lean forward, excitement drawing me into her. "Tell me, what made you say that?"

"Only a wealthy and powerful client would be worth your while to cater to so specifically." I see her taking notes, calculating. Assessing me and my work as I assess her. She's clever, sharp. Determined.

I fucking hate how disarming her eyes are.

It's got me sweating in my silk suit.

Hellena takes a deep breath, those sumptuous breasts swelling behind her button up. Fortunately, she can't see below the desk where I'm fighting against natural urges, my suit pants feeling far too tight.

This is not typically how I behave. This isn't how things go. I need to regain control of the situation and myself. Except, I am having fun .

"Now. I shared far more than I should have. Your turn." I point one finger at her.

"Fine. I guess you could say I'm a lot like you."

"How so?"

"I do things for people in exchange for money."

"Oh, how tawdry," I mock.

"Don't be simplistic. Not sex work. Not that I judge anyone for doing it. It's just not for me."

"You misunderstand me. I simply like to test people's presumptions. Some of my best friends and clients are sex workers."

"I gathered. No, I mean that I do favors for people. College papers. Getting materials, school supplies. Tutoring. Dorm room luxuries they're not supposed to have. I coordinate parties. I get booze for people who can't, find dancers and DJs, promotions, sell ideas for clubs to use for fundraisers. Anything to make ends meet. Not settling for the status quo."

Ingenuity. Creativity. Willing to work hard, but not conform to the norm.

She refuses to stick to the mold of the world. Like me.

"Well put. That's exactly what I gathered so far from looking into your case." Realization gleams in her eyes quicker than I hoped.

"Then this little game of cat and mouse that you've been playing with me was what, just for fun? Just to fuck with me?"

"I told you this was a negotiation, a test of sorts." Her fists clench on the armrests. "I have a very good reason for everything I do. Learning certain things about you was the only reason you even got a meeting, woman."

I hate to be condescending, but sometimes, you have to make a statement. It has her glaring at me.

"What certain things were those ?"

"That you have rules. That you follow a system all your own."

She hesitates. "How would you know that?"

Yes! I've got her interested, now.

"You're careful. You've never been caught until now. You fly under the radar. You can keep secrets. You don't indulge in the parties you coordinate. You're not a drunk. You're not a wild child. Frankly, you're too controlled in some ways."

"Says the guy that can't abide a wrinkle in his starched suit."

"Please, I would never starch silk." She's looking disgusted and annoyed again. It's making me want to throw something across the room.

This could be interesting. No one has ever made me lose my composure before.

"I'm still a little lost on where we stand. How does this work?"

"Ah. Now it's time for the pitch. You need money. We give you money. You pay us back with favors down the line. It's fairly simple."

"Doesn't sound fairly simple. It sounds like I could be owing you for the rest of my damn life."

"We do not abuse our customers. Like I said, it is a two-way street. We work out something that's agreeable to both parties. Fulfill the terms of the bargain. Then if we choose to work together in the future, so be it. If not, no harm done. Everyone wins."

"Somehow, I feel like you're always on the winning side if there is one."

"You are too smart for your own good." I smile, curling the edges of my lips, the way that makes women's toes curl. "Tell me what sounds agreeable to you, and we can start negotiating there?"

"How about you quit jerking my chain and trying to lead me around like a fucking dog on a leash and tell me what I will owe you in plain terms. You clearly have a plan for me. You keep saying ‘we' like you're either insane, speaking in the third person, or you represent some secret… investors or something."

"Well, aren't you perceptive."

"Quit beating around the bush and talk, you contentious prat ." Her response is whiplash fast. No one has ever spoken to me that way before.

I'm pissed. I'm aroused.

This changes things somewhat. I shuffle my ideas around.

Plan C it is.

"The ‘we' is privileged information. I need an assistant. One with the skill set you already have to help with a few of my high-end clients."

"You're offering me a job."

"A good one."

"And I'd be your assistant?"

"Handler, assistant, or a concierge, if you will. I'm not just offering to pay off your debt. I am offering you the chance to continue to perform favors for people around town in exchange for training. Knowledge. Experience. Not just a loan and repayment. A future. Possibilities."

Hellena sits there glaring at me for several seconds. "I… I'm not sure."

"Come on. Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. Who knows? You might even enjoy it."

It's all worth it if nothing else to see the look of outrage on her face.