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Sweet

Propositions

“I just paid $1,500 last week!” I growl into the phone.

“This is a new course of treatment that I think Marian would benefit greatly from.”

I sigh. I can barely keep my own lights on. “Sure, you want to try this this week. What will it be next week?” I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on.

“Ms. Winchester, I’m only trying to help your mother. You can decline the treatment, but I must say, I believe that this may be just what your mother needs.”

“Fine, I’ll have the money by the end of the week.” With that, I slam the phone back down on the receiver and pick up my notepad again. Looks like I’ll need to put in overtime this week.

***

“Hi, I’m Sparrow, and I’ll be your waitress today. What can I get you to drink?” comes a softly lilting voice from above me as I take a seat at the diner that my client has chosen to meet at.

“Uhh, let me get a sweet tea, please,” I request, my Texas accent stronger than normal due to lack of sleep.

“Sure thing. Are you ready to order or would you like a few minutes?” the girl asks, and I finally look up. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Her skin is milky white, and her hair is a bright copper. Her eyes are large and green. Her nose is delicate and small, and her lips are peachy and plump. And holy shit, I’m just staring at the poor girl. I clear my throat and give an awkward smile.

“I’ll take a few, if that’s alright.” She nods, offers one more crooked grin, and leaves the table.

I watch her walk away and notice how light she is on her feet. She seems to flow through the restaurant, dodging patrons and other servers. She’s agile, and I can’t help but wonder where that comes from. My mind flies with the possibilities of where she gained those skills until she comes back to the table with my drink. She places it on a coaster in front of me, and before my brain can process what I’m going to say, I speak. “Are you a dancer?”

She looks taken aback, but she recovers quickly. 

I open my mouth to apologize when she smirks and teases, “Yeah, this is just my day job.” 

I smile. She’s quick. I like that.

“Well, that’s quite cliched. You’re not from Manhattan, are you?” I ask, leaning forward, almost drawn to her.

“No. I was born in Dublin. We came here when I was six.”

“Ahh. Ireland. I’ve always wanted to go there. Tell me about it?” 

She looks around a little before shaking her head.

“I shouldn’t. I have other customers. Are you ready to order?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll have the daily special. You have a daily special, right?” 

She chuckles.

“Yes. I’ll put your order in.”

҈

The new guy in my section is nice. He’s got an accent. I guess that means he’s not from here either. He looks like he’ll be a good tipper, and I definitely need that. I have to make $500 by the end of the week.

I drop the bill off as I pass, making sure to give a smile to both him and his guest. I clean the remainder of my tables before returning to collect his payment. He offers me a black credit card and wolfish smile. He’s not bad looking. Maybe 30 or 35; greying dark brown hair; kind blue eyes; a day or two’s worth of stubble on his sharp jawline. He’s also large, probably over six feet and muscled. He’s impeccably dressed, definitely standing out from the blue-collar people we get in here. I drop his receipt off, wish him a goodnight, and continue about my business. The next time I come by, he’s gone, and he’s left me a crisp $100 bill as a tip. I smile and pocket the money.

͠

It’s nearly 1 AM before I get off of my shift. I took another shift, hoping to make a little extra cash. I huddle into my jacket as I make my way to the back parking lot where my old beater is parked. I nearly shit myself when somebody calls my name.

“Sparrow!” echoes across the lot. I spin on my heel and see that it’s the man from earlier.

“Fucking hell, man!” I exclaim, clutching my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I demand, getting wary, finally realizing that this man has waited outside for nearly five hours on me. I clutch my keys between my fingers, shifting my weight to my toes in case I need to fight or run. He holds up his hands placatingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to speak to you. I want to make you an offer.”

“An offer?” I question, backing away.

“I’m a very wealthy man. And you’re a very beautiful woman. I would like you to be my sugar baby.” That catches my attention, throwing me off guard. I stop in my tracks.

“Your what now?”

“Sugar baby. I’d pay you to…”

“I know what a sugar baby is! I’m not a prostitute!”

“What?! No! It’s not like that! Look, just think about it, and if you have any interest at all, come to Vancelli’s tomorrow night at 8. If you don’t come, I’ll understand, but I really hope you do.” With that, he walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of an empty parking lot looking like an idiot.

҈

I walk away from Sparrow and cringe at myself. Maybe approaching her in the parking lot at 1 AM wasn’t the brightest idea. Good job, Collin. She probably thinks you’re psychotic now. But I know that I want her. I’ve had sugar daddy relationships before, and they haven’t worked out, but I feel like Sparrow is different. At least, I hope she is.

҈

I haven’t slept all night. I don’t know why, but I’m considering his offer. Well, that’s not true, I do know why. Marian. My mother. She’s a paranoid schizophrenic. And I’m the one paying for her treatment. And I can barely make ends meet. Unless I come up with $300 extra this week, I won’t be able to keep my utilities on. That’s on top of the $350 I still need for her treatment. Fuck knows I have every right to just dump her on the state. Hell, she probably deserves it, but no matter what she’s put me through, I can’t do that. So, sighing, I make my way to my meager closet to try and find something nice enough for Vancelli’s.

͠

I walk into the doors of Vancelli’s and immediately know that I’m underdressed, even though I’m wearing the best clothes I own; a black skater dress and black tights with black booties. I make my way over to the frowning concierge. “Hi, I’m meeting someone.”

“Name?”

“Uhh, umm… Well, I’m not sure whose name it’s under, but my name is Sparrow.”

“You’re Mr. Atlas’s date?” he asks in disgust, studying me with cruel eyes.

“Yes,” I say, trying to stay confident.

“Very well, follow me.” He moves away from his post, and I follow him to a private dining room, where Mr. Atlas is sitting at a large candle lit table. He smiles when he sees me.

“Sparrow! You came!” he greets, standing and striding over to me.

“Uhh, yeah, here I am,” I answer nervously, rubbing the back of my neck.

“You look beautiful. That’ll be all, Anthony,” he says, waving the concierge away and placing a hand in the small of my back and leading me to the table.

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m not exactly up to par, but this is all I had,” I explain, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“Nonsense, you look great. I’m Collin, by the way. Collin Atlas.”

“Sparrow Winchester,” I reply.

“Have you thought about my proposition?”

“Yes. And I need more information.” 

He nods and smiles.

“Ok. Well, you’ll have a weekly allowance, not counting the gifts I decide to give or you request. You’ll live in my apartment. You will travel with me. I will be the only man you see romantically, and you will be the only female I see. I will expect you to follow my rules, and we will discuss, if you agree, of course, your sexual preferences, as well as my own. But most importantly, I will be in charge.”

“Payment?”

“$1,500 a week, and a bonus $2,000 at the end of every month.” I feel my throat close up. Holy shit.

“When you say you’re in charge?” I ask, trying to stop my mind from reeling.

“In every way. I will control you in the bedroom, and you will be my little girl outside of it as well. I’ll expect you to call me Daddy at some point, when you’re comfortable enough to do so. But only in private. In public, you can call me Collin.”

“Is there a contract or something?”

“There will be, yes.”

“And what about when you get tired of me?” 

I can see the hurt flash through his eyes.

“I would make sure you were secure before I left you. And you would receive a $10,000 severance payment.”

I take a deep breath and lay my head back against the tall chair.

“Look, let’s enjoy dinner, and you can tell me your decision after dessert, alright?”

“Yeah, ok. Can I get a drink? Think I’m gonna need a drink.” 

He laughs.

҈

I study Sparrow as she absolutely devours her chocolate soufflé. She’s quite adorable. I sip my espresso and ponder my chances of walking away tonight with a new sugar baby. I believe they’re high, but I suppose I’ll soon find out.

After finishing her food, Sparrow wipes her mouth and clears her throat, taking another sip of her apple martini.

“Ok, let’s talk,” she says, sitting up straighter. I nod and do the same, leaning slightly into her.

“Your terms sound good. But I need an advance on my first payment. I have some business that I have to take care of by the end of the week. Also, might I suggest a one-month trial period? That way we can both feel each other out.”

“I like that idea.”

“Good. But about moving in with you. If we decide it isn’t going to work, where will I go?”

“Your severance will still apply, and you will have more than enough to find an apartment. But let’s focus more on the moment, shall we? Should I take this as a yes?”

“Yes.” 

I beam.

“Wonderful. Now, I need a way to contact you. What’s your phone number?”

“I don’t have a phone. I can’t afford it. You could call my job, I guess.” 

I’m stunned.

“No, we’ll get you a phone tomorrow. Now, I’ll call and make an appointment at Legacy Medical in the morning, I want you to get tested, as well as have a physical and pap smear. What birth control are you on?”

“I’m not on any.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll work on that. Now, I’ll send movers by your place tomorrow. What’s your address?”

“Uhh, 113 West 49th, apartment 3B.”

“That’s a bad neighborhood. Are you safe there?”

“I make do.” 

I nod, not liking the answer, but knowing it’s the best I’ll get.

“Tell me, you’re how old?”

“20.” 

My eyes grow wide. I assumed she was a little older. She seems so mature.

“You just made me break the law, you know? Ordering you that drink.”

“It’s not my first drink,” she replies, looking at me evenly.

“It’ll be your last until you’re of age.”

“I… I’m Irish. Ma gave me my first drink when I was 14.”

“Maybe so, but Daddy won’t.” I can see her pondering just what in the hell she’s gotten herself into.