High Stakes Hard Sell Ch 01

Author's note:

This will be a six or seven chapter story about a consensual relationship between adults. All characters are fictional. Comments, votes and feedback are welcome and greatly appreciated. Many thanks to the wonderful and talented author karaline for her input and editing. And thank you for reading!

**

Jane Willow sat in the driver's seat of her Ford Focus rental, taking deep, calming breaths.

She could handle this, she told herself. She was a salesperson - a good one. She'd made cold calls before. Managed tricky negotiations. Triumphed in the face of cut-throat competition and long odds. This deal was no different - high stakes, yes, but she was accustomed to that.

Her body wasn't convinced; it felt overheated and sweaty. Her heart raced and her breathing was too fast. Jane usually felt excited and eager going into a sale but this time there was only dread and the unshakable sense of impending humiliation and failure. Was this deal too big? Was it more than she could handle? Maybe she should just call him instead of starting off face-to-face...

No.

Phone calls lacked impact. Too easy to say 'no' over the phone. It was much harder to look someone in the eye and do the same. Face-to-face added impact to the pitch. Face-to-face made things personal.

Forcing her doubts aside she stepped out of the car and shut the door, then paused to double-check her look. She knew Mike liked his girls to look girly so she'd dressed in a pink, satin blouse and white, pleated skirt. Not ideal attire for a blustery February in Toronto but perfect for this particular sales call. The hem of the skirt was high enough - and the neckline of the blouse low enough - to keep Mike's attention split between her appearance and her words. Divide and conquer.

She locked the car and took another deep breath, then turned and strode purposefully to the doorway of M.D.C Gunner, the gym owned by Mike's older brother, Greg "Gunner" Talbot. Despite the uber-macho nickname, Greg didn't scare her. He'd be the gatekeeper and she'd have to talk her way past him to sell to the true decision-maker. No big deal, she'd been talking her way past receptionists, secretaries and administrative assistants throughout her career. Greg would be easy. Mike, not so much.

The inside of the gym was fluorescent-lit and the air was permeated with the scent of stale sweat and the amped-up shriek of power metal music. She walked up to the front counter where a young man stared at the screen of his cell phone.

"Could I please speak to Mike?" she asked loudly enough to be heard over the din.

The man glanced up at her, then took a second, longer look. She put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. His eyes fell inevitably into her cleavage, then snapped back up to her face as he struggled to find a way to look without looking like he was looking. Fully occupied, his brain took a few seconds to process her request.

"He's...uh...kind of busy...training," the guy stammered.

"Any chance you could interrupt him? It's important," she said in a near-shout.

"Let me ask Greg. Just a sec." The guy scrambled away and Jane sighed. Time to prepare herself for Greg.

She stepped back and stood straight, steeling herself for what she knew was coming.

"No! No fucking way. Out! Now!" Greg screamed as he stormed up to her, gesturing forcefully to the door behind her. He'd put on weight in the five years since she'd last seen him and it didn't flatter his five-foot-ten frame.

Jane stood her ground and met his glare as he put his flushed, scruffy face in front of hers. In her heels she was almost as tall as he was, and in any case Jane knew that Greg was all bark, no bite.

"I need to talk to Mike. It's important," she said evenly.

"You need to piss off out of here before I kick your fucking..."

"If you touch me, I'll have the police here in ten minutes." It was no idle threat, and he knew it.

"This is private property, bitch. I'm within my rights to toss you out on your ass." His dark eyes bored into hers.

"I just want to talk," she repeated. "I'm not here to cause trouble."

He glared at her and she met his hard gaze steadily. He broke first and turned to the younger guy near the counter.

"Lou, take her to the business office and keep her company," he turned back to Jane and growled. "I'll get Mike. You got ten minutes." Greg stomped away into the gritty recesses of the gym.

She followed Lou to a musty, poorly-lit and claustrophobic storage room. It was only by the virtue of the pair of filing cabinets and a fold-out table that it could be called a business office. The presence of only one chair led Jane to conclude that not much business was conducted there. To his credit, Lou offered her the chair, though that was possibly a ploy to look down her top.

The two of them waited for many long minutes, Jane sitting, Lou leaning awkwardly against the table. Conversation was mercifully sparse.

Finally the door swung open and Mike stood filling the doorway. His gray t-shirt and black sparring trunks were drenched in sweat. His face was red and dripping from exertion and he wiped it with a white towel, then draped it over his shoulders. His hands were still wrapped with white tape. Unlike his older brother, Mike looked lean and powerful; the well-defined contours of his chest and stomach were obvious even though his shirt and the muscles in his arms and legs bulged. His brown hair was buzz-cut. His brilliant green eyes - always his best feature, in her view - sized her up. She read suspicion, disbelief and curiosity in his expression. No hatred, a fact that gave her renewed hope that this business might be successfully concluded after all.

He nodded at Lou, who quickly slipped past him and out of the room.

Jane stood and faced him as he stepped into the business office. She found Mike's proximity more overwhelming than she'd expected. His presence seemed to fill the room and press in on her from all sides. The uncertainty returned in a rush. The fear. The weakness in her knees. The doubt.

His breathing was heavy and he seemed in no hurry to speak. Jane suddenly couldn't remember what she'd planned to say. She'd prepared thoroughly, as she always did before a cold call. Prepared for his contempt, his revulsion. Prepared for sneering, for recriminations, even for violence. But not for silence.

"Hey, you look good...really good," she started, then stopped herself. That hadn't been the tone she'd rehearsed. She tried again. "I've been thinking about you. Missing you. I wanted to see you again and maybe...clear the air." She dropped her gaze in an effort to convey contrition and submissiveness. "It's been...bothering me. The way we left things."

"Yeah?" he said, in a tone that was hard to decipher. She waited a few seconds for him to continue but he didn't seem inclined. She raised her head enough to see his face and found his expression inscrutable. She regrouped and continued.

"Maybe we could grab a coffee and talk a bit? I've got some things I want to express...about the way I behaved..." she trailed off and lowered her eyes again, hoping he'd pick up his end of the conversation. He seemed to have become more restrained in the last five years, harder to read - a development she found frustrating and unnerving.

"Not much to say, is there? It happened. It's done. Probably best to just leave it alone."

"It would help if I could talk to you a bit. Do you have time tonight for a drink?" Her tone was meek - practically begging - and she doubled down by biting her bottom lip and flashing him a doe-eyed, hopeful expression. She knew Mike was the type of man who responded to vulnerability with protectiveness, so making herself weak was the surest path to getting what she wanted.

There was another brief silence, and in that pause she found hope. He hadn't scoffed. A part of him was considering the idea.

"Can't. Got plans."

"Maybe later in the week?"

"Sorry."

It was all she could do not to grit her teeth in irritation. The salesperson in her wouldn't settle for 'no'.

"Another girl?" She allowed her voice to waver, the desperation to show a little. In truth, she'd prepared for the contingency of another woman. She knew he wasn't married - her research had revealed that much. So whatever relationship he had, it wasn't that serious.

He gave a half-smile. "Yeah, another girl. Look, I've got to go. Good to see you again. You're looking great, Janey. Take care of yourself." He turned to leave.

"What about lunch tomorrow? Here at the gym? I can bring something. I just want a little time to...you know...make things right." Every minute they were together she could chip away at his resistance, look for the right angle, refine her sales pitch.

"Can't. Greg's got me on a strict diet. Goodbye." And just like that he was gone and Lou was escorting her to the front door while Greg was warning her - darkly - that she'd be arrested for trespassing the next time she set foot in the gym.

She sat at the wheel of her Focus and assessed things. Mike was making her work for it - he wasn't going to hand her anything or make it easy, that much was certain. There was clearly another woman in his life but he had nevertheless entertained - if only for a moment - the idea of doing drinks. That meant he wasn't head-over-heels in love; certainly a positive sign that Jane could insinuate herself for long enough to get what she so desperately needed.

And Mike had changed since she'd last known him. He'd become more confident, his power and temperament more controlled, more focused. He wasn't the exuberant, reckless fighter he'd been in his younger years - that much was easy to see. She'd need to revise her estimation of him and not allow herself to be taken off-guard again.

All told, their first meeting had been productive if not successful. She had new leads to follow, new plans to make. Step one was to wait for Lou to get off work...

**

Eight-ninety Green Street was a dump; a dilapidated low-rise apartment complex with a crumbling red-brick exterior. The surrounding neighborhood featured a sorry collection of ramshackle buildings that were equally deplorable, or worse. Half the houses on the street appeared derelict, and two of them were actually boarded up with cast-off bits of plywood. Jane made sure her car doors were locked and kept her engine running as she surveyed the apartment.

She figured she'd spent more money bribing Lou to give her Mike's home address than Mike spent on monthly rent. The longer she looked, the worse it got. This was good. This was information she could use. Mike clearly lived alone; no woman with any kind of self-respect would agree to cohabit in a dump like that. It was Monday evening, and Mike was on a strict training schedule so it wouldn't be date night. He was probably at home and alone.

She considered her strategy. He was wary and standoffish with her, and given their shared past that was to be expected. An obstacle, certainly, but not insurmountable. She needed to re-open communication between them and put him in a more accommodating frame of mind. And fast.

And the best way to do that was to make him come.

She knew from her experiences with men that the fastest way to cut through their emotional defenses was to empty their balls. A man who had just come was content, receptive and appreciative. That state of mind didn't always last long, but it was plenty of time to sow the seeds of influence.

So the plan was a simple one. Go to him. Talk her way into his apartment. Flash some cleavage, a little thigh. Shed some tears, if that's what it took to draw him out. Steal a kiss. Get his hand on her breast. Get naked. Moan. Suck. Beg for his cock inside her. Fuck him like a woman possessed. Tell him how much she'd missed it, how she always thought of him. Make him come like a freight train. Thank him breathlessly.

THEN make her pitch.

Was it cheap? Yes. Humiliating? Extremely. She'd never needed her pussy to make a sale before and to rely on it now was degrading and sickening. But this was no ordinary sale and the stakes were literally life-or-death. It was no time for half-measures.

She put the car in gear and headed out in search of a drugstore. She'd pick up a few supplies, then get down to business.

**

Getting inside the building had been easy; the lock on the front door was busted and looked like it had been for some time. Newspapers and junk mail littered the entryway and her high heels echoed on the stairwell as she climbed to the third floor. She desperately hoped the noise didn't attract attention; she didn't want to meet any denizens of the awful place. Everything smelled faintly of urine.

She thought briefly of her Focus parked on the street outside, wondering what the odds were that it would be intact when the night was over. It would be painful to lose it but well worth the cost if tonight paid off.

She arrived at apartment 304 and knocked softly. She strained to hear if there were voices inside the apartment without success. She saw the peep hole in the door darken briefly before the door opened a small ways and Mike's face appeared in that gap.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a quiet voice. His expression was mixed concern and annoyance.

"I really needed to talk, Mike. It's been eating me up for a long time and...seeing you today...I can't take it any more. I really need to get this off my chest," she whined in a voice that was a perfect blend of misery and yearning. She'd practiced in the car.

"I told you, I've got no time. How did you get my address?" His voice was hushed. Did he have company and didn't want to be overheard? Regardless, it was too late to back out now. And if his girlfriend came to the door at least Jane would see who the competition was.

"I...can't live with myself Mike. Not like this. Not with all this guilt...all this..." she sobbed and hid her face in her hands. A little heavy-handed, perhaps, and maybe a little too soon, but she needed an opening. Aside from orgasms, tears were the second-fastest way to cut through a man's emotional defenses. Whatever it took to get into that apartment.

"Daddy, why is that lady crying?" Asked a small voice. A child's voice.

Jane looked through her fingers and saw a little girl, barely older than a toddler, looking up at her wide-eyed from the doorway. Jane froze, her strategy obliterated. Mike was...a father?

"It's okay, champ. I think she's just lost. Go back to bed and I'll be there in a minute to read," he said in a voice that was all love and warmth and patience.

"But why is she crying?" the girl said, apparently unsatisfied with his answer.

"We'll talk about it in a minute. Bed." he said and she could hear a gentle but unmistakable firmness in his tone. The little girl gave a disappointed groan and disappeared from view.

"You and your girlfriend have a child?" Jane asked, unbelieving, all pretense of crying gone.

Mike took a breath and let it out slowly.

"It's just me and Nessa," he said in the same hushed tone. "And whatever it is you want or need, I'm not interested. I got my hands full as it is. Just go, okay?" The door was closed before Jane could think of a reply.

By the time she had made her way back down to her car, stunned and reeling, someone had smashed the driver's side window and stolen her cell phone charger from the front seat. A fitting end to the day.

**

It wasn't fair.

Jane paced through her apartment, wracking her brain for another strategy. There were a dozen good ways to get between a man and his girlfriend. It didn't even require very much creativity. She'd used those tactics in the past, and had them used on her. All part of the game.

But to get between a man and his little girl? His daughter?

Impossible.

There was no way. She could hear it in the voice he used when he spoke to the child. It was that special kind of love, indestructible. There was no possibility he'd ever put Jane's interests ahead of his little girl's. Nor should he. Nor, Jane realized, did she want him to. Trying to get between a man and his daughter was simply too repugnant an option to even consider.

Jane was stuck and grew increasingly despondent about her chances. Even getting into the apartment had become mission impossible, let alone getting into his life.

She caught herself and resolutely banished those thoughts - they were unproductive. There had to be a way. There always was.

She'd have to work around the kid. Or maybe work with the kid.

She spent the rest of the evening scrapping her old plan and drawing up a new one from scratch.

**

Exactly one week later she stood again outside apartment 304. She'd arrived by cab and dressed for comfort - jeans, a t-shirt, a baggy campus sweater and sneakers. The perfect attire to launch the craziest gambit of her sales career, maybe the craziest in all her life. But she was living in desperate times and her best option was the wildest one of all.

She was going with the full-on truth.

No spin, no varnish, no acting. No salesmanship. No scripts, no finesse, no promo.

It was a high-risk strategy because the truth was less believable, less plausible, than any lie she could have invented. The truth was ridiculous and insane. That's why she'd dressed down - if her story was going to be absurd she wanted her attire to appear as normal as possible.

She knocked quietly. She'd timed her arrival to be ninety minutes later than the previous week, hoping the child - Nessa - would be in bed and she could at least talk to Mike. Just talk this time; seduction was off the table. Well...probably off the table.

Mike answered the door. He was visibly angry at the intrusion. She headed off any reprimand.

"I'm sorry for bothering you again. Really, I am," she said in a quiet voice, meeting his eyes. "I know you just want to be left alone with your daughter."

"So why..."

"I'm going to die," she said softly.

"What?" She was discouraged to hear his skeptical tone. This would be harder than she'd anticipated.

"Within five weeks. I'll be dead unless I get your help. Can I come in and explain? If Nessa is still awake I can wait out here until she's asleep."

He looked at her for a full minute. She looked back, unguarded, waiting on his decision. There was nothing else for her to do. The truth was an oddly simple strategy.

Finally he stepped back and held the door open wide.

"Come in, but keep your voice down."

**

"What I'm about to say sounds crazy, but it's true," she said quietly. She was seated opposite Mike at his tiny kitchen table. He was barefoot, in gray track pants and a white t-shirt. "To be honest, it was months before I even believed it myself. Too many months, it turns out."

To call his apartment a hovel would have been generous. It was nothing more than a small main room, an even smaller kitchenette, a bathroom and a main bedroom. She hadn't seen inside the bedroom - Nessa was sleeping - but it would have been tiny. The place probably hadn't been painted since the 80's and the floors throughout the apartment were a faded, floral-patterned linoleum.

To Mike's credit it seemed to be clean enough, and tidy. No dishes in the sink, no clutter on the floor, no visible cockroaches. That counted for something, she supposed. He was taking the whole fatherhood thing pretty seriously.

"You said you were dying," he prompted, clearly eager to move things along. Eager to be rid of her.

"Not dying, exactly," she said, then stopped to regroup. How to even begin? She took a deep breath, looked across at him, and started again. "I've been cursed by an old woman. The aunt of a guy I was seeing. She said 'regain the trust most cruelly betrayed or die before spring'."