1. Kylie

Chapter one

Kylie

W hat in the hell am I doing here?

My knee bounces rapidly, causing the heel of my sandal to pound out a rapid staccato on the tiled floor as I chew my thumbnail down to the quick. My mind is racing for an alternative to what I'm about to do when I'm yanked back to reality by someone's cell phone blasting Taylor Swift's You Need To Calm Down .

Believe me lady, I'm trying.

The music cuts off as I straighten in my chair and roll my shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the tension I'm feeling.

My curiosity over whose phone went off gets the best of me and I swing my gaze around the room. I’m not one to be insecure about my looks, but when you find yourself in a room full of women who look like they just stepped off the runway … well, it’s hard not to second guess coming here. Not that I wasn’t already battling with doubt considering what we're here to interview for.

The woman across from me snags my attention when she answers her phone and my mouth drops open in shock. It's not because she's stunningly gorgeous with long, flowing blonde hair and the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen. No. It’s the glow of happiness she's radiating as she chats away on her cell phone while twirling a lock of hair around her finger .

I don't get it. My stomach is churning with fear. Meanwhile, this girl acts like she doesn't have a care in the world. I turn my stunned gaze back to the other women in the room only to find them looking just as relaxed.

Am I really the only one here on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I'm aware I’ve led a pretty sheltered life, but I still can’t believe this would be a casual decision for anyone.

At the reminder, my stomach flutters with nerves again. I place a hand there before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly as if it'll help.

Sadly, it doesn't. Which has me questioning whether I'm cut out for this when all I really want to do is bolt despite the ramifications of doing so. The thought alone has me looking back to the exit for the hundredth time since my arrival.

I'm seconds away from leaping out of my chair when the creak of a door followed by the sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor brings my attention back to the front. A woman—who I'd guess is in her fifties—enters the room and stops next to the reception desk.

I'm puzzled over her appearance. She reminds me of a librarian dressed in a dark gray pencil skirt and a white frilly blouse. Her hair is even in one of those tight buns pulled so severely, you wouldn't need Botox injections to smooth out the wrinkles. To complete the look, her glasses sit halfway down her nose as she peers around the room with a clipboard in hand.

Considering what this business is, she's not who I expected to give the interview.

"Kylie Davis?" she calls with an impatient tone, making me realize it might not have been the first time.

Heart pounding out of my chest, I shakily get to my feet while gathering the courage to raise my hand. "That's me." Instead of coming out confident, my voice cracks at a high pitch, making me wince.

Ugh, pull it together, Kylie. You can do this.

Clearing my throat, I lower my arm and grip by hands together to keep myself from fidgeting as the woman sweeps her gaze over me with furrowed brows. I get the impression I don’t measure up, so it's a relief when she finishes her inspection and gives a crisp, "Follow me," before turning back toward her office.

Looking over my shoulder, I allow myself one last longing look at the exit before I push back my shoulders and rush after her.

"Have a seat." She waves her hand, indicating one of the guest chairs sitting in front of her desk.

All grace leaves me as the loud click of the door closing startles me to the point that I plop down with a loud thud. Embarrassed, I briefly close my eyes and chastise myself before I blow this interview altogether.

While her attention is off of me as she rounds the desk, I force a smile onto my face, cross my legs, and smooth my dress before placing my hands loosely on my lap.

"My name is Margaret Wesley," she announces as she settles into her chair. Placing two fingers on the paper in front of her, she slides it forward, then places a pen on top. "This is an NDA. You must sign this before we begin the interview."

"A-a what?" Clearing my throat, I lean in to scan the document. "I mean, I know what an NDA is. It means I can't discuss what you mention here, but what I don't know is, what happens if I do?" I glance up to find her eyes narrowed on me. Sitting back, I rush to explain. "Not that I would. I just meant that if I accidentally breach the contract …." I trail off, and gulp, intimidated by her stare.

"It would mean, Miss Davis, that Sweet Connections, Inc. could sue you for everything you own and then some. It's important you understand we have a high-profile clientele who use this service. If, because of you , word gets out that they're members … there will be consequences."

"Oh."

Really, what else is there to say?

"Now, are you ready to sign, or are you wasting my time?" She glances at her watch as if to make a point.

"No—I mean, yes, I'm ready." With a shaky hand and a pit in my stomach, I take the pen and sign on the dotted line.

Why does it feel like I just signed my life away ?

As soon as I lift the pen off the paper, Ms. Wesley snatches the document and places it in the folder beside her before continuing, "Sweet Connections, Inc. offers two services. Please tell me which one you're requesting to join."

Snapping my gaze back to her, my mind goes blank. My roommate, Talia, only ever mentioned one.

"Sorry. I, uh … wasn't aware there were two. I only know of the sugar baby service—which I'm here to apply for." Losing the fight to keep still, I wring my hands together as I contemplate what the second service could be.

When I notice Ms. Wesley glance down at my hands, I go still and place them back on my lap. She gives a nod of approval and relief sweeps through me, quickly followed by annoyance at caring what this woman thinks of me. There's just something about her that takes me back to middle school, sitting in the principal's office being lectured for punching Tommy Whitehouse in the nose.

He totally deserved it. I caught him lifting my best friend's dress up when we were playing outside during recess. Him and Chad starting laughing and making fun of her frilly underwear which made Cindy cry. I saw red. I would have punched Chad too if the teacher hadn't interfered.

"I'm aware you're here because of Talia Henderson's recommendation. I would've thought she'd have prepared you better."

When I just blink, she sighs before leaning back in her chair. "Here at Sweet Connections, we have a dating service and a sugar baby service. To the average person, the dating service is all that we offer. I'm sure you understand the discreet nature of operating the other side of this business. If accepted, all anyone needs to be aware of is you've met a match on our dating site. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Now it makes sense why the other women from the waiting room were so calm. They must've been here for the dating service.

Ms. Wesley moves to place a file before me and taps the top of the folder. "Inside here, you'll find several questionnaires and the guidelines. I'll take you to another room where you can complete the forms in privacy. Please make sure you answer every question before you leave. You can not take them with you. If they need to be revised between contracts, call my office and schedule an appointment to review them here. These documents never leave this office. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." She won't receive any complaints from me. It's reassuring how strict their policies are. The last thing I want is my role as a sugar baby becoming public knowledge.

"Good." She flips open the file to sift through the papers as she continues, "This side of the business works much like the other. We aim to match couples based on personal interests and compatibility to lower the risk of losing clients to our competitor."

My eyebrows shoot up, and before I can think better of it, I blurt out, "You have a competitor?"

Ms. Wesley looks up from the papers and pins me with her gaze, making me regret my outburst. "Yes, there's a competing sugar baby company in town."

Wow! I had a hard enough time believing this was a thing when Talia told me about it. To find out there's more than one agency in Chicago is unexpected. I'm not so na?ve that I'm not aware some women throw themselves at rich men for their money, but to find out thereare companies pairing them together is shocking to me.

Ms. Wesley goes back to shuffling the papers until she finds the one she wants and pulls it to the front. "Here's the guidelines. I suggest you memorize them. I can't express enough how imperative it is that you follow these rules. The most important one for you to remember is never to discuss this with anyone. The only reason Talia could tell you is because she's part of the referral program. This does not give you the freedom to do the same. If and when you qualify to be in the program will be up to me."

Since she seems to be waiting for my acknowledgement, I jerk my head once but don't bother to explain that I have no plans of being a sugar baby long enough for that to be a possibility.

"Once an interested party requests you, we'll schedule a meet and greet at the club next door. If the pairing is successful, you can use that as your cover story for how you met. We like to keep things as close to the truth as possible to prevent any slip-ups."

This explanation works for me since it solves how I would explain a new man in my life to my parents. I can be honest and tell them I met a guy at a club—while not the best place to meet a potential boyfriend—it's also not the worst.

"I must warn you, while everyone else believes your sugar daddy is your boyfriend, do not forget who they truly are to you. You can only turn them down for anything you haven't agreed to in your contract. They're the ones in control here. It's why we like to give you the choice of which contract you'll accept."

Wait … what?

The woman continues as if I'm not over here panicking at the thought of being at the mercy of a stranger.

"We offer a six-month or one-year contract, which we'll extend if both parties agree.Once you sign the contract, breaching it will result in your termination with Sweet Connections—except in cases of abuse. But I will warn you, you must be able to prove it. We vet our clients extensively, and they are aware we do not condone violence outside of the contract."

Outside of the contract?

What an odd comment. My mind races at the implication of that statement.

"If the client chooses to break the contract, he must honor the full payment at the time of termination, and you'll be free to select a new sugar daddy." Ms. Wesley gathers the papers together and places them back in the folder before asking, "Do you have questions for me?"

"Yes. Uh, well, you say I can't turn down the client. Like? At all? What if I'm ill, or … you know … it's that time of the month?" I can feel heat climb my face as I continue, "or what if he requests something I'm not aware I should mark on the questionnaire?" More questions flood my mind and I try to tamp down my panic. I understand the client pays for my time, but I fear what they may ask if I can't say no. What if he asks me to crawl around the floor and bark like a dog? This exact scenario was in a BDSM romance novel I read once, and I don't know how the woman didn't junk punch the guy .

Ms. Wesley's impatient sigh breaks through my panicked thoughts and I force myself to pay attention.

"We have a clause for health reasons, but it's not an excuse to use whenever you want. The client can claim you're in breach of contract. Also, while they have filled out their own questionnaire when they joined Sweet Connections, it's exclusively for us to match them with the right sugar baby. If they select you, they're aware of your limits and agree to your terms. As long as you fill out your paperwork honestly, they can't request anything you don't want. It's all explained in the guidelines you'll review before you leave. Now, are you ready to complete your packet?"

Not really, but I nod anyway.

"Good. Follow me."