It’s wild how broke I am fifteen minutes after my direct deposit hits. Like, my bank account laughs at the scarcity of funds and pole vaults them to my car payment, my credit card, and my student loans.

My diet consists of Ramen and envy. Can you get scurvy from eating nothing but Ramen? I can’t remember the last time I had an orange, and my teeth feel suspicious.

I have three part-time jobs, not because there aren’t any full-time jobs, but with college, I need to schedule around classes and clinical, and a forty-hour work week just isn’t possible.

I work at the campus bookstore and the donut shop, but where I make the most money is DoorDash. And it’s flexible. Sometimes I bring my books in my car and study while I wait.

It’s like an adrenaline rush when I hear that ping on my phone. It hits sharply in my ear, and I have only seconds to decide to accept or decline. I’ve gotten quite good at mental math. A few bucks for nine miles… calculate the tip, nah. But eight dollars for four miles, decent tip, accept!

I go to the deli and grab the order. It’s ready when I get there, and I already know the building I’m heading to, so no need for GPS. Beautiful delivery so far.

I park out front on the street and head up the elevator to the tenth floor. A message from the customer chimes, “Please don’t knock, just open the door quietly, last door, brass nameplate, Chief Executive Officer.”

I walk down the hall of mahogany doors and brass nameplates. Most doors are open, and the hallway is buzzing with loud conversations, phones ringing, and typing on keyboards. I see the nameplate at the very end of the hall, and the door is closed.

I hesitate momentarily, listening, hearing nothing. I turn the doorknob slowly, and it glides open, revealing a huge office. The far wall is floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking our oceanside town and the river. The man looks up, still on the phone, and holds up his finger, indicating he’d like me to wait a beat.

I take a deep breath, looking around. He’s sitting at an oversized wooden desk, a leather couch, a coffee table, and a small round table with four chairs also occupy the space. On the table, I imagine a heavily used mirrored decanter tray with a bottle of scotch and four silver-rimmed glasses.

My attention turns back to him. He’s super-sexy, older. Dark skin, Italian maybe? His dark blue suit fit perfectly, accentuating his large arms and shoulders. Definitely works out. His crisp white button-down has the top few buttons undone. His tie is on the desk next to his laptop.

I can hear a female on the line, her voice elevated. His face holds lines that tell stories: hard work, late nights, and intelligence. He keeps running his manicured hand through his dark hair, flecked with a few silver streaks.

He catches me staring, and it catches my breath. He holds the phone away from his ear slightly, rolls his eyes, and gives me a small smile. He mouths, "Sorry, one more minute."

I return a polite smile and turn and wander, shuffling my feet, dropping his food order on the round table, touching random items in the room.

His bookcase with the usual: The Art of War by Sun Tzu, Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman, numerous other leadership books, Crucial Conversations, and autobiographies on top executives like Steve Jobs.

All very predictable, very middle-aged male businessman, very boring. But wait, what’s this? I pull a book from the shelf and spin around, holding it up… A Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung is my personal favorite book on dream interpretation. I mouth, I love this book!

He chuckles and mouths to me, same with a wide smile. His gaze lingers on me, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Hey, I’m sorry… I really got to go,” he says to the woman on the other line, her voice rising, still talking and cracking as he taps and ends the call.

He leans back in his huge leather chair and nods in my direction. “So, you like to interpret dreams?” he asks, voice deep, smooth.

I nod. “Love it, I remember all my dreams, even ones I had as a kid,” I reply lyrically, returning the book to its original space.

He smiles again. “Tell me about your dream from last night,” he requests.

I narrow my eyes, but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Do you want your food?” I question, holding up the deli bag.

“About that, yeah, that’s why I had you wait. I ordered the wrong thing. I wanted a pastrami on rye, but when I checked the order, it was tuna. I don’t like tuna. I was going to ask if you wanted me to pay you directly for your time if you were willing to go back.” He clicks his cheek and walks to the couch.

“But now that you’re here and we have so much in common, I’m intrigued. I want to hear about your dreams.” A huge grin spreads across his face as he makes his way to the couch. “I’ll reorder on the app, I’ll buy you lunch, can you stay and have lunch with me?”

I stare… I mean, yeah, I can, but should I? I’m broke. This is the one day I can DoorDash and make enough money to be able to get some actual protein, a piece of chicken, or maybe an orange for the weekend.

He must sense my hesitation because he adds quickly, “I’ll pay you for your time. What do you make with DoorDash?”

“A lot, usually like a hundred bucks sometimes more,” I lie confidently. But heat fills my stomach immediately. I roll my eyes. “I might make like thirty to forty,” I blurt out, guilt taking over. “I don’t know why I said that.” I look down, embarrassed.

He laughs. “I do. I remember my college days living on Hamburger Helper and coffee.”

I sigh. “I wish I could afford a hamburger,” I whisper.

He purses his lips and furrows his brow. “I’ll give you two hundred bucks to hang out with me and have an intelligent conversation about the psychology of our dream states. It fascinates me.”

“Same!” I squeal, dropping down on the sofa next to him. “Really, two hundred bucks?! I’m not sure I could accept it.” I search his face. He has kind eyes. “Wait… scratch that. What am I even saying?!” I scoff. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” I cry and throw my head back dramatically.

He laughs. “Cute. A Pride and Prejudice fan, huh… a hopeless romantic like me.” His acknowledgment makes my stomach flip.

Damn, he looks good, and he’s wearing Dior Sauvage, my favorite cologne. It makes me feel feral. I’m distracted by the way he smells, the way he looks, and the way he looks at me.

He hands me his phone. “Make your order, and spill… last night’s dream.” He sinks back into the couch, crossing his legs and stretching his arms out on the armrest and back. I place the order for us and hand the phone back to him.

“Okay, so I’m in this warehouse, and it’s filled with broken, empty crates, and all the doors are locked. I can’t get outside, and there’s this guy out there calling me. But I can’t get to him, and then money starts falling from the ceiling, but I can’t catch it. I’m running around and can’t get it… It just disappears when it hits the floor.”

He grins. “Too easy. The broken crates are your subconscious mind processing depleted resources. The money slipping from your hands is a fleeting opportunity, fear about the lack of ability to meet your basic needs.”

He cocks his head, and his eyes scan my face and drift down and back up slowly.

My chest tightens. I try to swallow and exhale hard. He begins again, giving me a small nod. “This other part is interesting. The locked doors represent blocked desires. Seeing a man outside you can’t get to symbolize unfulfilled sexual desires, trying to get out and can’t,” he pauses, licking his lips and giving me goosebumps. “This represents sexual frustration. And damn, girl, you are far too desirable to be sexually frustrated.”

I shrug. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t have time for anything but school and work. I have three classes and three jobs. It’s been a lonely few years.”

He looks around, reaches over to a photo on the coffee table, and turns it toward him.

“I get being lonely. I’ve been living alone in an apartment for 4 months. I’m separated, getting a divorce,” he pauses and then adds, “She hates me,” he says flatly, laughing a little, but his eyes don’t match the emotion. “She tells me daily, says I chose my career over my family.” He shrugs and spins the picture back in the opposite direction.

“Maybe she’s right, but it wasn’t intentional. It’s actually been a deeply lonely life.”

I reach over and touch his thigh, and he quickly runs his hand over mine without hesitation, sending electricity through me. I threaded my fingers through his before my mind caught up with my actions. He looked at our hands, then at me.

He leaned over and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me forward into a kiss so deep it made the room disappear. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine. “Maybe this is fate. Perhaps we can help each other solve a few of our problems,” his voice low, sure.

I barely heard him. Desire drowned out reason as I climbed onto his lap, heat meeting heat. Clothes gave way under impatient hands, buttons forgotten, mouths colliding again as though we were racing time itself.

The initial sensation of him was shocking. I was surprised at how raw and new this felt. The sting of pain mixed with pleasure. God, my mind is reeling, wondering how long it had been. I’m lost in my thoughts as he guides me, moving with me and kissing my neck.

With one quick and practiced movement, he laid me flat, face down on the couch, and he lowered himself on top of me. He wrapped one hand around my neck and slid the other underneath me, and my response to him was all-consuming.

He tightened his grip on my neck, his lips against my ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “I could spoil you, baby, if that’s something you wanted. All I want is this: connection, to feel wanted. Do you want me?”

“Yes,” I uttered breathlessly. The thought of having this man available for my desires is irresistible to me, and he’s offering to take care of me?! What does that even mean? What does that make me?

I have no idea where my words came from, but they fell out of me like I’d been getting ready for this opportunity my whole life. “Anything you want, mister. I’ll be such a good girl for you.”

His passion grew in response to my offer, and everything else disappeared. And he took full advantage. “Anything?” he whispered. I bite my lip and nod, looking over my shoulder at him.

His grin widened as he spit in his palm, and I immediately knew what was coming next. I brace myself for what’s surely going to undo me. He was deliberate and slow at first, thankfully, as this was a new and painful sensation. “My God, baby, thank you,” he murmured… his tenderness relaxing me.

It wasn’t long before I surrendered to it, and pleasure replaced pain. He responded with increased intensity, and when he breathed in my ear, “Finish with me,” heat rolled through me. My body shook beneath him as his intensity tore through me.

His weight settling on me gently, he whispered in my ear. “Baby, that was incredible. Now it's my turn, I'm going to spoil you properly.”

Two years of tension melted in his presence, leaving only the fire between us.

I’m not a victim. I’m not being used, and neither is he. I’m not too young, and he's not too old, and I can take care of myself and have been just fine. But if we can meet each other’s needs and feel this good doing it? Hell yes. Call me kept.