Page 6 of Tempting Kat

So are you actually serious about working for Infinity or was that the tequila talking? I need to know before I put your application through.

I snort, remembering our drunken conversation last weekend. Vivian runs Infinity—that bougie app where rich fucks pay for “companionship.” The same app Frankie used before she landed her whale, Alexander Steele. Now she's living in his mansion, leaving me with an extra bedroom and too much quiet.

Fuck it. Why not?

Dead serious. Send me the details.

Then I switch over to text Frankie.

You alive, bitch? Or has daddy dearest fucked you into a coma?

My phone buzzes almost immediately. Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. As usual she’s overthinking her response.

Still alive. Just busy. Alexander keeps me…occupied.

I snort.

Occupied = bent over every surface in that mansion?

Not EVERY surface. Just most of them.

I can't help but grin. At least someone's getting laid regularly. My vibrator's been working overtime since she moved out.

So when are you visiting? Our apartment is sad and empty without your loud ass slamming the front door and bitching about rich caviar fucks.

I’ll be moving back soon. The three months are almost up.

I stop walking, staring at my phone. Is she serious?

Bullshit. No fucking way Daddy Steele is letting you go.

Three dots again. I kick a pebble while waiting, listening to the distant sound of traffic. The night's gotten colder, and I shiver despite my power walking.

It was always temporary, Kat. We agreed on three months.

Yeah but did his dick agree?

The bus stop's just ahead, thank fuck. My feet are killing me.

I check the time—midnight. The bus should be here in five minutes if it's running on schedule, which it never fucking is.

A car slows down as it passes, and I tense, ready to flip off whatever creep is about to catcall me. But it keeps going, and I exhale slowly.

Don't be a bitch. I miss you too

The bus is nowhere in sight, and my toes are starting to go numb in my boots. I bounce on my heels, trying to keep warm as another text comes through.

The thought of having my own Alexander Steele isn't entirely unappealing. Some older guy with cash to burn who'd worship my body and take care of shit without trying to change me. Maybe someone like Mr. Mysterious from the bar, with his intense stares and big hands.

The fantasy dissolves as headlights sweep over me. The bus finally rolls up, ten minutes late. I climb aboard, flash my pass at the driver, and sink into an empty seat near the back.

Vivian the Viper

I have the perfect match for you. Free tomorrow?

My fingers hover over the keyboard. Am I really doing this? Setting myself up to be some rich asshole's plaything?

But then I think about my bank account, perpetually hovering just above empty. The fact that without Frankie's sugar daddy paying our rent, I'd be completely fucked.