Raoul chuckled. He quickly mixed the drink and handed it over. Blake muttered a thanks, left a tenner on the bar, and went searching for a booth. He found one near the edge of the room, and from there, he could see the door. Not that he had any reason to be watching it like a hawk. Especially not with the growing number of well-dressed men beginning to hover around the sidelines. Some were getting drinks. Some were checking out the leather-clad guys who were in turn checking them out. Some were watching that door.
Blake had a solid grasp on how much the various rentboys charged. Tristan and Jared, when they’d still worked for Market Garden, had charged a pretty penny, but that had been part of their game. Most of the other guys were cheaper, a few were eye-wateringly expensive.
But comparing their price tags was like nitpicking over the differences in price between “meh, a few bells and whistles” and “fully loaded” at a Toyota dealership when there was a Ferrari parked out front. Some things were simply worth more than others.
And the kind of night he could expect from Jason? That was the Ferrari in the parking lot. Question was, could any of these other guys afford him? Of course, this was London. Plenty of money, both old and new, on the table. And these businessmen looked sharp.
Blake was halfway through his drink when Jason strolled in. Heads turned even though he wasn’t wearing the skin-and-shiny-black-leather combination that counted as the uniform around here. Instead, he had on a nice pair of designer jeans, a fitted shirt, and an expensive jacket—more casual than “business casual,” but definitely upmarket. He exchanged nods with Brandon, then his gaze locked on Blake and he came right over. Without a word, he sat down in the booth—not quite across from Blake, but not yet in the “oh God let’s get to a bed now” proximity.
“Good to see you.” Blake tamped down his excitement and nodded toward the back of the lounge. “Care for a drink?”
“Sure, I’ll have one. Same as yesterday.”
Dutifully, Blake headed to the bar, where Raoul was placing a pair of mint leaves in a glass. “There you go.”
“I was . . . virgin Mojito? For me? I mean, Jason?”
“It’s called routine. Or customer service.” Raoul’s toothy grin added that another name was “mind-fuck, third step.”
“Uh, thanks.” He put another tenner down and carried the drink to Jason. “Different outfit tonight, I see.”
“They’re job clothes. I also work as an escort.” Jason took a sip from the cocktail. “When Brandon called me to say you were at the Garden, I was in the area, so here I am.”
“Here you are.” An escort? Interesting. And yes, of course a rental Ferrari would have other drivers. He was bound to. Blake forced himself not to squirm. “Well, thanks for coming in.”
Jason nodded. “Anyway, I figured you might not mind too much what clothes I was going to take off before we fuck.” Jason slid closer, and Blake realized the distance between them had helped him keep his hormones under control. Because suddenly, things like lost sleep and expensive negotiations were becoming less important. “You are here for a repeat, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Even though I don’t have the whole night. Important meeting tomorrow.” Important? Hardly. Not with those eyes fixed on him, and sure as fuck not when—
Jason’s palm met Blake’s thigh. Blake shivered. Oh God.
“What time is this important meeting?” Jason purred.
Meeting? What meeting?
Blake cleared his throat. “It’s um . . .” He closed his eyes as Jason slid his hand higher. “Nine. In the morning. In, uh . . .” C’mon, c’mon. You know this place. “In Canary Wharf.”
“Damn.” Jason frowned, but there was still a playful—and somewhat predatory—gleam in his eyes. “You don’t have much time, then, do you?” He raised his eyebrow much like Brandon had done earlier, and that gleam intensified. “So I guess the sooner we agree on a price, the sooner we can get out of here.”
Blake gulped. Jason was certainly direct. And that was what he liked, wasn’t it? Among other things. Like the things he could do with that mouth of—
“Right. Price.” Blake sat up a bit and put his hand on Jason’s leg. “I’m that buyer who likes to flip through the whole catalog and see what’s available.”
Jason laughed quietly. “Well, there isn’t a whole lot to browse.” He gestured at himself. “What you see—and what you’ve seen—is what you get. The only variable . . .” He slid his hand all the way up and grazed Blake’s groin through his trousers. “. . . is what you get to do with me.”
Take my money. All of it. Jesus Christ.
Blake couldn’t help pressing against Jason’s palm. Not a great negotiating technique—the wise buyer never let it show that he was more desperate to buy than the seller was to sell—but his body apparently hadn’t paid attention during those MBA classes. “We both know this is going to end with us in my bed.” He trailed his fingers up Jason’s forearm. “Why don’t we save some time and negotiate in the car?”
Jason shook his head. “I think I like watching you squirm.” He leaned in closer, and whispered, “I want you to tell me what you want, and I want you to tell me what it’s worth to you. Then we’ll go.”