2. Kylie

Chapter two

Kylie

M s. Wesley leads us down a long hallway, taking us deeper into the building. We pass by another office and a kitchenette area before stopping at the last door where she has to enter a code. I marvel at how big the building is when we step into another reception area. Hidden as it is, it makes sense why it's used for the sugar baby part of the company.

The room is empty except for the receptionist, who's a younger version of Ms. Wesley. Same bun, same type of glasses perched on her nose, and even the same style of clothing. I find the straight-laced attire comical considering what services this company provides.

"Betty, this is Kylie Davis. She's ready to fill out her paperwork." Ms. Wesley hands her my folder before bringing her attention back to me. "Take your time and make sure you complete everything." She turns to leave, but another question pops into my head and I can't let her go just yet.

"Wait—what happens next? You know, after …" I wave to my folder in Betty's hands. I can't believe I didn't think to ask Talia how the entire process works.

Ms. Wesley scowls down at her watch as if I'm wasting her time, but when she flips her gaze back to mine, she must see my fear because in the next second, her features soften. "What happens next is you'll go home and wait for a call. We'll run a background check and as long as we don't find any issues, we'll schedule a doctor's appointment to verify your health and supply you with birth control. After that, we'll schedule salon appointments that will end with a photo shoot for your portfolio. Once we receive your pictures—which will complete your file—then we'll share it with potential clients. This process can take anywhere from a couple of days to a few months, depending on client interest."

"A few months?"The thought of not receiving money in time fills me with panic.

She tilts her head and studies me. "I don't think you'll have to wait that long. After cleaning you up a bit …" She waves in my general direction. "I'm sure several clients will be interested." Without another word, Ms. Wesley turns and heads back to where we came from.

I frown down at my dress, confused by the cleaning up comment.

"Here you go. You can use this room, but please hand me your phone first." I turn to see Betty standing next to the room across from her desk. At my puzzled expression, she explains, "This prevents photos from being taken of the documents. Don't worry, you'll get it back when you hand in your papers."

"Oh, sure." I move to her while digging through my purse for my phone and hand it over before accepting my folder. "Thank you. I'll just …" I trail off because Betty has already dismissed me and moved back to her desk.

Alright then.

Once I get settled at the table in the small room, I pull the guidelines out and review them first. Thankfully, I find everything straightforward as Ms. Wesley informed me, and move on to the questionnaire.

The first question asks about my availability, which relieves me of another concern I had. I'm too close to graduation to have my class schedule disrupted. I've already had to extend my classes out a year as it is.

Next, it asks about traveling. I hesitate to say I can't travel, so I write dates that again won't interrupt my attendance. With graduation fast approaching, maybe I'll get to go somewhere cool, like Italy or England for the summer. Business men take their girlfriends on business trips all time, I would imagine.

"At least I might get one benefit out of this arrangement," I mutter to myself .

The following section digs in to what kind of relationship I want with the client?

The first one lists a BDSM relationship, and I can't mark the box no fast enough. No judgment if others want that, but I already know it's not for me. I know myself. I'm too stubborn to submit like that to a man.

The next one confuses me. It's an option for a daddy/little relationship. I've heard throw away comments about calling a man daddy , but the little has me puzzled. Something tells me there's more to this and I'm reluctant to risk getting into something I'm not sure about, so I check no again. Besides, I don't want to think about my dad when I'm with this guy. I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

The next few are straightforward until one particular question comes up that I have no clue what it means. Being too embarrassed to ask, I mark no again. Since it has discipline in the title, I'm not sure I even want to know what it is. Maybe it's the consensual violence Ms. Wesley hinted to earlier.

When I turn the page, my eyes widen at the amount of questions still to answer. Well, I can't complain they aren't thorough.

Twenty minutes later and after answering all the questions, I worry over the excessive number of boxes marked no . This will most likely limit my options, but I just can't fathom trying out some of these things with a complete stranger.

This entire experience is surreal. My hope is there will at least be some men whose primary reason for wanting a sugar baby is to have a companion for events.

I sigh cause, yeah, even I'm not that na?ve.

I sit back and massage my neck, trying to relieve the tension, even knowing it's probably there to stay.

Satisfied I've gone over every detail. I gather the documents and return them to Betty. After a quick review of the forms, she hands me my phone back before dismissing me.

As soon as I exit the building, I slump against the door, my energy drained despite the bright sunlight beating against my skin.

As I soak up the warmth, I ask myself again if I can really do this? I bring my hand to my temple and massage the pain that has settled there as I stare across the street and contemplate my current choices. I've run my options many times already and unfortunately, this is the only viable one to earn me enough money before it's too late.

Resigned to my fate, I drop my hand and step away from the door when the sound of gravel crunching pulls my attention to my left.

A black SUV comes to a stop in front of the club next door—the club Ms. Wesley revealed as the meeting location for Sweet Connections clients. Not that it means this person is here for that, but the vehicle reeks of enough wealth that it's possible.

Instead of moving to cross the street, I continue to linger, hoping for a chance to see who emerges from the car. They don't make me wait long as the front passenger door opens and my eyes widen at the man who steps out.

He's enormous—well over six feet and muscular, if the bulging suit is any indication. With his cropped dark hair, trimmed beard and mirrored sunglasses, I peg him as security when he turns to open the back passenger door.

The driver draws my attention next. I would've considered him large if I hadn't just seen the first guy. However, instead of cropped hair, his is long enough to be tucked behind his ears. He's also wearing mirrored sunglasses and yet, it's easy to tell he's scanning his surroundings as he walks around the back of the car.

When he reaches our side, he slides his glasses to the top of his head right when he looks in my direction. We make brief eye contact before he turns to the person still in the back seat.

I can't help but admire the picture they make and I'm not the only one. Two women exit the shop on the other side of the club, and they don't hide their appreciative gaze as they walk past the men.

I smile in greeting as they pass me next, only to have the one closest to me wiggle her eyebrows and wink. I duck my head and stifle a giggle.

Who could blame her? Both men are gorgeous. If only I could be so lucky as to have one of them for my sugar daddy.

I puff out a breath at the wishful thinking. Even if whoever is in the back seat is a client, he hasn't stepped out of the car yet, and if I had to guess, he's an old, out of shape rich guy who's most likely married.

It takes a second before this new thought registers, but when it does, I go still. How have I not once considered the possibility of being contracted with a married man? Is that something they have to disclose? Surely, I can just deny the contract if he's married. The guilt would eat me alive if I'm the reason a man cheats on his wife.

Bothered by this new revelation, I turn my attention back to the road, desperately wanting to forget all about the man in the car. However, as I'm waiting for an opening to cross the street, the indistinct murmur of men talking reaches my ears. I'm too curious not to at least take a peek and the timing proves to be perfect since he finally emerges from the back seat.

At first, I only glimpse dark hair, but then he turns to face the two men next to him.

I was wrong.

Very wrong.

He's not old, nor out of shape. What little I see gives promise to a man as equally hot as the other two.

My attention is so completely focused on him, I don't even realize I'm leaning in his direction until he moves past his security and locks his gaze on mine.

Startled, I jerk back and gasp as my hand flies to my throat. Completely taken off guard by the impact he has on me.

If I thought the other two were gorgeous, this guy was off the charts.

The man is tall, but leaner than the others and has a more clean-cut appearance. He's outfitted in a dark blue suit, which makes him look every inch the businessman.

He has his dark, almost black hair neatly styled, except for one errant lock curling at his temple. But what captivates me the most are his eyes. It's not so much the color—a dark brown if I had to guess from this distance—but the intensity in them. The power emanating from the man's eyes is unlike anything I've ever experienced. As silly as it may seem, it's like he's daring me to come to him while everything in me is warning me to stay away.

I'm frozen in place, though I know I should walk away. As if he can read my mind, he cocks his head and gives me a wicked smile. And holy moly, that's when I notice another feature.

Dimples.

The man has dimples.

It should have given him a boyish quality, but they appear more sinful than anything else.

He is pure sex, and he knows it.

The blaring of a horn behind me jolts me back to reality. In a panic, I turn to jog across the street, realizing too late that I didn't check both ways first. I'm lucky traffic has slowed.

I shake my head at myself. It's as if the man took away whatever common sense I have left.

When I reach my car, the hair at the back of my neck stands up, telling me his eyes are following my every move. In my desperation to escape, I quickly unlock my car and throw myself into the driver's seat. My hands are shaking, and it takes several attempts before I can insert the key into the ignition.

Boy, what I wouldn't give for a newer car with one of those start buttons instead.

My relief is palpable as the car finally starts, and I pull out of the parking lot, this time checking traffic first.

I resist the urge to look back over my shoulder, despite how much I want to. Once I've passed a couple of blocks, the tension finally eases from my shoulders, but that doesn't stop me from obsessing over the encounter.

I've never experienced such an intense physical attraction like that before. I laugh at the thought of him being a sugar daddy. With his good looks, he wouldn't need to pay for a companion. He could crook his finger at any woman he wants and have them begging at his feet .

"Ugh! This is ridiculous!" I yell into the car. Nothing about today has been normal. I need to just forget about the guy.

Sighing, I force my thoughts away from the mystery man and onto my parents. After what I went through, I need the comfort of their company. I guess it's true that you're never too old to need your parents. Besides, visiting with them will serve as a reminder of why I signed up to be a sugar baby.

Flicking the turn signal, I head west at the next light and try to forget all about those intense eyes and the beautiful man they belong to.