“A Google search.”
“Oh.” Our food arrived, and we ate in companionable silence, until I placed my fork on the edge of the plate. “Mr. Gordon, let’s cut to the chase. You’re more than capable of funding the Free Clinic. You have the resources. I want to open them here as well and maybe expand to other cities. They’re needed badly.” Here comes the burning question. “Are you going to give me the funding?”
“Perhaps.” An inscrutable light shone in his eye.
“I understand. You have to think about it.”
“Not really. I have a proposition for you. You may not like the terms, Ms. Fox. They’re slightly…unconventional.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not in the habit of throwing money away. By funding your Free Clinic and the others, I’d be throwing money away. Let’s face it. I’ve done the research, I know your history, and now that I’ve met you, I’m realizing perhaps we could come to some sort of an agreement.”
This brought me to the edge of my seat. “Really?”
“It’ll require a particular effort on your part.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Gordon. I could tell you some jungle horror stories. The snakes, the bugs, the lack of electricity, all the officials we had to bribe.” I grinned. “It was ridiculous.”
“I’m sure it’s fascinating,” he intoned dryly. “However, the effort I’m referring to would be more personal than professional.”
Now I was confused. “What?”
“If you want the funding, Ms. Fox, I’d require you to perform certain services for me…regularly.”
I stared at him blankly. Does he want me to sleep with him? You’ve got to be kidding. This guy probably has twenty supermodels on speed dial.
“I’ll leave you the contract, and you can peruse it at your leisure.” He placed a navy folder on the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a conference call.” He stood, scraping the chair on the tile floor. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Fox.”
“T-thank you, Mr. Gordon.” He’s leaving already?
I opened the folder to find an official looking business contract with names, dates, and a list of services I was obliged to perform in order to receive payment. The payment itself looked more than generous, but I struggled to comprehend the list. As I digested what I was reading, my tummy began to tingle. I was to perform various acts of perversion for Mr. Gordon, which would be recorded. These included bondage, threesomes, and sex with other women. Nowhere did it mention he would participate, only that I was to be available twice a month at a yet to be disclosed location. There was a waver at the bottom that stated all participants would be disease free and hygienically sound. Ugh.
My phone buzzed. It was a text message from Mr. Gordon. “The offer expires in twenty-four hours.”
I reached for my glass with shaking fingers, swallowing the contents. The waiter appeared. “More wine, Ms. Fox?”
“Yes, please.” You might as well leave the bottle, buddy.
What the hell was I going to do? He wanted me to whore myself out and record the proceedings! What kind of a pervert does that? Couldn’t I find another corporation to lobby? And wouldn’t a billionaire have women lined up around the block to be his little…playthings? What did he want with me? “Oh, Jesus,” I mumbled. “What about me says porn star?” I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. What had I gotten myself into?
You’re out of options, Gretchen. You’re running out of money.
I scanned the document looking for the conditions of termination. The only requirement was a forty-eight-hour notice.
I don’t have to repay the funds? But I’d have to perform various sex acts…with other people. Oh, my God…
I had a sip of wine, staring at the table.
Who would know if I whored myself out?
I would know…and…
…the videotape.
I would have to get it in writing that no one but Mr. Gordon ever saw that tape. That would be the only way I would ever agree to this outrageous deal.
Chapter Two
I spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, my mind playing out strange and disturbing images of what I thought Mr. Gordon would require of me. In all the scenarios, I pictured myself mistreated and humiliated. I had never had sex with a woman before, nor did I fantasize about them. The thought of sleeping with more than one man at a time and possibly being gagged and bound was horrifying.
I’m not cut out for this.
By the time I sat down to my first cup of coffee, I had made up my mind. There was no way in hell I was going to do this. I would have to obtain the funding from another company. My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was even considering such perversions.
My cell buzzed. “Hello?”
“Gretchen?”
“Emily?”
“Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to call you all night.”
I knew by the tone in her voice that something was wrong. “What happened?”
“We’ve had rain for a week. There was a flood, Gretch. We had to evacuate.”
“Are you all right? Are the patients okay?”
“Yes, but the clinic’s gone. The supplies are gone. I grabbed some medicine, but…shit…everything’s down river.”
“Oh, my God.” We didn’t have insurance for this. “Emily.”
“I think I’m done,” she cried. “It’s over.”
James Gordon would pay for a new clinic, if I agreed to be his sex toy. I had no choice now. “I’ll wire you what’s left in the trust, Em. I found a benefactor. It’s gonna be okay.”
“You have?”
“I worked out a deal with JSG Bioport Labs yesterday.”
“Gretchen! That’s fantastic. Oh, thank the Lord.”
“You’ll be all right. You’ll be able to rebuild. I’ll send you everything you need.”
“You’re so awesome, Gretch. I owe you big time.”
You have no idea what I’ll have to do to fix this. “Let me make a few calls.”
“You’re the best. I love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
I was on the phone all morning arranging the shipment of supplies and medication. I signed Mr. Gordon’s “business” proposal and faxed it to his office. Within an hour, I received the transfer of a significant amount of money. The efforts to rebuild the clinic in Honduras took up most of my time that week. I also found the perfect location for the Family Free clinic in Chicago. I hoped to open it by the end of the month. I relied on the help of volunteer doctors and nurses, who would generously donate their time and expertise. I would have to hire two full-time nurses to oversee the center and manage the patients. By the second week, the Honduran clinic was up and running again, and the space I rented in the Lakeview West area was being renovated. I’d almost forgotten about my “business agreement” with Mr. Gordon, until I received a text message with the time and address of our first rendezvous. He was sending a car, and I had to rush to get ready, while nervous twinges of anticipation coursed through me.