Chapter 6

I was not surprised to find him at that event. It was becoming a habit to see him.

It had been two months since I visited his office; of those months, she had seen him from afar seven times. He was an important man, he even thought more so than Jones. Maybe my client hated him for that reason, because Bradley got attention even if she didn't like him.

At first I felt my insides burn when I saw it; Besides him acting like a lost and broken kid, there was also that hurt part of him rejecting me. A feeling that was alien to me because it didn't happen often.

On this occasion, I had been watching him for a while, taking advantage of the fact that Jones was in a poker game in which women were a nuisance. It was his time to negotiate with people from the Italian mafia and I really didn't want to get involved in that. If Jones' wish was to die, that was his problem, as long as he didn't see me involved, I didn't care. What he was getting at was that he had been watching Bradley from a distance for ten minutes. Trying to understand that defeated attitude, as if the world kicked him in the balls. He looked listless; it was there that he would ask me why a person with money could even look sad.

He had smoked three cigarettes, only, looking out at the crowded street. He had a filthy vice, which killed a lot of people every minute, plus it smelled awful, but he didn't seem to care. He couldn't get it out of my head how miserable he was. It was one of the reasons why I hadn't stopped thinking about him since I saw him laugh in that photo. He did not behave like that man, but like one who has lived so long that nothing seemed interesting to him. So, my ego made me feel inferior. Anyone would say that it was more than interesting, but not for Bradley. Even my gaze did not affect him. He had a good time there, but it was as if I didn't exist. For that reason it was that my feet made the decision to approach him, even though my brain was screaming at me to stop.

I leaned against the white-painted iron balcony railing. We were in a well-known hotel on Bourbon Street, a street famous for its impressive colonial-style buildings. Below you could see tourists looking for a strip bar or a nightclub to spend the night. The contrast was abysmal from the luxurious hotel, compared to the people on the street wearing shorts because of the cool weather.

He turned to see me as soon as he felt me. She was not a shy girl. We were almost on a par with our shoulders, a few centimeters separated us, making me recognize her colony; a very expensive one: Clive Christian #1 , which cost about two thousand three hundred and fifty dollars.

Yep , that man certainly didn't mind spending money on expensive cologne. He was the third guy she'd met who carried that scent, yet unlike the others, it wasn't cloying on him. That woody touch was exquisite and very intoxicating. He could even tell that the smell of cigarettes made up a masculine mix that he had never felt.

He looked at me for a few more seconds, until he promised, "It's the last one." Bradley took a long drag on his cigar.

I denied, because for some reason, watching him inhale was captivating. She had seen too many men smoke; different kinds of things, but in him it was… I don't know, it ended up being different .

"It doesn't bother me." —Actually it bothered me, or it did when I met him, but at that moment he was only attractive, which I couldn't understand why.

"It seems we're used to seeing each other in this kind of thing," he commented after exhaling. The gentle breeze blew the scent away from my face, leaving me in a daze for an instant. He was like an illusion: almost dark eyes, a straight nose, thin pink lips. I frowned, shaking my head again, both to clear my mind and to scare away the smell.

"Yes, it seems so." — She was good with words. Keeping the customer satisfied was something you should do. Men paid for women who had no problem keeping quiet, just like talking; Running out of conversation with that man was not what I used to do.

“You seemed more direct that day. Do you have multiple personalities? He asked smiling. He was joking. They never had. However, Bradley was not a customer. He's just an ordinary guy with a lot of money. The breeze brought back to me that intoxicating woody smell with a touch of vanilla, causing something to move in my stomach.

"Maybe so," I answered honestly. Maybe talking to him was so weird that it didn't match my personality. She hadn't talked to a man in a long time. At least, not without expecting a payment in between. In his office I was prepared to give back a service, but right now, banal conversations were beyond my capacity.

Did not answer. Instead, she continued to smoke, looking down the street, frowning each time he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. He didn't seem to be a talkative man and I had hundreds of doubts about him. Ever since I researched it, there was a part of me that wondered why it wasn't interesting to Bradley Dempsey. I mean, I was the favorite whore at the agency, yet to him it was such a small thing that my only explanation at first was that he was gay.

"You know, you're not being subtle at all," he murmured without looking at me. Anyone would think she was talking to himself, but then she added, "Another person would feel uncomfortable with the way you look at me." —That was what puzzled me, the ability he had to talk to me without looking at my tits or my ass.

"I don't understand you," I replied, frustrated. Because not paying attention to me was humiliating and different; she was not used to that combination.

smiled. This time she did turn to my direction. "I don't even understand myself, Claire." He didn't know if it was sarcasm or he was being sincere, which again was different.

This is exactly what I don't understand. The answers you give are so vague and different,” I whispered; Accepting that she was different gave her power. She wasn't sure why she believed it, but she felt it.

He continued with a penetrating look, his cigarette forgotten for those few seconds. The dim lights of her gave that dark air to her eyes; the gray lost its hue. "Maybe because you haven't asked the right questions," she answered, smiling. That friendly smile again. She did not agree with her treatment that he was worthless.

I decided it was time to clear up the doubts, which was supposedly, according to my head, the only reason he had been on my mind since I left his office.

—For example: this friendly smile, which doesn't make sense with the part about not being interested in me in a sexual way. It's not normal,” I blurted out, emphasizing the last word. Men are men. They just want sex and they will pay for it if they must. I had a job that supports my theory.

“You can be nice to a woman without wanting to have sex. —He hadn't finished speaking and I was denying it, because it wasn't true.

“I'm a prostitute, Bradley. It's all about sex for men,” I countered, because it's not possible for someone to be kind without wanting a favor.

He frowned, rubbing the cigarette on the glass of the ashtray, leaving the position on the balcony, to face me. I imitated him because the way he looked at me was instantaneous, almost like a reaction from my body.

“That's the problem, Claire. It's the world you live in, not mine. On this side there are different people. —I wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that we lived on the same planet and carried the same air into our lungs, but I couldn't open my mouth; her gaze was intense and I could swear he was telling me something, yelling things I refused to believe. They had to be the same. Why would they pay for sex? Why are there so many strip clubs, infidelities, prostitutes, pornography? Right on the street we were on you would find effortlessly naked women.

—I think the one who lives in another world is you. Look around you,” I suggested, pointing toward the street. What I saw were drunk guys looking for a whore or an easy night out. For me, that was what moved the man. He followed my gaze. Are you telling me that they could also be friendly with a whore? With any woman? Are they not just looking for sex? I was challenging him and enjoyed the feeling of release from the act. With clients I had to be submissive and become complacent, but not with him. If he didn't want sex with me then he could be the way he really was; even when I wasn't sure exactly who I was on the inside.

They are totally different situations. They are doing tourism, it is what they are sold. It is a group of people that does not represent the majority. Even if they do, there are exceptions, Claire. There is always an exception to the rule. —Not included. He didn't try to sell himself different to me. As if what she thought of him was irrelevant. Again that pang in my chest appeared.

"Will you tell me you're different?" I longed for her to, because a part of me wanted to challenge her opinion.

I don't consider myself different from anyone else. It's just me. I denied, not understanding. It was his chance to change my mind, but then again, my impression of him was insignificant to him.

Are you like that with everyone or just me? I asked, feeling as small as an ant.

With the direct light his eyes returned to that stormy gray, that despite its deep color, I perceived his soft look; like a caress "How am I being with you?" His brow was furrowed; the breeze chose that moment to bring that expensive scent to me, causing my throat to close up, perhaps in an attempt to hold the fragrance inside.

"As if my opinion of you is so insignificant that it doesn't bother you that I think the worst." A part of me regretted asking the question, but it was done; he couldn't turn back time.

"I don't mind what you think," he answered simply. I should have felt humiliated, but there was something in her response that made me stay, attracted by the sincerity that exuded both her words and her eyes. you don't know me You are pigeonholing me because it is what you constantly see in your work; but i'm not that way. It's the reason I don't mind what you think. She" she smiled, not at all angry, almost as if she understood why she classified him as another equal to everyone.

That single answer brought endless questions to me; I expected such a fucked up pig man, however, he didn't look like he wanted to rip my clothes off to have sex, and he didn't want to hit me for being so insolent either.

“There are people who are worth it, Claire. The world is full of different people that you see all the time,” she assured with a warm smile. She didn't say goodbye, she just left. She didn't even touch me, but there was something in her words that made my heart drop.

The atmosphere continued to be loaded with that expensive cologne despite the minutes I stayed there, looking at the tourists, thinking about Bradley's words. That aroma continued to make its way to the bottom of my soul, leaving me dizzy. I had countless clients; different social classes, ages and races, but there was something about the successful lawyer that turned out to be the opposite of what he saw all the time.

"Come on, time to make the most of the hotel room," Jones demanded. Her presence led me to reality, the one in which she was a prostitute.

His touch felt strange on my waist, but I repeated to myself that nothing extraordinary was happening, it was my job; that this man made my senses numb should not interfere in business. We pass through the glass doors, entering a room packed with guys in the best designer suits, at different tables playing poker.

To my good fortune, he walked over to the table where Bradley was sitting, picking up a couple of chips, bragging that he beat a big guy in a game. Laughter of camaraderie came to the scene, while two or three gave me prying looks. If Jones was up for it, maybe they'd fuck me there on the table; maybe taking turns; and I would drop them for the right price. It's funny how your body and even your mind get used to certain things, seeing them as a normal situation, when for others it would be crazy.

However, when Jones noticed the thinly veiled scrutiny, he reported, "Time to recoup my investment." The suggestive manner in which he brought it up did not escape those at the table.

Instantly, my gaze searched for him, and I saw sadness in him. There was no disappointment or pity, just sadness. While most nodded with mischievous smiles, Bradley lowered his head, focused on the cards in front of him. For some strange reason, being exposed like that gave me another pang in my chest. I never cared that the rest knew what was coming, until that day; until Jones yelled from the rooftops that he was going to get me.

In the lavish room, Bradley's image faded as Jones kissed me with his parched lips. His cologne might be just as expensive as the supposedly nice lawyer's, but my client's did carry that cloying, repulsive scent.

By the time he was performing oral sex on me, my mind snapped out of work mode, bringing back memories of stormy eyes, looking at me sadly. The pang returned; It was the first time I felt bad being used.