Chapter Text
September 2026
Leon
Gray clouds gathered in the distance, the wind rustled the trees, and the chill early autumn air cut deeper than it should in this time of year. Although that might have more to do with the reason Leon stood in the graveyard than the actual weather. It’s been twenty-two days since Leon had last held his wife’s hand. It’s been nineteen days since he last heard her voice. If he looked at his watch, he could know down to the minute the last heard Ada speak, the last he felt her warmth, the last he felt any sense of comfort.
Crouching down, Leon placed his hand, covered in black, bruise-like marks, over the earth that forever took Ada six feet away from him. “I promise I will find and destroy everyone who did this to us.”
He stayed there watching the grass slowly spread over Ada’s freshly dug grave, wondering if he’ll live long enough to see the headstone he picked out for her. It would come up to his knees in beautiful granite, her name carved across the top with a teddy bear next to it. That was their thing, teddy bears. It started with a keychain back in Spain, and ends with a gravemaker.
“I love you,” Leon whispered, before rising to his feet. He had a meeting with Sherry, and he didn’t want to be late.
April 2029
Leon
Leon sat in his empty apartment, a Factor meal rotating in the microwave, and emptiness filling everything else. He couldn’t remember the last time he shared a meal with anyone that wasn’t Sherry or Grace. He cared deeply for those girls and felt grateful every day that both were safe and healthy. Smiling at the hand-drawn pictures Emily gave him, he knew they loved him and wanted him around. At the same time, he missed his wife. He missed having a woman around the house and everything they brought. He missed perfume on his sheets. He missed her things taking over his. He missed the brightness she’d inherently bring in this dreary place.
Not for the first time, Leon thought back to the suggestion from Chris. “If you just want the company of a woman without the commitment, there are ways to get that.”
After that, Chris sends him an invitation to an online high-end escort service. Officially, it was simply a website linking lonely people together. Unofficially, it’s a website for lonely rich people to pay money for company. That didn’t always mean sex, but whatever the two people negotiated.
“When was the last time I spent a meal with a beautiful woman?” Leon asked himself out loud. “Hell, when was the last time I went out to eat?”
He didn’t want a relationship. He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. He knew no one could replace his late wife, but he wanted to have a meal with a beautiful woman again.
Making up his mind, Leon went to his office, logged in to the website, and began looking at women. Maybe it was too short notice for tonight, but maybe tomorrow? Narrowing his search by gender, age, and desires, he began scrolling through the options. A part of him felt gross for going through women as if it were a meat market, but a bigger part really just wanted company for dinner. About the time he was going to call off the search, a pretty smile caught his eye. Opening her profile, he immediately liked her bio, "Passionate about life, art, and exploring new cities. I enjoy fine dining and stimulating conversation. Looking for a generous, worldly gentleman to share unique experiences and create lasting memories". She was even online.
Taking the plunge, Leon clicked the “Let’s Chat” button. What should he say? What does one say in a situation like this? Something like “Hey, I’m lonely, want to have dinner?” No, that definitely was not it. After a couple of minutes of thinking, Leon finally Googled “best first-time messages for sugar daddies.” Reading what the AI suggested, he went with, "I promise I'm not a bot—just a semi-charming lonely man who actually read your profile. 😉 Available for dinner?” Pressing send, Leon waited for two minutes. Cursing himself, he went to get his frozen dinner when the chime came through his computer.
“Semi-charming? I’m intrigued and available for dinner. Where did you have in mind?”
“She responded. Oh my god, she responded,” Leon spoke out loud, sitting back in his chair. Where should they go? Should he take her to a fine dining place? Is that too fancy? Does she expect fancy?
Typing and retyping various responses, Leon finally settled for, “Where would you like to go?”
“How about Mastro's Steakhouse? Say in an hour?” came her reply.
“Sound good to me, meet you there,” he sent, then realized he never told her his name. “My name is Leon, by the way,” he sent. Then he realized she had no idea what he looked like. Should he send her a picture of himself? Does he have a picture of himself? Grabbing his phone, he took a quick selfie, emailed it to himself, saved it to his computer, then sent it to her. “This is me.” God, looking at the stream of chats, he felt like a twenty-year-old boy again, talking to a girl for the first time. How did he ever make Ada fall in love with him?
“Nice to meet you, Leon,” she typed, giving her name during the time it took him to send his photograph. “Very handsome,” she responded to the picture. “I will see you in an hour.”
“See you then,” he sent, then just stared at the screen. He just made a date with an escort. Would this be considered a date? Is this a crime? He’s not paying for sex. He’s paying for her time. Deciding to stop overthinking it, Leon left his frozen dinner in the microwave and went to get dressed for his date, not date.
An hour later, Leon stood outside the restaurant deciding to go with jeans and a basic black polo. Checking his watch, he realized he was ten minutes early. Noticing a flower shop across the street, Leon decided it would only be appropriate to buy this woman roses. He knew this wasn’t a date. He did want it to be a real date. Yet, another part of him decided it was okay to pretend it was a date. He’d buy her flowers, open the doors, pull out her chair, all the things a boyfriend should do. They’d have a pleasant conversation, share a meal, and he’d pay for dinner. If it went well, they could do this again, almost like having a girlfriend without the strings attached.
He only had to wait another minute before one of the most mesmerizingly beautiful women walked straight towards him. He knew it was her the moment they locked eyes, and hot damn did the blood in his body go straight to his cock. Trying to discreetly adjust himself, he struggled to remember the last time he had this visceral reaction to any woman. Her dark jeans hugged her curves perfectly, showing off a round ass that made his cock twitch in his jeans. Bringing his eyes up towards her breasts covered in a black lacy bra, peaking out from a loose-fitting white button-up shirt, he knew she was way above his league.
You
It’s Friday night, and you have no plans for the entire weekend. Your long-term client passed away earlier that week. It was sad to get the news, but not surprising. He was in hospice for the last few months, with heart problems. He was a sweet old man, a retired CEO with a few kids who are now fighting over his massive estate. You never cease to find the whole thing depressing. A rich old gentleman, who lost the love of his life years prior and whose kids never visit, only matters when they want money; it does not matter if Father is alive or dead. They didn’t care about the same five stories he told on rotation. They refused to travel anywhere with him, not wanting to “deal” with all the added help Pop needs nowadays.
You didn’t mind at all. You listened to all five stories numerous times and laughed like it wasn’t the millionth time you heard it. You traveled around the world with him, making sure he had plenty of time to get on and off planes, cars, or whatever he needed. In return, he paid all your bills, gave you a weekly allowance, and bought you whatever you desired. Usually, that type of client wanted to enjoy your body in return for his “investments” (you were used to that term), but he didn’t. He really only wanted company to do whatever he wanted.
Now, having lost your top-paying client, you turned back on your profile and waited for the Johns. You got a few creepy hits, you’re a pro at spotting those after a decade of doing this. Then one came through, obviously a copy-paste of Google’s top response to “best openers for a sugar daddy”.
"I promise I'm not a bot—just a semi-charming lonely man who actually read your profile. 😉 Available for dinner?”
You knew instantly this was an older gentleman, first time looking into anything like this, and he was nervous as hell. The rest of your brief conversation only further confirmed your suspicions. You even let out a soft chuckle at his attempt at a selfie; him looking down at his phone. You were pleasantly surprised to see he trimmed his nose hairs. After confirming your dinner plans, you turn off your computer and get ready.
An hour later, down to the minute, you sauntered up to the man in question, and damn if you were not shocked by what you saw. His shirt hugged his body like a second skin, showing you this man worked out a lot. His arms, easily as big as your thighs, strained against his sleeves and across his pecs. Looking him up and down, you could easily imagine yourself riding his thigh and making yourself cum all over him. Mentally shaking those thoughts away and keeping your face a pleasant, nice-to-meet-you neutral, you walked up to the man.
“Leon?” you ask.
He asked your name, earning a warmer smile. “Nice to meet you.”
He held his hand out to shake. Instead, you place on hand on his shoulder, went on your tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. All my plans fell through for this weekend, and I was starting to go a bit stir crazy at home.”
A light blush covered his cheeks. “Thank you for agreeing to join me.”
“Are those for me?” you ask, motioning towards the bouquet of red roses.
“Oh yes,” he nodded, handing you the flowers. “A gentleman never arrives empty-handed on a first date.”
First date? That rang one of your warning bells. “Leon, you know…”
“I know,” he nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can we pretend we are?”
“You want the girlfriend package?” you ask, needing to know exactly what he wanted out of this relationship.
You knew what you did for a living. You knew all the words people used to describe you. Girlfriend? That wasn’t new, but it wasn’t exactly common. Most men who wanted the “girlfriend package” just wanted a girlfriend, and almost always ended up leaving in tears when their feelings weren’t reciprocated. You made a pact with yourself years ago to never go down that road again.
Leon looked around, ensuring no one could overhear your conversation. “I don’t want a real girlfriend. I’ve had the love of my life, and I’m not looking, nor wanting, another. I just miss the company of a woman in my life. I want to take you on dates, buy you things, take you on vacations, and all that, but absolutely no feelings. Don’t expect me to come to weddings, birthdays, or holidays. Unless I invite you to something like that, I am not going. I’ll give you a nickname, and you can call me one, but I will never say ‘I love you’, and if you do fall in love with me, then this,” he motions between the pair of you, “is over. Those are my expectations.”
You listen to every stipulation Leon says and carefully read his expressions. You needed to determine if he was indeed telling the truth. You say loss at the mention of losing the love of his life, understandable, that stayed for only a moment, replaced with determination and a profound sense of loneliness. In a way, Leon reminded you of your late client. He really only wanted a girlfriend on his terms.
“And here are mine. If you want the ‘girlfriend package,’ it sounds like you want me to be at your beck and call. Correct?” you ask.
“Correct,” Leon confirmed.
“The price to fill my entire calendar is $200,000 per year plus bills, weekly allowance, travel expenses, and shopping trips. If you have a will, you are not to put me in it. Does that sound agreeable?” you ask.
Leon looked you up and down before nodding. “Sounds agreeable.”
“Are you expecting more?” you ask, needing to know everything Leon expected.
“Would that be too much?” he asked.
“No,” you shake your head. “If there is more, then I’ll get tested every two weeks to ensure I am clean. I expect the same of you. I did get tested about a week ago. I am clean and have the results on my phone.”
“I had my yearly physical three weeks ago; they tested me then. I am clean, do I need to get tested again?” he asked.
“Have you had more between then and now?” you ask.
“No, have you?” he asked.
“No,” you answer.
“Is there a price increase for more?” Leon asked.
“The price goes up to $300,000 per year,” you answer. “Everything else remains the same.”
“I believe we have a deal,” he nodded.
“If either of us thinks of anything else that needs to be changed, we’ll negotiate then,” you reply with a kind smile.
“I guess I shouldn’t ask for this in writing,” Leon asked.
“I can get you a contract if that will make you feel better,” you reply. “My lawyer is really good at keeping all above the line.”
“I would like that,” Leon nodded, then looked at the restaurant. “If there’s nothing else to discuss, would you care to join me for dinner?”
“I would love to,” you smile, feeling his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the door, and opening it for you.