Which made our parting once we were back in Southport so much harder.
“Do you want to stay over? I’ve got to go pick up Edgar, but we could order a pizza, watch a movie?” she suggested as I walked her to her front door. I was already depressed at the thought of leaving her. Because I couldn’t stay.
My phone had buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, already knowing what it would be. It was a message from a repeat client on my website. The one I called ‘Darling.’ She was asking for an hour session tonight. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to stay with Skylar. But the money was too much to pass up.
“I have a bunch of work to do on a case. Being gone all weekend has put me behind,” I had lied way too easily. She didn’t question me. Why would she? She didn’t think I’d be dishonest. I had given her no reason to doubt me.
I hated myself for it.
So here I was, the music was thumping, and I was trying to find my way into this space I occupied so effortlessly before, and all I could think about was Skylar. Of how much I wanted to be with her at that very moment. Of how just twelve hours before I had her skin beneath me, my cock deep inside her.
I missed her and I had only dropped her at home a couple of hours ago.
I paused the music and turned to face the laptop screen where whoever “Darling” was watching me. “I’m sorry, just give me a minute.” I turned the camera off and went to get a drink of water.
I had to get it together. I had never had a problem slipping into this alter ego before.
I had never been in love like this before either.
All I could think about was if Skylar knew what I was doing when I told her I couldn’t stay over. What would she say if she knew about this secret I kept? Would she understand? Would she be disgusted?
My phone dinged and I saw a message coming through on my website. It was from ‘Darling’ asking if I was going to start soon.
The person had paid 3,000 dollars for an hour-long dance. I had all my props ready. I planned to pull out all the stops. That was a lot of money for an hour of my time. I could do this.
I went back to the laptop and turned the camera on. My face was blurred, the focus on my body. I started the music again, my hips starting to move. When I went to undo my pants, my hand froze. The image of Skylar unbuckling my belt last night after we got back to the hotel room clear in my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to stay in the moment. This process usually turned me on. I enjoyed it. This time I could only think about Skylar and how I wished she were the one I was dancing for.
This wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t get my head in the game. I turned the music off again and typed out a quick message to ‘Darling.’
I’m sorry, something has come up. I’ll refund you the money now.
My phone immediately pinged with another message.
Can we reschedule? I really want to see you.
Without hesitation, I responded.
I can’t reschedule. I am closing down my website. I won’t be taking any more bookings.
With that, I reversed the charge and refunded ‘Darling.’ I closed the laptop and quickly left the room, feeling a bit lighter than before.
**
“How was your weekend? Skylar able to walk?” Jeremy chortled, coming into my office on Monday morning.
I ignored his second question but answered the first. “We had a great time, thanks for asking.”
“It’s nice to see you with a social life. I was starting to think you should give up law and enter a monastery,” Jeremy smirked.
It was then I noticed a file in his hand. “What’s that?” I asked.
Jeremy looked down at the thick file and frowned. “That’s actually why I came in here. I wanted you to have a look at something for me. I want to know if what I’m seeing is right.” He came around the side of my desk and handed the file to me.
I opened it up to find a bunch of spreadsheets as well as at least five tax returns. “What exactly am I meant to be looking at?” I scanned the numbers, flipping through the pages.
“There, look at these numbers, then look at the tax returns and tell me that makes sense.” Jeremy stood back, crossing his arms over his chest.
I scrutinized the paperwork. “What is this? Paperwork for the mob? This is some Al Capone level stuff here, Wyatt.” Because what he was showing me was clear-cut tax evasion. “Whose money is this?”
Jeremy was clearly upset. “Tiffany Hardwell’s.”
I couldn’t stop my mouth from dropping open. “These are Tiffany Hardwell’s tax returns and income paperwork?” Jeremy nodded. “Shit, Jeremy, she’s been hiding millions of dollars worth of income.”
“I know. From what I can gather she made her money with this business called Boys and Toys. She was declaring only fifty thousand a year, but her bank statements show transfers to offshore accounts for years. We’re talking millions going to the Cayman Islands. What kind of business is Boys and Toys? Do you think it’s an escort service or something?” Jeremy chewed on this thumb nail.
I was tired of lying to the people I cared about, so I didn’t answer him. Instead, I poured over the information in front of me. If the IRS got hold of this Tiffany would be in a lot of trouble. As in jail time trouble.
“What should I do with it? Do I ask her about it? I know this falls under client
