A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the positive response to the first chapter of this fic! To be clear, this isn't really based on Pretty Woman, and isn't going to be Mondler inserted into the scenes or anything like that – I've never actually seen that movie, but I'm familiar with the general concept and thought that since it's pretty popular, including it in the description might endear people to this story and avoid turning them off at the whole prostitute idea. Doesn't seem like it really worked, since most of you weren't sold on the summary, but I'm delighted I won you over in the end! Here's the next chapter – hope it lives up to the previous one! Monica lives in the same apartment as on the show, so have that in mind when it comes to the description. Oh, and this is Monica's perspective, by the way. Tell me which you prefer!

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Friends' or the characters. I feel like Chandler clones would be big business for Kauffman, Crane and Bright, though.

Chandler and I get a taxi back to my apartment, and I spend the entire ride watching him like a hawk, trying to gauge any hints of uncertainty or regret in his expression, but I find none. I tip the driver, and Chandler remains seated and wide-eyed, hilariously unaware of the correct decorum in these kinds of situations.

I open my own door, hoping that he will follow suit with his, but he stays glued to his seat.

"You can let yourself out," I begin, "you're paying me for sex, not chivalry." His eyebrows shoot upwards at my bluntness, but he follows my example as I step out the car.

"Maybe I can let the chivalry thing go, but I definitely need to be wined and dined, first," he jokes. His pace falls in line with mine as I lead him to my apartment building.

"With all the alcohol you've ingested tonight already? I don't think so," I reply, humouring him as we climb the steps, "and trust me, if I were cooking for you, I'd be charging you much higher. For some reason, most of my clients don't go for that little add-on extra."

His face lights up at this information.

"I will," he blurts out, and I pause. "I mean, if this were online shopping, I would totally be adding that option to the basket right now."

I stifle a giggle.

"Chandler, I'm not serious. I don't actually offer to cook for my customers."

He turns slightly red, and I scold myself for finding his innocence adorable.

"Well, why not? I mean, you'd make a fortune. It's a winning combination. Food and sex. That's the dream, right?"

"It does sound pretty good, Bing," I say with a smirk.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Last name basis already, Geller?"

I roll my eyes affectionately.

"Anyway," I sigh dramatically, "I'm a prostitute, not a housewife-for-hire. I'm not sure there's much of a market for the latter."

He turns serious, eyeing me up intensely, as if I've just reminded him of the nature of his visit.

"You're not a regular prostitute, though," he eventually declares, after a moment's contemplation.

"Oh, yeah?" I challenge him, "how many of us have you met? You don't exactly seem like the kind of guy who makes a habit of renting hookers."

"Hey!" he exclaims in mock offence, "you don't know me. I could be Chandler Bing, data analyser by day, pimp by night."

"Oh, wow," I chuckle, "I'm not sure which of those is worse. And I meant it as a compliment, by the way," I say sincerely as he meets my eyes. "Most guys I get treat me like a piece of meat they can ravage unconditionally. Or like their newest, shiniest toy that they then get bored with by the end of the night. Or both. I don't blame them, exactly. Expecting and accepting all that is kind of in the job description. But still, you've been somewhat of a breath of fresh air, and I appreciate it, even if you are totally out of your depth here," I finish lightly.

He ignores my last remark.

"Cook for me," he commands softly, his voice sounding like a wish being granted. "I mean, only if you want to, of course. But I think you want to."

I bite my lip, touched by his gesture. It's been so long since I've cooked for someone else.

"Why?" I whisper, prompting him to frown.

"I don't know," he mumbles, clearly having not thought this through. "Maybe because I know you love it, and I know you wish you made a living from it. And, y'know, since we agreed that we're friends now, I should be helping you achieve your dreams, and I'll pay you – or not, if you don't want me to – but it could be a nifty little earner" – his ramble is drowned out by the sound of his stomach rumbling, and we both burst out laughing. "Yeah, it's probably just the hunger talking," he quips, jokingly downplaying his offer.

"You really want me to cook for you?" I ask shyly, just to make sure.

"Nearly as much as I want the sex," he winks, and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

"You don't even know if I'm good or not. Maybe there's a reason I never made it as a chef," I state sadly, having intended it to be a joke before realising that it could very well be true.

"I think I'll take that risk," he says confidently, making me feel all warm and happy.

"Okay, deal," I announce, still unsure about what I'm getting from this agreement. "Dinner's on me. For being the most tolerable company I've had in years."

He gives me a small half-smile at this news, making passing up on earning some extra money totally worth it.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Chandler asks, his eyes radiating concern.

"More than okay," I tell him reassuringly, "but just like with the sex, no dinner until you sign the contract. Don't think that you can start suing my ass if I give you food poisoning."

He laughs wholeheartedly as I invite him into my apartment.

"Is a tour of your residence another one of those little add-on options you mentioned earlier, hmm? Trying to milk me for all I'm worth?"

I laugh, surprised at how easy it is to keep a conversation going with this guy.

"It's usually all-inclusive, but give me anymore backchat and I'll be forced to reconsider," I counter, matching his grin with mine.

We make our way through the open-plan kitchen and dining room before I lead him to the bedroom, in all its sparkling clean glory.

"So…" he trails off, taking in the room before him. There's nothing in it out of the ordinary, but he swallows anyway at the implications.

"So…" I mirror him, my voice evaporating into silence, and for the first time, it's awkward. "This is where the magic happens," I say suggestively.

I go next door – a room that was originally a bedroom, but that's now being used as a sort of office due to me not having a roommate.

"You okay?" I ask as I hear him follow me inside, not wanting to go on while things are still tense. "We don't have to" –

"No," he says, snapping back to reality. "No. I, I… I want to," he finishes quietly, and I don't understand why he's so insistent, but I'm glad he's not backing out.

"Here are the standard forms you need to fill in, contracts to sign," I say nonchalantly, handing him a pen. "I'll leave you here to look through all of this while I get started on dinner."

He looks up at me and gives me a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. I take that as a cue to continue.

"And, Chandler, if you really aren't sure whether you want to do this… don't do it. You can stay for dinner, we'll go our separate ways and then you'll never think of all this – or, or me – again."

With that, I leave him to it, convincing myself that I could forget him, too.

Twenty minutes and an almost cooked Italian dish later, Chandler emerges from the 'office', paperwork in hand.

"All done," he says, passing it back to me. I give it a quick scan, before casting it aside, satisfied with his answers. I notice the envelope of cash he's slipped in with it, discretely, as if he doesn't want to make a big deal out of that part.

"That… should do nicely," I say, my breath hitching as his lust-filled eyes meet mine, and I fail to recall a time where a client had looked at me with such desire without it being sleazy and making me feel cheap.

Our moment is interrupted by the oven timer beeping.

"Dinner's ready!" I say overly cheerful, trying to dispel the sexual tension.

"What are we having?" he grins goofily, taking a seat at the table. I'd decided against lighting the single candle that sits in the middle of it to hopefully avoid him getting the wrong idea – I'm still unsure as to why I've allowed myself to get so friendly with a client.

"Only Manhattan's finest mac and cheese," I declare, and I laugh at his thrilled reaction.

I dish up the food, and take my seat across from him, watching him dig in. Almost immediately, he closes his eyes in pleasure, and I blush.

"Oh my God, Monica," he says, and I grin smugly while also feeling a little turned on by his near orgasmic response to my food. We continue to eat in a comfortable silence, but I'm too distracted looking for signs of his approval to focus on my own food.

"Seriously, Mon, you are wasted doing… what you do," Chandler praises me, and I fail to acknowledge his use of the nickname. "We have got to do this again." He says it so candidly, like it goes without saying, and I feel panic coarse through my body. I push back my chair and stand.

"You know, Chandler, I'm glad you liked the food and all, but I'm not so sure this was a good idea."

He freezes for a second, and I swear I can see fear in his eyes. He slowly gets up and walks over to me, and I know what's coming.

"What? Why?"

"Look, I'm kind of only planning on this being a onetime thing. I don't date my clients. In fact, I don't date at all." I stare at the floor, soon feeling guilty for letting him down so harshly.

"I-I don't want to date you!" he stutters and I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Chandler, you're a nice guy, but if you can't handle this" –

"Jeez, I compliment your food and you think I want marriage?!" he shouts defensively. "I was just trying to do something nice and treat you like an actual human being. If that's so horrible, why did you go along with it?!"

"I don't know, Chandler!" I exclaim, cursing myself for getting wrapped up in his charm and actually indulging his request. "It's been fucking forever since someone offered to pay me to cook. I guess I just got caught up in the fact that you genuinely believed I could have talents and skills beyond being a good fuck and I wanted to prove it. To you, to myself, I don't know. I don't… hate my job, Chandler. It sure has its perks. But sometimes, at the end of the night, it just leaves me wondering whether I'm good for anything else, y'know?"

I watch as his face softens, eyes filled with sympathy, the anger and frustration dissipating as I talk.

"But I shouldn't have agreed to this" – I gesture to the empty dishes on the table – "I think it's given you the wrong idea, and we're not doing it again."

He sighs, dejected.

"Fine."

I give him a small smile, silently thanking him for not pushing it. I begin clearing the plates, expecting him to leave. When I don't hear the shuffling of feet, I turn around slowly, unsure what his angle is.

"Please don't ask me to leave," Chandler all but whispers. I suck in a sharp breath, but don't say anything. I feel my pulse quicken as he walks towards me.

"I don't care if you never cook for me again. That's not what I came for," he says softly, and I'm suddenly very aware of how hot it is.

"What did you come for?" I ask innocently. It's not the way I usually handle things, but I want to hear him say it.

"You," he murmurs, sending chills down my spine. "I want you," he reinforces, and I know there's no turning back now. "I want you, I need you – I need you to make me forget her," he adds, but it feels like an afterthought, and I get the feeling she's already forgotten. As if on autopilot, my body snaps into action. I meet his eyes, dark with arousal, and the only comprehensive thought I have is about how much I want him too. With that, my decision is made.

"Okay."

I step towards him, closing the remaining gap between us, taking his face between my hands. My gaze falls to his soft lips, and I use every bit of strength I have to stop myself capturing them with my own. Instead, I begin kissing his neck, eliciting quiet moans that could belong to either one of us. I feel him hardening against my body.

In one swift motion, he scoops me up, and I gasp, too swept up in the gesture to protest as he carries me to the bedroom. He lowers me gently onto the bed, his eyes seeking out mine. I actively avoid them, despite wanting nothing more than to look into his blue orbs.

I undress him hurriedly. He tries to reciprocate, but I stop him.

"Why not?" He asks, disappointed, but I continue to remove my clothes. "The contract doesn't…" his voice fades as I slip off my underwear, rendering him speechless. He takes a moment, absorbing the sight of my naked body. "You're so" –

"Don't."

I lie down on my back, for some reason not knowing where to look as he hovers above me. He cups my face with his hand, willing me to meet his eyes.

"Mon, just… look at me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Can't you? We're not technically doing it right now, so…" I consider his words, and find myself unable and unwilling to argue. I shift my gaze to meet his, my heart rate thumping in my chest as I realise that, for the first time ever, I don't recognise the look my client is giving me. He leans in, and gently caresses my lips with his thumb, leaving me breathless.

Before I know it, he breaks our eye contact and begins leaving a trail of kisses down my body, surprising me with both his skill and selflessness as I watch his head disappear between my legs.

He's good. Too good.

Suddenly, he thrusts into me, evoking sounds that I'm not sure I've even made before. The rest is a blur; quick and rough and hot, leaving me quivering in sheer bliss.

"Shit, Monica…" Chandler begins, still panting. I give him a pleading look, willing him not to say anymore. We lay in silence for a few minutes.

"So… what now?" he finally asks.

I know that breaking my regular etiquette by asking him to leave would probably be a wise idea, but I'm too exhausted, emotionally as well as physically, to really consider the option, already feeling myself drift off.

"Now, we sleep," I tell him. The… sleeping arrangements usually depend on the wishes of my client, but between Chandler and I, I pointedly put extra space. He takes the hint and rolls over to the other side of the bed, his back to mine.

"Goodnight, Monica," he says softly.

"Goodnight, Chandler."

A/N: This chapter was a lot more dialogue heavy than introspection – tell me how you found it! I nearly had Monica kiss Chandler on the lips in the last scene as I forgot about the contract – I think it's a little too early in the game for rules being broken ;) I felt like this story wouldn't work well without any description of smut, but I didn't want to make it too graphic, so I hope this was okay. I don't think it warrants an M rating, but let me know if you think I should bump it up. And yes, both this chapter and the last end on Monica and Chandler dramatically saying each other's names – I'm so predictable. By the way, I want to point out that I literally have no knowledge of correct prostitute protocol or anything like that, I'm literally just making it up as I go along. Hope you enjoyed! And please drop me a review. :)