The Dirty Lie My Sugar Daddy Told to Make Me Realize I was “Just Another One of His Sugar Babies”: Part 2

I saw Michael right away; he was dressed to the nines in a fancy suit with his hair done and face clean-shaven. “You look amaz­ing, my dear! Sorry that you had to find out this way, but would you have come if you’d known?” he asked smil­ing. He kissed me gen­tly on the cheek and took my coat off, hand­ing it to the front desk like a true gentleman.

Are you ready to wing it? Just go along with what­ever I say, excuse your­self if you are in an uncom­fort­able con­ver­sa­tion, and try not to drink more than two drinks. I know your alco­hol tol­er­ance is very low, but I trust that you won’t embar­rass me tonight out of anger or revenge,” Michael instructed qui­etly as he led me by the small of my back.

I sim­ply nod­ded and made my way through the party to the food as Micheal chat­ted with some of the other guests. I was starv­ing and fig­ured what bet­ter way to get out of talk­ing to peo­ple than hav­ing a mouth full of food.  I placed my order and found my reserved seat.

Michael’s law firm was thriv­ing, and sev­eral part­ners were sur­round­ing him, dis­cussing a few qual­ity under­lings they wanted to take on. The upscale steak­house had ridicu­lously good food, and it was one of the more expen­sive places to hold such a large event, but Michael didn’t care.

As a nat­ural wall­flower, I made my way through the party with very lit­tle inci­dent or issue until Michael was ready to go home. I excused myself from spend­ing the night at his place, as I was very tired. Michael didn’t mind, because he was just as worn out from the party.

As the town car arrived in front of my home, Michael kissed me gen­tly and asked again, “Please con­sider com­ing to live with me at the estate. If you do not feel com­fort­able liv­ing in the same house as me, you can take the empty house—it’s just as nice. What­ever you decide, please do it soon.”

I will con­sider it. Thank you for tonight,” I whis­pered as we hugged goodbye.

As I walked along the side of the duplex, my neigh­bor popped his head out of his screen door. “Was that your rich sugar daddy, Vivian? I couldn’t help but over­hear his pro­posal, and honey, if he’s got an estate, you should be liv­ing there in the lap of lux­ury, not here in this dump!”

Spy­ing on me again, Jimbo? Don’t you have a job or TV to keep you busy?” I snarled, walk­ing to the steps of my sec­ond floor apart­ment. I sud­denly remem­bered my car and started think­ing about what the heck that smell was, because I had always kept every­thing so metic­u­lously clean.

I opened the trunk to find my old sweaty work bag from the bar. I took the bag up to my porch and began to go through it; it was just filled with dirty laun­dry that I had com­pletely for­got­ten about. How­ever, I also found Keegan’s phone number—he was the guy who had tried relent­lessly to con­vince me to call him when I worked at the bar. I decided to send a text, just to see if it was a real, active num­ber. To my sur­prise, he responded almost imme­di­ately. I prob­a­bly should’ve ignored it, but my curios­ity got the bet­ter of me.