My Troublemaker Sugar Daddy

The man's friends leaned in, their ears perked up in disbelief.

"Wait, seriously? Jack becomes a total nightmare when he's drunk. There's no way he'd make an exception for anyone."

"I remember one time, I tried to help Jack back to his room after he got wasted. He snapped my arm like a twig."

"Same here. Everyone says drunk Jack turns into the Grim Reaper. Get too close to him, and you're done for. I was young and stupid enough to test it once. I got him completely hammered just to see what would happen. I ended up with fractures all over my body and spent two months in the hospital."

"The doctor said Jack has this insane self-defense reflex. When he's drunk, he doesn't trust anyone, so he attacks whoever comes near him. What makes this girl so special that she's the first person he actually trusts when he's wasted?"

"I don't buy it. You'll have to prove it to us."

I raised an eyebrow and pulled out my phone to show my Venmo. "Sure, wire me $500 first, then I'll give you a demonstration."

Someone actually pulled out their phone and sent me $500. My phone chimed with the payment notification.

I pointed toward the cash register. "Let me go settle my tab first. Get him drunk, then come find me."

Everyone in the booth started egging them on. Only one man, Jackson Channing, narrowed his eyes at me with a dangerous look.

I was not intimidated. I had seen what he looked like drunk plenty of times. I had several photos saved on my phone of him passed out, hugging a toilet.

Ha! He could sit there in his VIP booth looking all dignified and refined, playing the perfect gentleman all he wanted. But in front of me, that image was long gone.

After settling the bill at the counter, my colleagues and I called it a night. They headed home while I turned back toward the booth. I had taken $500, after all. The least I could do was put on a show.

Jackson's friends were already doing their best to get him drunk, trying every trick in the book. However, Jackson was not drinking.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me straight out of there, shoving me into his luxury Maybach.

The car door slammed shut with an explosive thud, like a shaken soda bottle finally popping its cap.

I rubbed my nose. "It's not my fault you only trust me when you're drunk. You think I enjoy the hassle?"

This whole thing started six months ago.

I had gotten off work late that night and spotted a man sprawled out in the middle of the road, using a rental bike as a blanket.

It was absolutely ridiculous, so I felt like it was perfect content for my social media. I had to get a video.

When I got closer, I caught sight of his face. He was absolutely gorgeous, though he was clearly hammered, reeking of alcohol.

He kept mumbling that he was thirsty and wanted water. I pulled my water bottle from my bag and poured him a sip.

He was surprisingly docile about it, gulping down three big mouthfuls.

I tried to wake him up. "Hey, you can't sleep in the street like this!"