Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I’m already on the move but stop suddenly when instead of hugging the man, the woman puts her hand out to shake instead. I watch as they shake hands and then watch the woman disappear.
I’m riddled with indecision. Do I follow her? There’s a vulnerability about her, and I don’t know if she will be open to just being approached by some stranger on the street. The man she was with is hanging around and I watch as he approaches another woman. They shake hands, talk, and then start walking down the hall again. Before they go into a closed door, I call out, “Excuse me, sir. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He nods, looking at me with his eyebrows raised. “Go on in, Candace. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, I step up to the man. I’m easily a foot taller and have at least a hundred pounds on him. “What’s your name?”
He leans his head back to look up at me, and his eyes are wide as he stutters, “Victor.”
I nod. “Victor, I’m Ridge Beckett. You know me?”
He may not have recognized me by sight, but he sure as hell recognizes the name. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”
I nod again. “Right, tell me about the woman. Who is she?”
He points to the closed door. “Candace—”
I cut him off. “Not her. The woman that was with you before. Who is she?”
He thinks about it. “You mean Haven Weston? Big girl, blond hair.”
My nostrils flare at the way he says big girl like it’s a bad thing or something. “Haven Weston. Tell me about her and what she was doing here with you.”
“Uhhh, well, I don’t think I should give out that information…”
I cross my arms over my massive chest, and I don’t have to say a word before he starts rambling. “Her name is Haven Weston. She’s a fashion model, and today was our first appointment. She has intimacy issues, and I’m helping her with those.”
I reach for him before I can stop myself. I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him close to me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He doesn’t struggle. “I’m a professional cuddler. I help people. I, uh, uh, didn’t touch her.”
When he admits he didn’t touch her, I release him, and he leans over, hands on his knees as he sucks in air. He acts as if he’s been running a marathon or something. “You didn’t touch her?” I ask, wanting to hear it again.
He raises up, pulling at the front of his shirt. “No, I didn’t touch her. She is not comfortable with any intimacy… I barely got a handshake out of her. She’s been going to therapy for years, and this is her last resort.”
“Why? Who did this to her?” I ask and then shake my head. “Forget it, I’ll find out on my own. When’s her next appointment?”
He looks at me uneasily. “Thursday, but…”
“I’m going to be her next—what did you call it—cuddler?”
He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “What? No, I can’t… you are not qualified…”
I cross my arms over my chest again and stare down at him. “You went to school for this? You have a degree for it?”
He chokes over the words. “There is a certification for it. It’s a legitimate business.”
He must not realize that I have business dealings every day—million dollar negotiations—and I pay attention to everything. “I noticed you said there is a certification for it, but you don’t have one. Is that correct?”
He nods his head and purses his lips, and it’s obvious he’s lying.
“One phone call. That’s all it will take. Are you certified?”
He clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head. “No. I failed the test, and I couldn’t afford to take it again. I lied on the application.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
“What?”
“I’m going to pay to have you retake the test.”
“It’s a thousand dollars!” he exclaims.
I pull out my wallet and slowly count out two thousand dollars from my wallet and hold it out to him. He wants to take it, but he knows something is up. “What’s the catch?”
“I’m taking over your appointments with Haven.”
“But—”
I cut him off and continue. “And I won’t tell anyone about your lack of a certificate as long as you pass your test and get qualified.”
He reaches for the money and then stops, his conscience getting the best of him. “What’s your deal with Haven?”
I’m not used to explaining myself, but I also want to make sure this works out. “I want to get to know her…”
“This is therapy… not a dating service. Can’t you do this without—”
I cut him off. “You said she has intimacy issues, so no, I can’t just approach her off the street. She’ll be safe with me. I won’t hurt her.”