Chapter One

 

My father dumped my mother when I was just a little girl. As I grew up I could understand why. She was a controlling, manipulative woman and a pothead. The pot made her lazy, which helped to offset some of her other personality defects. But not enough that I wanted to be around her much.

As soon as I was sixteen I left home and moved in with my girlfriend Sonia. Since I'm tall for a girl I was able to pass for eighteen, especially with Sonia's help with makeup. I got some fake ID and then started working in a sports bar.

Now, I'm not being arrogant when I say I'm hot. It's just a fact. Like every other girl growing up, I measure myself against what the guys think is hot on the internet, and yes, I measure up. I'm a natural blonde with blue eyes, great complexion, an oval face with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and full lips.

And yes, I look at my body naked in the mirror and compare it to the ones I see on the internet. I know that I don't have anything to be ashamed of. Not that I really need the internet for confirmation given that guys have been after me since I hit adolescence.

I've never had any problems getting dates. In fact, my problem has always been turning guys down without them getting too mad or upset or embarrassed. At one point I pretended me and Sonia were lesbians as an excuse not to go out with guys. We're not, though we have fooled around a little, but it worked to keep me from being hassled too much at the time.

The problem with working in the sports bar, though, was that the uniform was basically a tartan kilt not much longer than a mini and a tight halter top. I got a lot of tips but I also got hit on all the time by drunken guys two and three times my age.

Still, that was how we were able to afford a one-bedroom apartment that wasn't in a high-crime neighborhood. After a couple of years, though, I got tired of getting hit on all the time by old, drunken guys with flabby bellies and started looking for work somewhere else, somewhere out of the restaurant industry.

What I found was a job as an assistant concierge in a very high-end condo near the ocean. The job of the assistant concierge was basically to be everyone's bitch. I would call around and make appointments for the residents, help them in and out if they needed it, take packages and goods from them and carry them to their apartments, and do other little odds and ends and chores that they were too busy or old or thought they were too good for.

The problem was that the condo wanted to give off an image of very modern and sleek sophistication. The male employees like the doorman, security people, and concierge, wore tasteful dark gray three-piece suits. I on the other hand wore a dark gray dress which, though not as short as a mini, was definitely on the short side.

It has bare arms and shoulders and is very form-fitting, hugging my body in curves like a second skin. So instead of getting hit on by drunks, I got hit on by rich, entitled jerks who thought that anyone who worked for a living could be bought, or at least rented for what they considered to be very little money.

I have to admit that some of the offers shocked me and were a little tempting if I didn't think I'd get fired. I mean, $1000 for twenty minutes? That was a shitload of money! I was being paid reasonably well given what I was doing, but that was almost two weeks' pay, net pay anyway.

But they were only a little tempting, not just because I thought I'd be fired but because none of these guys were particularly attractive anyway. No way I was sleeping with some ugly old guy and getting fired even for a thousand dollars.

But sure, I thought about it. I don't have much education and I don't have much money. But I do have a body that guys have been after for a long time, and a face that makes people ask if I'm an actress or model. Well, it is Los Angeles. And it seems like half the blondes here are would-be actresses or models.

You can make money with a body and face like mine if you want to go into that sort of business. You don't even have to have sex with people. There are some strip clubs where you can make a thousand bucks in a night easy and no one's even allowed to touch you.

But I've never considered that seriously either. It's not like I'm super proud or anything, but I wasn't going to lower myself to being a stripper or prostitute. Even though I've had fantasies along that route and been a little wistful about the money I could make.

"Regan, you going to work tonight?" Sonia asked.

"Of course," I replied.

"It's 104° out."

"Well, shit. Maybe it will cool off by later this afternoon."

"It's not supposed to."

I have a car. You can't live in LA without a car. But it's a shitty car, and the air conditioning is busted.

"I have to get that fucking car fixed," I said.

It can get pretty hot in Los Angeles. If you go out, and you don't have an air-conditioned car, you need to dress for the heat. On hot days in particular that means wearing as little as possible. Of course, there are limits, especially if you're a girl. And the limits are not just what's legally acceptable, but what will get you harassed and insulted and hit on everywhere you go.

And to be honest, I tend to be harassed, insulted, and hit on everywhere I go anyway. Almost no matter what I wear. That's a factor of living downtown where the streets are crowded with people, meaning men, meaning, not to put too fine a point on it, blue-collar men who don't subscribe to what you might call the current politically correct rules of social behavior.

Fortunately, having a car means I don't have to put up with a lot of that. Not like when I was taking the bus. Of course, the buses are air-conditioned. But given my job lets me off at midnight, I had no intention of taking one. No way I was riding a bus at midnight.

What I had on right now were a halter top and a pair of short, cotton shorts. They were comfortable, and they were more than enough coverage, even though I wasn't wearing a bra.

I'm not small on top, but my boobs are pretty firm, despite being a fair size. Sonia makes jokes about them. But I think that's just because she's jealous, being a lot smaller on top. Still, I usually wear a bra anytime I'm outside or around guys because otherwise they stare. They also make assumptions, even worse than the assumptions about blondes.

It wasn't a coincidence that my job was only about a twenty-minute drive away. That was one of the reasons why I had applied. It was air-conditioned, of course, and since I'd be wearing the uniform, it didn't really matter what I wore there. Aside from a bra, of course.

I parked the car around back where deliveries were made and then hurriedly walked across the steaming hot parking lot and in through the side door. I was sweating despite having had the windows open and thought I would have a quick shower before I changed. Unfortunately, the shower was broken so I had to do the best I could with my hair and makeup without it.

I had let my hair grow out since I'd started working here, and it now dangled well past my shoulders. But I preferred to do it in a kind of half up, half down fashion that gave me a more sophisticated look. I'd done that before leaving home but now my hair was a mess. I brushed it out instead, just letting it hang loosely then reapplied a little lipstick.

It was a quiet evening, boring really. And I was enjoying it still being incredibly hot and humid outside but being immune to it there in my little cubbyhole in the back of the lobby. Then around 1130, I got a call from the agency that manages the condo which informed me that since my replacement had just called in sick and they couldn't get anyone else I was now working a double shift.

That sucked ass but there wasn't much I could do about it. I called Sonia to tell her and then considered how I would pass the even more boring midnight shift. Because there was very little call to help the residents on the midnight shift the person on that shift had a list of chores that included stuff like watering plants in empty apartments.

Since everyone that lived here was rich they almost all had other homes, so there were always a number of them left empty. One of the ones empty these days was the penthouse because it was recently sold and was being renovated before the new owner moved in.

I was rarely on the midnight shift so as I made my way along the list of apartments to visit I stopped to snoop around at the fancy apartments and their furnishings and decor. Some of them were gorgeous, and I imagined what it would be like to live there. The view was more spectacular the higher up I went.

Needless to say, I saved the penthouse for last. I'd never been in there, and when I stepped inside it looked like they had finished the renos and already done the decorations and furniture. The place was incredible! I'd never seen anything like it. It was one room after another of amazing stuff, from a full home gym to a theater with a screen that took up the whole wall, to a spectacular front room with a whole wall of stone that at the flick of a switch had water flowing down it.

Instead of a balcony it had a deck with a big hot tub and a long, narrow pool which I realized was one of those wave pool things you could swim in and never get anywhere because the water was rushing at you.

And then there was the bathroom. What a fabulous bathroom! It was bigger than my apartment! The tub was square and looked like you could get six or seven people in it at once. It had these Roman columns rising from the four corners to a fancy overhead canopy kind of thing. Except it wasn't made of fabric but of some kind of plaster.

The shower was just as big. You could hold a party and that thing. It also had multiple showerheads and complicated controls that meant you could set the temperature and which of the different showerheads would spray water on you at the same time.

Given I was feeling kind of grubby, especially since it was now after one in the morning, and I now had a second shift to work I suddenly got the idea to take a shower there. Why not? Nobody lived here. I could do it quickly and not leave any trace.

So I reached back and unzipped my dress then shrugged it over my shoulders, pushing it down my legs and stepping out of it. I was a bit nervous but like I said it was One in the morning. The only other guy working was the overnight security guy who doubled as a concierge on the midnight shift. And he was an old guy and ex-cop, and rarely ever stirred from behind the desk.

I removed my shoes, undid my bra and then slipped off my G string. I couldn't help posing in front of those huge mirrors, feeling a little cocky and impressed by the lighting and how big the mirrors were. Then I quickly figured out how to turn on the shower and stepped inside.

Fortunately, whoever had set this place up had also equipped it with stylish bath towels and placed fancy shampoo and soap and body wash inside the shower. To save time I soaped up my body first all over. Then I used the shampoo on my hair, lathering it up really good.

I stepped under the showerheads and let it rinse me off, my head tilted back so the water could pour over my face and hair. After I had run my hands through my hair several times to rinse away the last of the shampoo I finally opened my eyes again.

It was then that I became aware that I was not alone.

To say I was shocked would be the understatement of the year. There was a black guy in the bathroom, kind of propped against the counter and looking at me, with his arms folded across a very wide, thick chest.

He saw me notice and raised his hand in a kind of casual way before I screamed and jerked back against the far wall of the shower, instinctively slapping my left arm across my chest and my right hand down between my legs.

"Don't know what you think you got to hide from me now, baby," he said. "I done seen everything you got already. And you sure do got a lot."

"How did you get in here?! Who are you!? I cried, my face burning.

"That's my line, baby. This is my place."

I suddenly remembered a conversation I had overheard between one of the door men and the concierge that the guy who had bought the penthouse was some kind of superstar NFL player. This guy sure did look like he played football!

I gaped at him, not knowing what to say.

"I-I thought you hadn't moved in yet!" I exclaimed.

"I haven't. Moving in day after tomorrow. But I was driving past and thought I would stop by and see if everything was done up right."

He grinned at me. "The interior decorator said he'd make sure I had everything I could want. When I saw you I said boy, he's really gone out of his way to make me happy."

I flushed even more. My mind was squirming as I stood there helplessly back against the far wall of the shower stall. The closest towel was on the other side of the glass door which would require that I move closer to him.

"I don't suppose you come with the apartment."

I shook my head numbly.

"So then what the fuck are you doing here?" he asked with a bit of a growl to his deep voice.

"I-I work here!"

He looked at me in disbelief.

"I'm the assistant concierge! The employee shower was broken and I had to work a double shift!"

He looked a little more sympathetic at that.

"I'm supposed to be watering the plants," I gulped.

"Instead you watered yourself."

I licked my lips nervously. He was an enormous guy and here I was naked and helpless! Plus, not to sound clichéd, but he was a black guy. And from my experience, while all guys had the hots for blondes, Black guys and Hispanic guys had it worse than most.

"Would you... Would you... Please... Let me get dressed?"

"I ain't stopping you, baby."

I flushed, feeling a bit of resentment. He was acting like such a... Guy!

I glowered at him then finally shuffle forward. I had to take my arm away from my breast to slide the door open, and felt myself blushing even more fiercely as I reached for the towel.

"Excuse me, baby. But that's my towel. It's a real expensive towel too. And I don't recall giving you permission to use it."

I hesitated because of course he was right. He was also being a jerk, but then guys usually were when they had the upper hand in this sort of situation.

"How do I know you didn't steal anything while you were here?"

"Does it look like I got anything hidden on me?" I snapped.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't see what you're hiding under there."

Now he'd already seen me naked, so I just said fuck it. I dropped my arms, put my hands on my hips and stared boldly at him.

"You like what you're seeing?" I demanded.

"You bet I do. You got some kind of fucking body, baby. Are those tits real?"

I glared at him again. "Of course they're real!"

"How am I supposed to know without touching them?"

"You better not!" I warned.

He smirked at me. "No offense, baby. I seen a lot of titties. And I don't recall seeing any as fine as those that were real before. I would've guessed you had one of the best plastic surgeons to get them that perfect."

"Like I could afford that! Can I use your towel yet, sir?" I asked sarcastically.

"You know how much those towels cost?"

I looked at him, scowling. It was a fucking towel, after all.

"I noticed when I was looking over the list of stuff I was being charged for. These towels are $240 apiece."

I stared at him in disbelief. "That's crazy," I said.

"The best stuff costs," he said.

He pushed forward off the counter and came over to stand in front of me and I backed away as he pulled one of the towels down. He held it up to me and then pulled it back when I reached for it, grinning at me.

"Now, I've been with a lot of women," he said. "That probably doesn't surprise you."

It didn't. He was big, powerfully built, rich, and good looking.

"I seen a lot of girls coming out of the shower, swimming pool, Jacuzzi or the ocean. And the first thing they do is wring out their hair."

I scowled at him indignantly. He wanted me to put on a show for him!? Who did he think he was anyway!? Of course, I had, technically speaking used his bathroom and stuff without permission. But he was still being a jerk, a big, male jerk.

But on the other hand, he was, I reluctantly admitted, a fucking hot and sexy-looking guy. And I was starting to feel a strange kind of tightness in my chest from the way he was looking at me.

I looked at him challengingly then reached up and back, knowing very well what that did to my body as I gathered my wet hair in and back and rang it out so that the water dribbled down my back to fall at my heels.

It felt very weird doing that. I mean, I should have been mortified, not to mention terrified. But I wasn't either. I didn't think this guy was going to force himself on me. For one thing, he didn't need to. I had no doubt whatsoever that he had dozens and dozens of gorgeous girls' numbers on his phone who wouldn't hesitate to run over to jump his very muscular body.

For another, while he was definitely interested, he looked like a guy who was in full control of himself. He was teasing and taunting me, which was what guys did, and enjoying using me as eye candy, which was again what guys did. But I didn't, for some reason, have any real fear of him.

Which was strange, because he was so big and strong he could have done absolutely anything he wanted to me anytime he wanted.