Girlfriend By The Hour

Girlfriend By The Hour

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.

Summary

When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.

Chapter4 (v.1) - The Cleric

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 07, 2015

Reads: 1744

Comments: 3

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 07, 2015

A A A

A A A

Andre couldn’t recall the last time he’d been nervous about a first date. Possibly never. He’d only dated one girl in high school, and she’d been a friend a long time before that. They’d never really had a first date, just a moment when hanging out became something more.

His first companion to public events had been his eldest sister, so he’d only been nervous about her revealing embarrassing secrets from his childhood. There were some girls from work after that, so by the time he actually paid a woman to accompany him, he’d had no misgivings.

Until now. He’d driven himself to Imogen’s apartment, worried he’d come off as pretentious if he showed up with a chauffer. His love of high end sports cars ruined this plan a bit, although he was thankful he’d chosen the Aventador when he discovered the seven speed bumps leading to her apartment. Nothing was quite so pretentious as holding up traffic while the Lamborghini lifted pneumatically to clear the bumps, but it was worth it.

He prided himself on his punctuality but wound up being seven minutes after navigating the confusing complex then circling her building in search of a parking spot. He gave up and parked alongside an island that contained a small, sparse playground. From its condition, Andre assumed it was used less by children, more by troublesome teenagers.

The narrow bridge crossing the steep ditch in front of Imogen’s building creaked as he crossed it. The railing leading up the steps was broken. On his way up to the third floor, Andre passed a woman who probably lived there but looked awfully homeless.

Andre considered Imogen’s dented, olive green door far too long. He justified it by smoothing his suit, straightening his tie, and sending a quick text to Midas, who would likely be staying late at the office testing Dragynfyre. The text was asinine, a reminder that if the predicted storm rolled in to quit his testing in case there were power surges. Andre heard nothing from inside to indicate the doorbell worked when he pushed it, but he waited another minute before knocking.

Imogen did not answer. The girl standing there was slightly shorter and rounder, with chubby cheeks and a complexion of pale ochre. Her short, severely cut hair was an electric magenta that deepened to black at the roots. There was enough gel in the spikes to withstand hurricane force winds, but the rest of her could have used that gel. She was tired, slumped from a long day at a tough job easily identifiable from her stained, chain restaurant uniform, but there was still a fierceness in her green eyes.

He smiled warmly and held out a bouquet of stargazer lilies and irises. "Andre Lachlan. You must be Sal." He nodded to her name tag, identifying her as Sally.

"Yup." She popped the ‘p’ and eyed the arrangement but didn't immediately take it. "Uhh, you can come in, I guess. Gen's almost ready." When Andre continued holding the flowers toward her, she gave in and took them from him. "I'll, um, go give these to her," she said as she turned back inside.

"No, no, they're for you," Andre explained, following her in. "I felt like I should get you something to show my appreciation. Last time my companion had a partner, I gave him some memorabilia and a fully upgraded character from one of my video games, but I didn't think you'd be interested in..."

His words died out as he glanced around the apartment. From where he stood, he could see the cramped kitchen, the dining room with mismatched chairs, and the living room barely large enough to fit the tattered sectional. Everything came together in a disjointed mass, but lining the walls were posters, boxed figurines, and fan art of a unified theme. It tied nicely to the two laptops open on the coffee table.

One showed a magenta-mohawked, heavily tattooed bore sitting back on its haunches, waiting impatiently for someone to tell him where to go next. The still image on the other was one he'd drawn himself. It was the official cover art of the original Terreign, an oil pastel that also gave him an A in his senior art class. Despite pressure from his COO to go digital, Andre still did the cover art of every one of LE's games himself. It was a matter of pride, or perhaps superstition.

Sal followed his line of vision to the screen. "I’ve always hated that picture," she said. "For some reason it reminds me of an ‘80s Nintendo cartridge."

"Ouch." Andre rubbed his arm as though injured. "Please don't say Mega Man."

She shrugged and shot him the briefest grin but didn't confirm or deny this greatest of insults. "The flowers are lovely," she told him instead. "But next time I want the Crolinian Twin Blade for my knave. Julesverne, Kings' Crux server."

It wasn't the best or most well-known weapon for a knave, but its strengths compensated for many problems of that class and it was versatile. If Andre favored knaves, he'd choose that weapon for himself. He suspected he and Sal could get along quite well if they gave it a chance.

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text. "Get on Julesverne now. When you get a request from MidasKC, accept."

Sal's eyes widened. Her scowl faded, her face lit up, and she emitted a faint squeal. Finally, Andre found a bit of breathing space beneath his neck tie. It was nearly impossible for him to resist tearing the accursed noose off, but it wasn’t quite so suffocating now.

Then she pushed the flowers back at him, said, "Put these in some water, cabinet above the sink," and deftly launched herself over the back of the sofa. She landed in front of the irritated boar and switched character, confirming that it was Imogen's screen which displayed Andre’s art.

"Ooh, just don't tell Gen you did this!" Sal hissed. "She, like, flips out over hacks and stuff."

He picked out a vase and turned the water on but got distracted by the art that hung over the sink. It was a small, original watercolor, framed and covered by glass. It depicted a tall, elven eared woman standing over the bodies of fallen soldiers. She held a long stemmed orchid over her head. The largest bloom radiated a beacon of bluish light—a cleric resurrecting her companions. Signed by Andre and hung in his home office for several years before getting donated to a charity auction.

"How did you get this?" he yelled to Sal. "The opening bid on it was--"

"My father gave it to me as a present."

Andre spun quickly at Imogen's voice. "That was a very expensive present," he said. The piece was sold for at least $5,000, and according to her background check, Imogen’s father was a cop. He knew she had a modest upbringing and her college was entirely paid for with scholarship money, so maybe the cleric was Mr. Zelenka’s way of thanking his daughter for saving him so much money. He considered finding out the actual selling price of the painting and refunding it to Imogen’s father while he gave her a more subtle inspection than he had in his office.

Chocolate heels, patent leather, four inches tall. Simple olive dress, tea length with a flare in the skirt. It was strapless, the bust adorned with metallic threading Andre was smart enough not to examine too closely. The dress was elegant and modest enough for the evening, but she covered her shoulders with a light shawl that matched the shoes.

Despite the brevity of his inspection, by the time Andre reached Imogen's face she was already hard at work chewing the mocha stain from her lower lip and fraying a sun-kissed ringlet with her fingers.

"Is this okay?" she asked as she shifted her weight between heels. Her make-up was evenly applied but sheer, revealing her blush underneath. "A man called me the other day. Branson?"

Andre nodded. "My head of security."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Really? Because he offered to take me dress shopping."

"Branson has multiple responsibilities," Andre replied, not wanting to go too in-depth. There were many confusing elements to his life; Branson was just one. "I didn't know if you had anything suitable in your wardrobe and didn't want to put you out financially. But this dress is great."

And it was. It would be perfect for their dinner reservation at the flagship steak house, tastefully casual at the botanicals reception, and suitable for a trendy club afterward if she lost the shawl.

She took the vase from him but didn't immediately fill it, instead throwing a pinch of sugar and a splash of vinegar in it first. As soon as she was turned away from him, she said, "You know the first day of a new job, how even if you know exactly what you'll be doing or have already been told you're just doing paperwork or whatever, how you still get nervous?"

She kept her eyes lowered when she returned to the sink to fill the vase. For a heartbeat, Andre entertained an image of her in Hell, naked but maybe in those reasonable brown heels or maybe in ludicrously high black stilettos. Pale rosy skin, smooth and translucently pale and begging for his hand to leave its print upon it. Eyes cast low but shoulders forced back by a coarse black rope binding her arms together behind her back.

Only it was all wrong. Her eyes remained cast to the floor, but the rope would have to be white lace opera gloves instead, and they were free and crossed over her, one arm hugging her breasts and the other attempting to hide a tidy, groomed mat of golden curls between her legs.

No, she was an efficient girl. She'd have one leg lifted slightly to cover herself below and arms crossed over her chest. And she'd be barefoot. No, white sandals. She wouldn't like the cold slate.

Or anything about Hell. She'd be in Heaven in a platinum dress and a perpetual blush on her face. Her hair would be spectacular as a halo on the white pillow case, but she'd be untouchable. Fictitious.

Her cheeks darkened further when Andre didn’t respond to her. "I guess you've never been nervous about the first day at a new job."

"Never had the chance," he said gruffly. "I didn't work before I designed Terreign." And this was why he separated his public persona from his personal interests. He didn't have to worry about tact with Amanda. But he understood what she was saying. “I tell you what, let’s get the most awkward part out of the way now.”

Imogen quirked an eyebrow. “And that is?”

He caught her chin with his fingers and guided her lips to his. She stiffened at his touch, but her kiss was sweet and gentle, brief but warm. He felt her smile, and when he opened her eyes he found her to be laughing silently.

This one was definitely going to be a handful.


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