My story will not endear me to you and, frankly, I could care less if it does because I’m in this for the money and nothing else. There’s nothing redeeming about me. I’m a corrupt, money hungry, immoral asshole from Los Angeles. I’m every man’s worst nightmare and every girl’s fantasy.
I’m Spencer Blackwell…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most coveted guy to the guy no one wanted around and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Check out this excerpt from Greed by Fisher Amelie!
“We waited too long,” Lola finally said, when we reached her floor. She stuck her head out when the doors opened. “It’s clear,” she said.
I swung middle-aged Peter Knight onto my shoulders with only a little difficulty, glad for the minute rest I’d gotten between supporting his weight during the walk through the lobby and reaching Lola’s floor.
“Lead the way,” I told her.
Lola took me to her room, quickly unlocked the door and we entered. The entire ordeal couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I pitched him onto the bed. He laid there, clothes in disarray, hair mussed, and snoring.
Lola and I watched him for a good thirty seconds, waiting for him to stir but he didn’t, he was dead to the world.
“Shall we get started?” she asked.
I vacillated back and forth between right and wrong, willing myself to just walk away, begging myself to figure a way out but no argument was more convincing than the mil’ I was getting paid. Besides, I thought, as long as he complies, this is not a big deal at all. He can go back to his wife and kids and I can go back to Brown a little bit wealthier.
“Yes,” I finally answered.
Lola slithered from her dress and stood in her lace bustier and garters, let her curled hair down and went to the mirror, leaning over to freshen up her lipstick. I went to the bag on her bathroom counter and removed the SLR, slid on the power button and waited for her at the foot of the bed. I watched her, taking in her beautiful body, admiring her, internally acknowledging why she was the most expensive call girl I knew. She caught me staring in the mirror and smiled with perfect white teeth. That’s when I noticed it. She was breathtaking, yes, but if you really took stock of her, took in her little flaws, she was revolting. Nose tinged red from recently snorting. Of course, I thought, how else could you do what you did. Slight bruising expertly covered up with makeup around the throat and arms, evidence of her profession. I thought of my sister and wondered if Lola had a brother or even a father. Ribs protruding, proof to the naked eye that she starved herself to stay thin. Another product of our society. Another otherwise gorgeous girl made ugly by the pressures and influence of an L.A. life. I turned my head and observed the man sleeping in front of me. And how are you different? I asked myself. You’d do just about anything for money. You’d risk this man’s wife and family. And for what? So that your dad can manipulate another business deal to make him even more cash than he already has? More cash to spend in places where cash needn’t be spent?
Lola crawled across the bed, yanking at Peter’s tie, and licking the side of his face, posing with her leg wrapped around his.
Another million can give you better security, ensure you can live within the lifestyle you’re accustomed, eventually give you freedom from him.
Lola switched it up. She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her lacquered nails across his chest, pressing closely to him and smiling a viper’s expression at the camera.
It’s not likely this Maggie woman will ever see these photos anyway. It’s low risk and you get a cool mil out of a night’s work.
Lola straddled him, unbuckling his pants and threw her head back in mock satisfaction.
About the Author
Fisher Amelie is the author of The Leaving Series, Callum & Harper and Thomas & January. She began her writing career as a copywriter for an internet marketing company wherein one of their client's said, 'Hey! You're funny. You should write books'. Which in turn she said, 'Hey, get out of here! This is the lady's restroom.' While washing her hands and the embarrassment from her face, she thought they may have had a valid point. So, she took the thousands of hours of writing stories growing up, tucked them into her pocket and began writing and writing and writing.