Chapter 12 Not a man who liked to be kept waiting

• As Grayson read over the girl’s file in his lap, he nursed another tumbler of scotch, and for the hundredth time debated what the fuck he was doing. And not just here in this sex club, awaiting the first meeting with the hooker he’d chose to be his surrogate, but also with his life in general.
• How many other twenty-four-year old’s were the vice president of a multi-billion dollar company, and couldn’t fucking sleep at night? How many others at his age faced this type of pressure, not just the unrealistic demands of his father, but also the fate of millions in this country who relied on the railroad like a lifeline? It was almost too much at times. It was too fucking much at times. It had been many years since his life was his own.
• And several, since he could last remember being happy. He’d wished more than once that he would have been born to middle class parents, that he could just be a normal twenty-something who could work a job just to live, not live to work, that he could catch beers and games with the guys during happy hour after their shifts. But then he felt the sting of being disappointed and disgusted at himself for that line of thinking.