Perfect Ten Read Free Page A

down, sir.” Shit! I had no idea what to do. I was supposed to bang on his chest or something, right? I sure as fuck wasn’t putting my lips on him.
    As he lay down, he grabbed me by the throat with one of those meaty fists of his. Even gasping for breath, he still managed to growl at me. “Get the fuck out of my house, asshole.” And I would have been happy to if he would have just let go of my neck.
    I fumbled around for something to hit him with to break his hold. Yes, I realize that I shouldn’t have been thinking about hurting him further, but it’s hard to form a coherent thought when someone is trying to crush your windpipe. Just as I was about to hit him with an ashtray that I grabbed from the table, he loosened his grip. Thank God.
    Nope—too soon to thank God. See, he didn’t voluntarily loosen his grip on me. He loosened his grip because he had stopped breathing. Shit, shit, shit! “Sophia?” Why the hell was I the only one in that pool house with this guy who wanted me dead? Where was everyone? “Sophia?” I screamed it that time like a little girl who’d just found the boogeyman under her bed.
    “What the fuck did you do to Victor?”
    Finally! Someone came. It was one of the suits—maybe it was too soon for celebrations after all. “Nothing! I think he’s having a heart attack. Sophia’s calling 9-1-1.” He pushed me out of the way and began CPR. Good, you kiss the fucker.
    In the ensuing commotion, I snuck out the door with my shirt and shoes in hand. I didn’t stop until I got to my car. Revving the engine, I high-tailed it out of there and never looked back. Thankfully, but not surprisingly, the agency didn’t hear from Sophia about the incident.
    Worst…date…ever.

Chapter 3
    I didn’t have sex for months after the whole Sophia debacle. I had no interest in reliving that experience. That’s not to say I didn’t want to fuck some of my dates. I was just cautious for a while.
    Another of my more memorable dates was with a woman who had to be, hands down, the most ruthless creature ever to exist. She showed me how a woman scorned could behave.
    I was twenty-two years old and was escorting Samantha, a woman twenty years my senior, to a funeral. Yup, you heard me—a funeral. Pretty fucked up, right? But, hey, I was working my way up the ladder, so I had to take the less desirable dates. I needed to prove that I could please all the ladies. She paid the agency two-thousand dollars for six hours of my time. Six hours!
    I picked her up at her Beverly Hills mansion just before ten in the morning. I still lived in the Hills too, but in the not so nice section of 90210. Yes, there is a not so nice section of Beverly Hills. Didn’t know that, did you? It’s not common knowledge outside of California.
    When I picked her up in the company’s sleek, black Aston Martin Vanquish Volante—I could have come just from sitting my ass in the driver’s seat—she looked suitably mournful in her black skirt suit. Her light blonde hair was pulled back into some kind of fancy braid, and her makeup was lightly applied. Her eyes widened when she saw me for the first time, and a hint of a smile touched her lips. She hadn’t seen me in person before and was noticeably pleased. Some of the clients simply get portfolios on us if they don’t have the time or don’t feel like taking the time to come scope us out in person. Such is the life of the rich.
    “Good Lord, aren’t you delicious?”
    I smiled good-naturedly. After all, I was used to being told how “delicious” I was. I’m really not full of myself—not too much. I just know what I look like. I wouldn’t have this job if I weren’t nice to look at.
    She continued to look me up and down while she walked around me in a circle, touching as she went. “What are you, six-two, six-three?” I was six-four but close enough.
    Not waiting for an answer, she continued her quest by grabbing my chin, tilting it this way and that. I have to admit, I