The presidential suite makes me feel like a king. This room? Makes me feel like the court jester.

  I pace the cramped confines of what Lara generously calls a "suite" but is really just a glorified hotel room with slightly nicer sheets. The bed dominates the space, a queen-size isnd in a sea of beige carpet. At least it's clean. The casino might be a front for all kinds of shady business, but they don't skimp on housekeeping.

  Gncing at my watch, I see it's almost time. Professor Susan Kessler should be here any minute, thinking she's meeting a high-end escort for an afternoon delight. Which she probably is… But she’s still going to get an earful from me.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize myself. I've dressed the part today, crisp button-down, scks that hug in all the right pces. Victor's uniform, not William's. The makeup artist at the casino even touched up my face before I came up here, hiding the dark circles under my eyes from a sleepless night spent repying yesterday's catastrophe.

  Jesus Christ. My son. My Shane.

  I put my face in my hands, the image still seared into my brain. Shane on top of that girl, her wrists tied to his bedposts, that look of absolute horror when he saw me standing in the doorway.

  I might be a bad dad. No, scratch that. I am definitely a bad dad.

  What kind of father walks in on his son like that and then, instead of having a proper conversation about it, hooks up with his calculus professor the very next day? The awkward silence at breakfast this morning was so thick you could've cut it with a knife. Shane couldn't even look me in the eye, and I didn't push it. Just mumbled something about respecting each other's privacy and left it at that.

  And now here I am, ready to use my body to solve my son's problems.

  "But he’s such a good kid…" I speak out into the ether.

  I hear the door open behind me, and I turn to see Dr. Susan Kessler standing in the doorway. She's exactly as I remember her from our st encounter, tall, slender, with that distinctive long red hair cascading over her shoulders and those smart-looking gsses perched on her nose.

  "Victor Sugartooth," she says, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "To think you'd reach out to me after all this time. It's been what, two years since our st appointment?"

  She steps into the room, letting the door click shut behind her as she surveys me with those analytical eyes. The same eyes that apparently make my son feel "hopeless" in calculus.

  "I've never heard of an escort reaching out like this," she continues, setting her purse down on the small desk by the window. "Usually it's the other way around."

  "Well," I begin, shifting my weight as I try to find the right words. "This isn't exactly a normal appointment, Dr. Kessler."

  She raises an eyebrow, a small smile pying at her lips. "Susan, please. I thought we were past formalities." She moves closer.

  I take a deep breath. This is for Shane. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about one of your students."

  Her smile freezes, then slowly fades. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Shane Gray," I say, watching her face carefully. "He's in your calculus css."

  Susan takes a step back, her expression morphing from confusion to something harder. "Is this some kind of joke? How do you know my student?"

  "He's my son."

  Susan's face flushes, her eyes widening in shock. "Oh..."

  "Yeah. You called him hopeless. In front of everyone." I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep my voice steady. The parent in me wants to rage, but the professional knows better.

  She shifts her weight, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I didn't know his father was the best escort in the city."

  The compliment doesn't nd. "Not exactly relevant to his calculus skills, is it?"

  She gnces around the hotel room like she's expecting hidden cameras. "So what is this, some sort of shake down? You gonna have someone come beat me up? Maybe bckmail me by pnting drugs on me or something? Unless I py ball?"

  "Jesus, no!" I take a step back, genuinely horrified. "What kind of person do you think I am? I'm just a dad trying to help his kid!"

  Her shoulders rex slightly, but wariness still lingers in her face. "Then what exactly do you want from me, Victor."

  I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "I was just hoping if we had a few free meetups, maybe you'd throw my son like a free A- or something."

  She blinks. "Ah."

  Susan's expression shifts as a slow smile spreads across her face. It's not the professional smile she wore when she entered, but something more predatory, more knowing.

  "I don't know, Mr. Sugartooth..." she purrs, moving toward the bed. Her fingers slide to the waistband of her pants as she sits down on the mattress. "This is highly unethical."

  But she's already unbuttoning and sliding the fabric down her legs.

  "Is your name even Victor?" she asks, kicking her pants aside.

  I swallow hard. "No. It's Will."

  "Interesting..." She tilts her head, studying me with new eyes, like she's putting together pieces of a puzzle. Her shirt is next, fingers working methodically on each button.

  "Come on," I say, gesturing vaguely between us. "I remember how much you enjoyed our time together."

  She ughs softly, the sound warm and rich. "You're not wrong. I really did..."

  The st of her clothing falls away, and she stretches out on the bed, completely naked now. Her red hair spills across the pillows like fire. The afternoon light filtering through the cheap curtains casts a golden glow across her skin.

  "Perhaps," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, "you can improve your son's grade by showing me how much you care about... calculus."

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Susan, I'm forty years old. I don't py games. Are you taking the deal or not?"

  She doesn't break character, doesn't even blink. "Will, come on. I'll only help Shane if I know you truly care." She gives me a wink that says everything her words don't.

  "Well, if this is the only way..." I say pyfully following her lead as I start unbuttoning my shirt, fingers working quickly through the motions. Years of practice make this part easy. My clothes come off in what feels like seconds. Shirt, pants, underwear, all folded neatly on the chair by the desk.

  Susan watches me with appreciative eyes, her body stretched nguidly across the bed. "Since your son has…”

  I cut her off. "Let's just not mention Shane while we do this," I say firmly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please."

  She nods, a brief fsh of understanding crossing her face before she clears her throat. "Of course," she says, coughing slightly. Then her expression shifts back to that predatory look. "Now come here and show me what you've got, Mr. Sugartooth."

  I grab a condom and roll it on, grateful for this small barrier between us.

  "If you really want to demonstrate how much this opportunity means to you," Susan purrs from the bed, "you'll have to do all the work. I expect to be... thoroughly convinced."

  I can't help but smile at that. "No problem," I reply, moving toward her with practiced confidence.

  I crawl onto the bed, positioning myself above her like I've done with countless clients before. Her red hair fans out across the pillow, catching the light in a way that almost makes this sordid arrangement seem beautiful. She parts her legs for me, inviting, and I settle between them, my weight banced on my forearms.

  "You're even more beautiful than I remembered," she whispers, her breath warm against my face.

  I line myself up, ready to push forward and seal this bizarre deal. Just as I'm about to enter her, Susan reaches up and starts to remove her gsses.

  My hand shoots out, catching her wrist. "No," I say firmly. "Leave them on."

  *****

  The hotel room reeks of sweat and the unmistakable musk of sex. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, my chest still heaving as I try to catch my breath. Five used condoms litter the floor beside the bed, evidence of just how determined I was to secure this deal.

  "Jesus Christ," Susan pants beside me, her red hair spyed across the pillow like a fme. Her fogged up gsses sit askew on her nose.

  I push myself up on my elbows, muscles protesting after the workout I've just put them through. "So will you help my son?"

  Susan turns to look at me, still mid post-coital bliss. She nods slowly. "Yes. I'll do whatever you want."

  The relief that floods through me is almost embarrassing.

  "Thank you," I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it, grateful for the distraction from my own thoughts on fatherhood. It's a text from Shane.

  ‘Hey dad. Olivia wanted me to reach out to you to ask if you could meet tomorrow night to have dinner with her mom so she can apologize.’

  I frown at the screen. Apologize? For what? I start typing immediately.

  'She doesn't have to apologize at all.'

  Three dots appear, then Shane's reply. 'Her mom was mortified when she heard about it... could you do it for me?'

  Christ. Why the fuck would Olivia tell her mother about the bedroom incident.

  I sigh deeply before responding. 'Of course.'

  Another text pops up. 'The Crown Steakhouse 7:30?'

  The Crown Steakhouse? That's fancier than even I’m used to. I quickly check my mental schedule, surprisingly, I realize I'm completely free on a Friday for once. No casino shifts, no special clients. A rarity.

  'I'll be there,' I type back.

  'Thanks,' comes Shane's immediate response.

  I feel Susan shifting beside me on the bed. When I gnce over, she's finally sitting up, her red hair falling in waves around her shoulders. That look in her eyes is one I recognize well, the calcution of someone who's just had a taste of something they want more of.

  "So," she says, voice still a little breathless, "I assume we can do this again? Perhaps make it a regur thing?"

  I reach for my underwear on the floor, considering my options.

  "How about once every two weeks? Until the end of the semester" I offer, pulling on my boxers. "That seems reasonable."

  Her face lights up like I've just offered her a winning lottery ticket. "That would be spectacur, Will."

  I stand up, grabbing my pants next. "And I need an A-minus minimum for Shane. That's non-negotiable."

  "Yes, of course," she nods eagerly, sitting up fully now. The sheet falls away from her chest, but I keep my eyes on her face. This is business now. "And if you want, I can personally tutor him. I have some excellent techniques that…"

  "Absolutely not," I cut her off immediately, my voice sharper than I intended. The st thing I need is this woman anywhere near my son in a private setting.

  "That's fine too."