nineteen (bang, bang sequel)

cash-lust

"look, i don't need your fucking little analyzation over me. i'm aware of what i am and what you are as well. we both know what we want, so, what do you want me to do? suck your dick? fake an orgasm? listen to you whine about your repressed homosexual feelings?" i said and he didn't even stop to think before replying.

"have a drink with me, i'll buy you whatever you want and pay you... well, your price. let's say, $700 to sit and amuse me for an hour? tell me all about your slummed up life." richard's voice was always edging on laughing to complete seriousness, but i could care less. with his labels of me, i should feel offended but my self esteem had already been obliterated beyond relief.

"$800." i project and he's so quick to respond i barely have time to keep up. another one hundred dollars means nothing to him and everything to me.

"i'll pay you $1,000 if you fondle my balls with your feet under the table." he says like the presumptuous twat he is and i scoff.

"you're fucking foul." i argue and i hear a small grunt of laughter on his end. as if he just knows i'll do anything for a buck.

"joke. i'm joking." he retorts and i sigh, entering the marriott and hoping my manager on the phone at the front desk doesn't recognize me as a housekeeper. sundays were my day off but i didn't want to be caught doing this.

"you're not, though." i say under my breath and he doesn't skip a beat.

"you decide, james."

i end the phone call once i step foot into the opulent, smokey restaurant downstairs of the marriott that i guessed richard was getting day-drunk in. broadening my shoulders, i try to sneak past a pretty colleague sitting at the front desk, taking seating arrangements. she's blonde and i've sat with her during lunch breaks a couple of times, where we've shared miserable conversation about being penniless. she recognizes me immediately and her face is traced with confusion, as if the thought of me even dining here is unbelievable. i nod to her with a silent plead, praying that she lets me through and she gestures her head and lets me go.

roaming through the lounge, beautiful people wrapped up in expensive clothing are drinking and eating like birds. i find richard almost immediately, because oddly enough, the man is ruggedly handsome and has the whole room fawning over him from afar. he is sipping his rum with lazy blue eyes, scanning the people around him with a soft, mocking grin on his lips. he finds me as i deflate nervously, my shoulders hunching over with my crippling insecurity. with his dirty blonde hair falling from it's professional style, he raises a brow at me and a points a long finger curled around his glass at me -- as if it was a loaded gun. i squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe, walking over to him as he stands from his booth.

"christ, you just seem to get better looking everyday." richard starts with and i suck on my gums, not really knowing what to say and what to feel. i felt far from his genuine compliments. yet, i find him weirdly comforting and it's all wrong because i'm charmed by the older man without wanting to be. his eyes fleet over me and i'm breathing in his royal scent, as he motions, "c'mere james, sit with me,"

"look, that's not my name -- just call me liam, alright? it's fucking weird." i mutter, sliding into the plush seat across from him and he snickers, carelessly sitting with his legs apart and his broad shoulders resting against the leather. i swallow thickly, mortified that i'm doing this all out of pure desperation.

"rough day, love?" he asks half-heartedly and i hate that he has some sort resemblance to zayn's charisma. he's almost just like him, staring at me like a new, shiny toy like zayn had when we first met. it somehow makes me feel a little less worse about myself, like i could mean something to someone.