Author's notes:
*The next chapter in the story. This one is the prelude to dinner with Mr. Lunder and includes some other character perspectives. I'm trying to flesh out the scope of the story a little bit, because I was toying with the idea of formatting this into a cohesive book. If that interests you at all please let me know in the comments.*
**This chapter doesn't include traditional sex scenes, but has plenty of erotic world-building. So, you can skip it if this doesn't interest you. The next chapter will have plenty of fireworks.**
*
Sending invoices was fun, it meant you got money. Receiving bills on the other hand, was painful. At the end of the day, it was all about revenues and expenses. If the revenues fell short of the expenses, you were in trouble. In the business world everyone knew that. Mrs. Gartner had been a part of that world, a lifetime ago.
The bill in question sat malevolently on her desk. Unopened. There was no need. Mrs. Gartner knew enough math to know she was fucked. In fact, considering the modern world, it was a miracle she'd lasted this long. Sixteen years was a damn long time as a single mom, it was unheard of. Her former colleagues had fallen by the wayside a decade ago.
Wherever he was, she hoped her ex-husband was choking on misery, but she knew that wasn't the case. Social media had denied her even that fantasy. She recalled feeling dumbstruck, sixteen years ago when the world had gone insane. Still exchanging flurries of worried texts with friends when Lucas came home. Barely able to maintain his façade of concern, as he quietly assessed his exciting new options. Turns out without her job, a high-powered businesswoman was just another woman. And those were in abundant supply.
She grimaced and sipped her wine--she'd always been craftier than her colleagues. Of course, that no longer mattered, her job was gone. After a long losing battle, she'd gone the same way as the other female professionals. Now she was a full-time mother.
Hooray for me
.
At long last she would fall firmly under the yoke society had envisioned for her. It was ironic, seeing as Lucas had promised to be the stay-at-home parent. Life always found creative ways to drop steaming piles of unfairness in her lap.
There was no use being sentimental. When a business was no longer profitable, you didn't cry about it. You either liquidated or you sold. She was broke. The time to sell had come. What were her assets?
She was unemployable. Smart, attractive, but old. The last few years hadn't been easy. There was no use kidding herself. Only one of her assets was particularly valuable. Fortunately--maybe unfortunately, depending on your perspective--Jessie had been blessed with great genes. Her daughter had grown strikingly beautiful. Today, at least, that might be helpful.
The new dress was a good style for Jessie--despite being a bit indecent--low cut and open around the shoulders. Exactly the type of thing she'd avoided buying Jess her entire life. Odd how quickly circumstances changed.
The idea of whoring out her daughter mortified her, but somehow, the idea of sending Jessie out on her own was worse.
At least at home I can protect her
. Jessie was too stubborn for her own good. Horrible at staying out of trouble, and far too young to handle herself. Letting her leave home now was out of the question.
If she wanted to protect her daughter, she needed to find a home over their heads. She downed the rest of her wine. There was a dinner to burn. Though the pig next door didn't need much fattening.
As a child, my rambunctious attitude had led to many a lecture. Still, the past two weeks had been something else. Once again, I was receiving a lecture, though the circumstances were much different. Mr. Carson was midway through a diatribe that could not end fast enough.
Our intercourse during the last ceramics class had been a confusing experience. Mr. Carson had aggressively propositioned me, then left without sparing me a word. Now he seemed determined to rehash what happened, but without actually talking about it.
Guiltily, I remembered touching myself under the table during class, the momentary sparks of pleasure, then the adrenaline of making eye contact with Mr. Carson. My face turned red at the memory.
It was my fault. I did this to myself.
"Really, Jessie, I want you to think of me as just the same art teacher as before. If you are ever struggling with anything, speak up. The last thing I want, as your teacher, is to see you become less engaged with the coursework," said Mr. Carson, continuing his agonizing pep-talk.
"Really, like, I understand. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson, I shouldn't have. I crossed a line during last class. This is all my fault." I blurted, meaning what I said. I just wanted ceramics class to regain the sense of normalcy that had shattered.
Mr. Carson nodded along with my words. He seemed relieved to hear my apology. I just wanted things back to normal, hopefully I hadn't ruined our relationship.
"Yes, I accept your apology, Jessie, don't be too hard on yourself. It's not unusual, for a girl your age to make these kinds of mistakes. Please do your best to act as you normally would in the future."
To my relief, the conversation was over. Tucking my legs together, I slumped into my assigned seat. Students had begun to trickle into ceramics class, though there were still a few minutes left of break. My mind desperately needed a trip elsewhere. Tonight's dinner with Mr. Lunder was occupying most of my brain's real estate. I checked my phone, craving social media, but the first thing on my screen was a text from an unknown number.
'You are very pretty Jessie 😊
. What's up?'
A random number. The simplest thing to do was ignore the message. Still, I didn't want to offend the sender. I winced, and realized I had been gnawing on my lip.
'Who is this?'
I responded.
A dull ache settled in my temple as I pressed send. A stress headache was brewing. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Today, my phone had felt like a chore rather than a distraction.
Before I could return the phone to my bag, it buzzed. I glared at the back of my phone, and the Rose Gold case glinted back. My normally trusted confidant, had suddenly turned into a nuisance. I flipped it over with the enthusiasm of a math exam.
'This is Brett Ziegler. We saw each other in the weight room this morning.'
Brett,
the name wasn't familiar. I read the rest of the text, and the context slunk into place, '
the weight room'.
The chair creaked as I shifted uncomfortably. He was the specky boy from this morning, the one I had...
