A Daddy for Damian – Joe Satoria

He wasn’t being serious. Was he? I always remembered my first IT class in high school. Don’t trust people on the internet. I tried to follow that rule. But when a handsome man matches with you on a dating site, then asks if you’re looking for a job, I couldn’t say no. Unemployed and with only half of my A-levels completed, I had nothing to lose. Except my life. But my second IT class taught me: meet strangers in public places. He gave me his name, but it sounded fake. Kristopher Kraus. Nobody was called that, but I didn’t care. He was hot. Or at least his photos were hot. Intense dark eyes and dark blond hair with a little facial scruff. And he showed up looking like those photos.

Six-foot tall, a full black suit, white shirt, and a blue tie. At a centre table in a busy coffee shop, I cradled a cup between both hands. I wore a light blue shirt, a pair of black chinos, and navy-blue boat shoes. Perhaps not interview clothes, but I didn’t even know if this was legitimate. He moved with a confident swagger, pausing before me at the coffee table. In his hand, I caught the glimpse of a somewhat heavy briefcase. “You’re young,” he said, an inflection of an accent on his tongue. I stared at his lips as he spoke. “Yeah. I had my age on my profile.” He smiled. “I know.” He placed the briefcase on the table. “Let me grab a coffee. Watch this.

” A trace of cologne lingered as he walked off. I let out the gulp I’d held in to keep my posture straight. Staring at the briefcase until he came back, I didn’t know what else to do. He had a to-go cup of coffee. “Did you look at the job description?” He’d sent me over in bullet points all the things he was looking for. I struggled to recall them. I was trying to process him really being here, in front of me. “Willing to learn,” he began, holding out a hand and pressing on his fingers. “Can commit to giving me all your time and doesn’t mind visiting sex clubs. Professionally, of course.” Had I heard correctly? “Sex clubs?” He nodded. “I’m an investor,” he said. “I’m just looking to invest in someone new.” “I’ve—I’ve never had a job.” We made prolonged eye contact.

“That’s why I chose you. And you look familiar.” “Yeah. I get that a lot.” “So, I’m looking to employ someone to be my assistant. I require little, but I need someone your age, and—” he continued to look me over, his gaze dropping and picking across my body. “You’re a fresh face, that’s what I need most of all.” I nodded back at him. “Ok, and what do you need me to do?” “You have a passport?” “Yeah, but—” “The job will involve paid travel. I’m German on my father’s side, so I spend a week or weekend there toward the end of each month.” I’d never been to Germany, but that did also make sense to his accent and the shift in the way he spoke. “Are you—what are you offering me?” “A job,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “I want someone new, fresh, young. You, basically. I can offer to pay you weekly.

” “Ok, but—” My heart thumped, drying out my throat. I didn’t know what was happening. This was going to be my first ever job. I wasn’t sure how possible that could be. I didn’t even know what the job was, and still he was talking about it like he was giving me it. “What do I do?” “My assistant,” he said. I’d heard that. He’d said that, but I wasn’t sure what being an assistant meant. “Paperwork and stuff? I’m not sure how good I am at Microsoft and stuff.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You’ll accompany me to meetings. You’ll take notes.” I didn’t know how well suited I was. He wanted someone without experience, but I wasn’t sure if I was at the level of unexperienced.

I’d never even thought of doing it before. The one thing that sparked me was the pay: five-hundred pounds per week. “How much do I get paid?” I asked, wanting to make sure that was a correct assumption. “Depends,” he grumbled. He glanced away, looking around the café. I could feel the gaze as it returned to me. “How much money do you need to do this?” “I’m not sure if—” my brows creased. “Well, I thought you—you said—” “How much?” “Five-hundred. A week.” “Done.” “Done?” He extended a hand across the table to me. “Damian Briggs, welcome to the team,” he said with a wide smile. “It’s just the two of us, and my business partner. I’ll get a contract for you. And you can start on Friday.

I have an important meeting.” “But that’s—that’s in two days.” “Correct,” he chuckled. He fished a hand into his suit pocket. “I’ll need you to collect some clothes before then. You’re—probably the perfect size for them.” “Clothes?” “Well, you can’t wear that.” I put little thought or effort into what I wore. This could have all been a scam. “If you don’t want to continue, all you—.” “Want to continue?” He nodded once more, his stern single nod and gaze crossed over me. “If you want to quit, I should say. If you want to quit, let me know.” I looked around the room, following his eyes as they moved, looking at everyone. “Did you invite anyone else?” I asked.

There were thousands of people on those dating apps. If he was on there, giving people the same messages, I couldn’t have been his— “Only you,” he said. His first. “Only me?” He nodded. “Yes. I’m selective.” More curious. How had he selected me? Based on my images alone. Kristopher placed a business card on the table. “The address for the clothes. My number. I will be in contact with you about the meeting on Friday. Get these clothes tomorrow and make sure they fit.” “It’s ok if they don’t,” I burst out, “my mum has a sewing machine.” A look of shock crossed his face.

“No. The team there. They will do it. Please. These clothes are expensive. Don’t ruin them.” I wondered if they’d look as expensive as the suits he wore. I thought I could smell the expense of the fabric in the room. “Got it. But so I’m clear. I’m just taking notes?” “For the time being,” he said. “Like I said, if it all gets too much for you. You can quit.” He stood, pulling his briefcase from the table and grabbing his coffee. “And ask them for a cologne, something nice, something that compliments you.

” I looked back at the business card on the table. “Ok.” “Look forward to seeing you on Friday, Damian.” He left me feel weak in the stomach. It happened so quick. I potentially had more questions. Like, what was he doing? What were the sex clubs? What was his job? And why was I being told I needed to wear a suit? The only thing I didn’t want to question was the money. That was a lot to get paid.


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Updated: 24 November 2021 — 02:32

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