Title: Sex or Love

Author: Bru Cardoso

Summary: Rory is a successful businesswoman in her mid-twenties with no time - or skill - for relationships. Jess is a good looking guy who is willing to spend a night pleasing a woman as long as she pays for it. What happens when they meet? AU Lit

Disclaimer: Don't own Rory, Jess or Lorelai. But I do own the plot.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! And Lee, who doesn't want Jess as a hooker? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chap and please review; tell me if you liked or if you hated it or expected something different; anything true goes.

Chap 02

Rory is sitting in a Chinese restaurant, staring at the simple card that has been driving her crazy the whole week. Today, it's been a week since Samantha has given her it and Rory couldn't be more conflicted about the subject.

On one hand she thinks it is absurd to pay a guy to have sex with her; that her life is fine and the lack of romance in it is just a phase. That she should go back to her meetings, deals, international phone conferences and overtime working. After all, what's wrong in being a hard-working girl that dedicates herself full time to the company?

On the other hand, she could try it once and see how it feels, she ponders. It sounds appealing to be in a situation like that; in which you can be in total control of what's happening and when it's happening for a little price. Also, it's much simpler than a real relationship, and really, she doesn't need another headache in her life.

The whole week she's kept the card in her wallet, taking it wherever she'd go, letting it remind her of the choice she still had to make; rip the card or call him. If only it was that simple.

She doesn't want to sound desperate but that's exactly what she is; she is desperately in need of some kind of affection from a guy. She wants – no, needs – to feel wanted, to feel beautiful, to feel desired; things she hasn't felt in several months, maybe years. She was sick of going to lousy dates with old businessmen who could only talk about themselves; so somewhere along the line she simply stopped going. And now here she is, wondering what is so wrong with her. She could go to those paid dates, but then she would have to pay to be stuck with a hot idiot for a whole night. And most probably five minutes after her date had started she would be bored as hell. She isn't really sure, but she suspects there isn't much talking when you hire a guy to have sex with you. And at the moment she couldn't be gladder about it.

She sighs and stares at the card for another minute before leaving a few bills on the table and going into the streets. She dials the number on the card and presses the green button. It rings once, twice before someone answers it, "Hello?"

Mechanically she flips her phone closed. "Okay; this hooker guy thing isn't for me," she tells herself out loud and starts walking again when her phone rings. On instinct she flips it open and says, "Rory speaking," a second too late to notice her mistake.

"Hello, Rory. I'm the guy you just called," he tells her.

"Oh right, sorry about that. It was wrong number," she says, trying to sound as convincible as possible.

He laughs, "Yeah, right, I've heard that a few times," he pauses. "Well, I don't know you, otherwise I'd have your number in my phone. And you obviously don't know me since it was wrong number. So, why don't we come to a compromise?"

"What kind of compromise?"

"We meet; you decide if it really was wrong number and I decide if I'll save your number in my phone."

She rolls her eyes. "That's your best line?" she asks sardonically.

His voice is cool. "It wasn't a line. If you called me you wanna talk business instead of playing around."

She sighs knowing he is serious – and right – "I don't know…"

His voice is somewhere between playful and mockingly, "It's not like I'm asking you to date me, kind of the contrary. And you can always walk out."

She is silent for a moment, considering, "I can walk out at any time, right?"

"Yup."

"Okay, when?"

"Hold on," he says, while he works his schedule on his palm top and starts mumbling, "…two days from now is a Sunday; I can't. Can't Monday. Tuesday… Okay," he says, talking to her again, "Tuesday night?"

"You don't have time to meet me before that?"

"Nope."

She sighs wondering what she has gotten herself into and nods, "I'll make Tuesday work. What time?"

"I'll send you a text message Monday with details. If you have any doubts, just call me."

She furrows her eyebrows, worried about what kind of doubts she should have, "O-kay."

"Good, see you then," he says before hanging up.

"Bye," she tells her silent phone.

She reads his message for the hundredth time and stumbles over her shoes on her way to the closet. She hasn't been this nervous in a long time; probably because she hasn't been on a date in a long time. Her clothes are everywhere and she suspects they planned against her, just so she would look like a late moron on her date; or something like it.

The message he sent her was simple, telling her the address of the restaurant where they would meet, saying it was a casual but nice place; that she should wear white and be there at 7:00 so he could recognize her. Since Rory got the message she had tried on over twenty outfits – including a few she bought in the last 24 hours. The first twelve hours after he sent her the message were spent trying on white lingerie and groaning every now and then when she looked at the mirror to find what she thought to be a disaster. After what seemed forever, she looks at the clock to find out it's already 6:15 and she still hasn't chosen what's she's going to wear.

Coming to the conclusion that there is no such a thing as a totally white outfit that is casual and, at the same time makes a woman look great, she chooses a black skirt and a white shirt and puts them on quickly before grabbing her high heels and purse on her way out. In the cab she sends him a message; 'Black skirt, white shirt and possibly 10 minutes late. Sorry.'

When she steps into the restaurant she suddenly feels comfortable in the cozy and casual place. It is not fancy at all, but it has attitude. She goes to a random waiter and tells him she is waiting for someone called Jess and that she isn't sure if he made a reservation or not. The waiter leads her to a table by the far wall, distant from the rest of the customers and she thinks it's probably the most discreet spot in the place. When she is sat he tells her he will send Jess to the table as soon as he arrives and offers to take her order before going to the kitchen.

"Your girl is here," the waiter, Matthew, tells Jess as soon as he steps into the kitchen.

Jess stands up from his chair where he's reading an old copy of Catcher in the Rye and takes another bite of his sandwich before looking at her table from the kitchen window. "Huh, she is okay," he says, not really impressed.

"Okay? I don't get why all these women actually pay you to fuck them! It should be the other way around!"

"It's because they are crazy bitches and all normal guys refuse to date or fuck or even get close to them. So they call guys like me and pay fortunes to have sex," he says, taking the last bite of his sandwich.

"So, do you accept her as your client?" Matthew asks mockingly.

Jess checks her out from the window on the kitchen door, "Nice legs, slim figure, silk hair, porcelain skin," he starts describing her but suddenly stops when she turns her head around and he is faced with her wide blues eyes. "I'll take her."

Mathew laughs and mocks again, "Oh, don't make such sacrifice. I can just go to her table at the end of the night and do it for free!"

Jess laughs and playfully pushes him with a hand. "The difference is I'm good at what I do and you suck; and not in a good way," he smirks.

Jess opens the kitchen door and walks straight to Rory's table in just a few large steps. He sits down in front of her and she jumps in her seat in surprise.

"Not what you were expecting?" he asks with a smirk, his eyes roaming the upper part of her body.

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable. "I wasn't sure about what I was expecting, really," she tells him in almost a whisper and looks down.

From her staring at her own nails, he presumes she won't break the ice, so he tries to make small talk. "How did you get my number? Someone's suggestion, right?"

"Yeah," she says blushing. "My friend gave me your card."

"Who is your friend?" he asks, curious, trying to remember if any of his clients made a comment about telling a friend.

"Oh no," she yelps urgently, shaking her head violently and he can't help but let his smirk grow. "My friend has never… done it with you. I think she has probably done it with one of your friends; but she swears she has never used your number," she promises.

He shrugs, "Hey, I don't mind; but I'm guessing you do."

She blushes and steals a glance at him. After a minute she breaks the silence, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you; this is not for me. Just tell me how much I own you and I'll let you go," she says, getting her wallet from her purse with trembling fingers.

She can't remember being this nervous in a long while. This guy was mocking her while she offered him money to sleep with her; this was crazy. Things like 'Great idea Rory!' and 'I'm gonna kill Samantha' popped into her head more and more often.

He furrows his eyebrows together, a smirk in place, and puts a hand over hers to stop her movements. "Is it your first time?" he asks, curious.

"What?" she almost screams and a few other customers around the restaurant look at them.

He tries to suppress his laugh but can't, his smirk growing even more, "With a guy like me," he elaborates.

"Oh," her face is scarlet.

"You know I'm not gonna bite your head off, right?" he says, trying to lighten up the mood.

She laughs nervously, "Yeah, it's my first time with 'a guy like you'," she quotes. "It was my friend's idea, actually. I'm not even sure why I called you, really."

"Well, I could answer you that, but then I would most probably scare you off."

She looks him in the eye, "Tell me."

He stares at her for a moment before deciding to answer her, "The reason your friend suggested it to you is probably the same you called me; you need a good convenient fuck, for some reason you don't get it – the reasons are endless; don't get enough with your husband, is a workaholic, have aversion of men, whatever - and you can afford to pay for it," he tells her easily.

She blushes furiously for the hundredth time that night, "And it doesn't bother you?"

He shrugs again, "As long as you pay."

"How does it work?"

He laughs and she glares. "Pretty much like sex in general works, the basic difference is that I get paid in the end," he patronizes her.

She rolls her eyes, "I mean, do I see you whenever I want or it's like therapy – once a week? And do you accept check or only cash? And-"

He interrupts her, laughing, "Hey, hey, hey. Slow down. A minute ago you were walking away and now you're trying to book me weekly. How about we go and give it a shot; if you like it I'll tell you my rules, if you don't we part ways and it's like we never met."

She eyes him suspiciously. "No one knows about it, right?"

"A hundred percent secrecy; it's not like I hand out fliers about my job."

She nods nervously and giggles at thought.

"You look like you're afraid of me or something; you shouldn't. If anything it should be the other way around," he jokes, trying to calm her nerves.

She laughs a little.

"You have money?"

She nods again.

"Okay, let's go?" He stands up and offers her a hand. She takes it and grabs her purse with the other. He can feel her body gets stiff when he touches her arm and notice how self-conscious she really is, unsure about how to act; so he makes it easier for her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She lets out a breath she hadn't noticed she was holding and rests her head on his shoulder, a small, shy smile playing on her lips.

From the spot where he stands, leaning on kitchen wall, Matthew watches his friend taking yet another girl out. He shakes his head in disbelief. "He always gets them!" he thinks out loud before turning around and going back to the dishes that must be served.