Runaway Mistress

If it were left up to her, she might choose a lower heel, but Nick, for some strange reason, preferred that she look as tall and long-legged as possible. She was a respectable five foot five, but any one of her collection of high heels so exaggerated her height that she appeared five ten. The irony was that Nick was not tall. He was a short guy—maybe five-seven—and had a real thing for tall, thin blondes. No short-man complex there. In fact, Nick probably thought he was six-two. His ego was at least that big.

A half hour passed as she waited, and although people couldn’t help but stare at her, she didn’t fidget. The cabin attendant for their jet came into the terminal twice to speak to Elaine, ostensibly to see if all her passengers had finally arrived. By now the crew would be getting antsy. Nick would never tolerate tardiness in others, but he was rarely on time himself. He could be both aggressive and passive-aggressive, not always a winning combination.

Jennifer pulled her long mane of golden hair over her shoulder and stroked it as if it were a pet. Nick loved her hair. So had a few gentlemen before him. She cared for it as if it were an only child.

Elaine came out from behind the counter and approached her. “Ms. Chaise, are you sure you don’t want to go ahead and board?” the agent asked her.

She smiled patiently at the young woman. “It won’t get him here any faster, Elaine. I’ll just wait for Mr. Noble.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?”

“No.”

“Have you, by any chance, called his cell or his car?”

She merely shook her head; there was no point in trying to explain. Nick didn’t like being chased down, hounded or prodded, so calling him would only have the opposite effect. He’d just take his time, no matter who was waiting. He said he’d be here, and he would be here. He’d keep everyone waiting, though, in case there was any question as to who was the most important person in this party.

Finally, almost an hour after the scheduled departure time, the doors to the small terminal opened and Nick strode through, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he entered. He was a little powerhouse with broad shoulders and thick, hard thighs. His arms were tanned and very strong, but he had small, gentle hands. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wasn’t bad-looking, either. He had bushy brows, a bald head and twinkling blue eyes. Women found him sexy, but whether that was because of his looks or his power seemed irrelevant.

Nick was the kind of man it was very difficult to say no to; he was flamboyant, exciting, wealthy and had a slightly dangerous edge. Perhaps it was the constant presence of one, two or even three large, quiet men that gave him an aura that was both hard to ignore and impenetrable. Jennifer referred to them as the Butlers, which made Nick laugh, but the more accurate term goon came to mind. She tried not to think too hard about them. Nick had quite a collection of men who worked for him, followed him around, traveled with him. Errand boys. Jennifer assumed it made Nick feel important to have them always a few steps behind, ready to do whatever he asked. On this trip it was Jesse and Lou who accompanied them.

The airport agent breathed an audible sigh of relief and Jennifer stood. Nick slipped an arm around her waist, kissed her cheek and said, “Hi, baby. We ready to roll?”

“I think they’re all ready,” she said. “My luggage is on the plane.”

“Good girl. Let’s do it. I’m feeling lucky.”

Jennifer had met Nick Noble two years before. She had just taken a job in a commercial real estate company where her duties included some secretarial work, as well as property management. It was easy and it paid well. She fielded calls from tenants who needed service such as repairs, collected and deposited rents, and kept track of leases. Her office handled a group of office buildings in Fort Lauderdale and Boca Raton and Jennifer believed she had been hired more for her looks than skills. She was definitely front-office material; the businessmen who leased from them were constantly asking her out.

She hadn’t been there long when the owner of the properties they managed stopped by. Nick. He took her to lunch that very day and made it clear he was not particularly interested in her performance as a property manager but, rather, he was romantically interested. Now, Jennifer might look like an easy mark with her swollen lips, full perky breasts and clothes carefully chosen to draw attention to her assets, but she was actually cautious. Nick was made to pursue her for a very long time, during which she learned enough about him to make a practical decision. He was married for the third time, had lots of money, several businesses and an iron-clad prenup. Barbara, he said, was very happy with her club, her jewelry, her big house, and was not likely to make any kind of fuss as long as he dinged her bank account on a weekly basis, and paid off the credit cards.

It turned out that Nick’s analysis of Barbara wasn’t exactly right. Barbara was extremely jealous and given to tantrums that could be very disturbing. But no one, absolutely no one, told Nick Noble what to do. And although Barbara was unhappy about this liaison, she wasn’t unhappy enough to give up the wealth she had married. Barbara Noble, wife number three, had been involved with Nick when he was married to wife number two. Jennifer had absolutely no intention of becoming wife number four, and it might have been that fact more than anything that had kept him intrigued this long.

Nick had gone after Jennifer with gusto. He called, dropped by, had her picked up by a driver and taken to this or that restaurant. There were flowers and weekly gifts. He took her out on his yacht and to his villa in Key West. He worked very hard to woo her. And she worked very hard to be alluring. She played a mean game of hard to get.

In the two years she’d been seeing him she had not quit her job. It was important to her self-esteem that she work at something other than being a mistress. True, she was away quite a lot. When Nick wanted her to travel with him, she did. It wasn’t as though her supervisor was going to complain. Nick was a very valued client.

Jennifer relaxed in the luxury of the Gulfstream, a glass of champagne on her side table, a novel in her lap. Nick, however, had been on the phone since takeoff. He frequently stood up, paced, raised his voice or shook his fist at the air. She picked up a few words here and there—“Look, goddammit, that’s been the program for years!” and “If it’s not delivered on time, you’ll pay, and you’ll pay big!” Jennifer had nearly perfected the fine art of being oblivious. His business wasn’t her business. If she got nosy while he was all riled up, his mood would only get worse. She understood that any man who had the amount of fiscal responsibility that he had might have a short fuse now and then.

After a couple of hours in flight, he’d had enough. Jesse and Lou were sitting in the first two seats on the plane, reclined and sleeping, their backs to Jennifer and Nick. Nick asked the flight attendant for a Chivas on the rocks and came over to where Jennifer sat with her feet up on the ottoman. He sat beside her feet and put a hand on her knee.

“What are you reading, babe?”

She gently closed the book and smiled. “Romance.”

His hand moved slowly over her knee and under her skirt, caressing her thigh. “That’s a good idea,” he said with a smile. He sipped his drink and swirled it in the glass, clinking the cubes against the crystal. And his hand went a little higher.

Jennifer stopped him right there. She pressed the book down, refusing his hand farther passage. The flight attendant had handled a little of everything on this job and would probably know enough to turn discreetly away, get very busy in the galley or something, but Jennifer wasn’t having that. “Behave yourself,” she told him sternly. “And try to be patient.”

Nick chuckled and removed his hand, but he leaned toward her. So she kissed him, a deep and promising kiss. She could taste the Scotch on his lips, in his mouth.

When they parted she said, “You be a good boy and you can get in the hot tub with me tonight.” But she knew she would probably be splashing around alone while Nick was preoccupied with poker.

The palm of his hand gently brushed her breast. “Yes, Mommy. Let’s see what movies we have.” He picked up the remote, turned on the overhead screen and read the directory until he found one he liked. Then he settled back on the leather sofa and shared the ottoman with Jennifer, keeping a proprietary hand on her thigh.

She went back to her book. She knew how to make her gentleman toe the line and that was imperative. It kept them interested. They could be like children sometimes, craving limits. She had very strict standards; she must be treated with respect and dignity. The minute a man made the mistake of treating her as property, she was gone.

Jennifer was a professional girlfriend. A mistress. Not a call girl or prostitute. She was an excellent girlfriend. The greater part of her subsistence came from her current gentleman, but she absolutely never asked for a thing. Never. It was always a gift, sometimes with her input, sometimes a surprise. The two diamond rings she wore were surprises, but last year Nick wanted to buy her a car and they went together to pick out her Jag.

Of course, had Nick been less than forthcoming with such gifts, she would have moved on long ago.

How does one get into a profession such as this? In Jennifer’s case, quite by accident and in all innocence. She was nineteen when her mother died and there was a little bit of money from the sale of her grandparents’ house. Just enough to get her from Ohio to Florida and pay first, last and security on a small efficiency. She longed for the sun to warm her heart, for she had found herself suddenly all alone. She had nothing and no one. She didn’t know what to do or where to turn. It seemed she had spent her entire life up to that point keeping an eye on her mother, and when she was gone, exhaustion combined with her grief. She needed a change and a little rest.

She got a job in a fine-dining restaurant in Fort Lauderdale bussing tables on her way to being trained as a waitress; she’d heard the money was good when diners dropped a few hundred on their meals and wines. When one of the slim, young hostesses was a no-show for work, the manager slipped Jennifer into a narrow black dress—the hostess uniform—and she began booking reservations, showing people to their tables and in general making nice with the patrons. She did it well, so they kept her in that job. At nineteen, she was hardly a knockout, but she had a kind of slim elegance, an aloofness, that was underscored by the fact that when she smiled she hardly ever showed her teeth because one front tooth was a little gray and she was embarrassed by it.

Within a couple of weeks she was asked out by an older man named Robert who frequented the restaurant. She shied off, declining. Why would she wish to go out to dinner with a man old enough to be her grandfather? “Because he’s richer than God,” said one of the other hostesses. “And he’s sweet as a kitten. Tell him I’m free.”

That set her to thinking. She was too alone. She had no family; not even a close girlfriend. She was barely getting by on what little money she made. Her best dress belonged to the restaurant—the little black number she wore for hostessing. And this was a nice man, well known around Fort Lauderdale. He was the least-dangerous person alive and very, very chivalrous. He just happened to like young women.

She went to dinner with him in her borrowed dress and, to her absolute amazement, had a lovely time. He was kind and thoughtful and patient, and he wanted her to enjoy herself. They became friends, and so it gave him great pleasure to take her places. It was important that she dress appropriately and so they shopped, outfitting her with more clothing at greater expense than she’d ever had in her life. He didn’t think the neighborhood in which she rented her one-room studio was very safe and so he lent her the use of one of his company’s corporate apartments, rent free. He had several that were usually used by traveling executives. One more or less made no difference.

And he sent her to a cosmetic dentist. His treat. Her smile, he had said, was stunning, and she should use it often.

Eventually she even enjoyed sleeping with him, but that wasn’t really a priority for him. He spent the greater part of his energy on business, a lesser amount in the company of his lovely young mistress, and an even lesser amount with his wife. Jennifer remained his girlfriend for about two years.

Because Jennifer had never been able to trust anyone to take care of her, she was completely prepared for their relationship to be temporary. When it was over, most of the accoutrements would vanish. The apartment and leased car would have to be returned, though being rich and a gentleman, he would very likely insist she keep the clothing and jewelry. She was determined to be prepared. So while her gentleman picked up the tab, Jennifer put a little bit of money aside for a rainy day. Growing up hand to mouth had provided her with considerable restraint in spending, and discipline in saving. Jennifer was going to take care of Jennifer, and she realized she had stumbled upon a good way to do it.

The rest, as they say, was history. The first gentleman came along when she was nineteen, Nick when she was twenty-eight. There’d been a few in between. She had been very fond of Robert and sad when he moved on, and Nick had grown on her in the last couple of years, but the others had been merely business arrangements. The only requirements were that they be rich, civil and derive great pleasure from treating her well.

As Jennifer walked down the wide hall of the MGM Grand Hotel, her extra-short skirt swaying back and forth across her shapely thighs, her high-heeled boots padding softly on the rich and thick carpet, men turned and watched as she passed. Hotel guests and bellhops and maintenance men. Even here in Las Vegas where great beauty abounded, they filled their eyes with her. She walked past a little boy, grasping his mother’s hand, who turned and looked up at her. He couldn’t be more than four and was fascinated. That’s men—so visual. She looked down at him and smiled and winked.

Her shiny platinum hair bounced down her back to her waist. Her eyes, made lavender by the contacts she wore, sparkled under thick lashes, and her lips, full, pouty and glossy, enhanced by collagen, begged to be kissed. To say nothing of her breasts—right up there where they should be thanks to relentless chest presses and a small saline implant under each one, compliments of gentleman number three. If she’d had it this together ten years earlier, she might’ve tried modeling rather than this current vocation. But this look hadn’t come cheap or easy.

She and Nick had been in Las Vegas for three days and tomorrow would be their last day. He was on a real run in high-stakes poker, and every time he wanted to get back to the game he had treated her. One of the gifts was the new tennis bracelet she wore. As well, he gave her a nice crisp stack of Bens—hundred dollar bills—with instructions to entertain herself. He spent a great deal on her, and she used the money to stay fashionable and desirable, always tucking a little away for that rainy day just around the corner.

She’d had a very good time, though she hadn’t spent much of it with Nick. She had shopped, taken in a couple of movies in the screening room, worked out in the private gym, spent some time in the spa being massaged, manicured and pedicured, and she’d caught up on her reading in the cabana by the private pool. Jennifer was tanned, but it wasn’t from the sun. She wouldn’t subject her skin to that. She was spray-tanned. Once a week she would have a facial, massage and a spray tanning that would begin to fade after four days. When she went to the pool or the beach, she lay under an umbrella or cabana. Her skin, she was proud to note, was nearly flawless.

She was with Nick every night, of course. Or make that the wee hours, after many hours of poker. At fifty-four Nick was fit and energetic, sometimes demanding, often relentless when it came to getting what he wanted. And if he wanted her at 4:00 a.m., she was compelled to oblige. Thankfully, it was only on trips such as this that she was on such a schedule. In Florida they kept separate residences and Nick rarely spent the whole night with her.

Sometimes she wondered if Nick wasn’t just a little more than she could handle. He was certainly the most virile man she’d been with. Every time she began to consider ending this affair, whether because of Nick’s demands or his wife’s instability, he’d give her something amazing, reminding her that he was worth every hour of her time. His gift to her last year had been a condo on the beach, and she was weakened by her love for it. Even with her growing savings accounts, it was way out of her league.

However, life could be lonely. Working in a business that catered to Nick, and having a flexible schedule so she could be at his beck and call didn’t make the other women in the office particularly friendly. But then, she’d always been a loner. She knew what they said about her, but she was no slut. There had only been a scant few men in her life since she was a teen, and she never dated more than one man at a time. Never.

These were the thoughts that were running through Jennifer’s mind as she made her way through the crowds of people in the hotel on her way back to the room. The MGM was putting them up in a suite that was part of a private wing known as the Mansion. Very prestigious surroundings, complete with a crew of chefs, valets and real butlers. She’d been there several times with him—he considered her good luck—and true to form, he’d been winning, which made him fun and frisky. It was very easy to get used to living in high style like this, but she didn’t take it for granted. She knew how quickly such fortunes could shift—just as she’d had rough times with her mom, she’d had a few high times. They never lasted very long, but she remembered them fondly.

When she reached their suite she quietly opened the door and was instantly taken aback by shouting.

“I don’t ask your permission for anything! I’m here for poker, and if I’d wanted you and all your bitching here, I’d have brought you!”