Colour. Part 2

He paused for a moment, his eyes not on me but on the dance floor. I had the sensation he wasn’t watching the silhouettes of throbbing bodies but that his mind was elsewhere—far, far away from the stupid bar.

“Also, don’t expect this to be some kind of love affair. I give you money and you fuck me when I feel like it. You come with me to parties. You smile and pretend to be interesting.”

His eyes glittered as they met mine. “Don’t ever think this is some kind of fairytale. I’m not going to magically fall in love with you and become reformed. I’m not some troubled guy in need of a girl to fix me. You’re not Julia Roberts and I’m sure as fuck not Richard Gere.”

His brief grin told me he’d been down that road before. “I am who I am and I will treat you fairly well. Bills will be paid. I just ask you cooperate with me. I’ll be, for all intents and purposes, your sugar daddy.”

A small grin twisted across his face. “Just don’t ever call me that. I prefer compani