Everyone woman has a number in her mind. It’s just a matter whether or not she shares it with you.

Everyone has a number.

No I don’t mean your identification number or anything.

I meant in money terms.

We all have that one number.

A figure.

This magical figure that would make you do something that you usually won’t do.

I’m not talking about murder or drug trafficking or anything.

Lets start off with something simple.

Say you hate chicken rice from a particular stall. How much do you think someone need to pay you to eat from that stall again ?

Well it’s a free meal at the end of the day, and you get paid. I’m sure the figure is somewhat manageable.

$50, $100 ?

How much would a stranger need to pay you, to give him or her a ride in your car, to a destination ?

I’m not talking about private hire, I meant letting others hitch a ride.

$10, $20 ?

Let’s get a little more intimate.

As a woman, how much would you accept if someone wants to sleep with you ?

This is where the interesting figures come in. I asked my friends this question before. Some of my closest female friends.

Just for 1 night of dirty love making.

What is their number ?

“ A million if he is ugly “ said one

“ Just one night ? Hmm, if he’s good looking I’ll do it for free haha “ said the other

“It really depends on how he looks isn’t it ? “ The other chimed

I helped the girls anchor their expectation by giving them a description of the man in question.

“ A 50 year old millionaire, uncle. Not good looking but doesn’t look like monster either “ I added.

I started to hear comments that he probably won’t last long, or he might get a heart attack started to flow around the table as the girls laughed.

I tried to steer the conversation back to the discussion and asked for the number.

The number that would make my friends agree to sleep with this man.

“ Hmm, one night ? …ermm.. Nah… I think a Million still. Haha “ Claire said

“ To be realistic, one night for a million is too much. I will go for $50k ? “ Yuting added while spreading more avocado on her toast.

“ Come on, a 50 year old uncle probably won’t last 10 minutes la. haha. I’ll do it for $10k “ Charmaine chuckled while reaching into her Birkin bag for some napkin.

The girls laughed and turned to me.

“How about you Juliette ? What’s your number ? “ my bestie Claire asked.

I gave an awkward smile and said for one night, probably about 20k.

Charmaine groaned while the rest of us laughed.

We teased her several times about how the richest girl among us is actually the cheapest when it comes to her body.

Everyone laughed and took it as a joke.

Yes a joke.

As the lot of us returned to our Sunday brunch of expensive coffee and avocado toast, I felt a sense of dread slowly creep inside me.

Because you see, I did not pluck the figure out of thin air.

There is a reason for that number.

It all started at a social gathering I attended with my husband.

I didn’t think much of it initially when a gentlemen approached me to give me his card accompanied by my husband.

His name is Tony. A supplier of medical equipment and devices to the region.

The 3 of us chatted casually and only after parting ways did my husband reveal that the man we spoke to is actually a very important client of his.

“ He’s the last hurdle we need to get pass to land the contract.” My husband said to me in the car.

The contract would feed the company and it’s workers for 1 year at least.

When my husband blurted out what the client thought of me, I looked at him in disbelief.

“ He thinks you are very pretty and adorable. “

“ What ? “ I looked at the man I married, trying to read between the lines.

Surely he cannot be asking me to sleep with Tony for the contract is he ?

My husband quickly explained that is not the case and definitely not what he had in mind.

I heaved a sigh of relief, suddenly thankful that my husband is not about to sell my body for a lucrative contract.

I know I look decent but I would not say I’m hot.

I just have that girl next door vibe that men dig.

Older men especially.

At 29, I still look so youthful that if I head to the clubs, they demanded to see my ID.

My petite frame also gave me that innocent student look.

I’m quite happy with my appearance and I have a face that turn heads every time. The only part of my body I’m not satisfied with is my breast. It’s a pathetic A cup.

Anyway, I believe it’s the overall package that counts and my many suitors over the years tells me I’m right about that.

The conversation that night in the car lingered on my mind and I could feel something was brewing. Call it a woman’s 6th sense or something.

My husband came home one week later and told me he got the contract.

I was both relieved and over the moon of course.

I really thought he was going to sell my body.

“ Just one thing dear, the client hope we can all have dinner together tomorrow night after we sign the deal.” My husband looked at me eagerly and I agreed of course.

It’s just dinner and the deal would be signed before that.

I just need to show up, have a good meal, entertain the client a little. It’s something I have done pretty often in the past.

If only I knew this time round, it would be different.

No, my husband did not sell my body for the contract.

He just facilitated the meeting.

I was the one who did the selling.

11100 words

Authored by Juliette

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