- Lily -
The stranger across the table was looking at me like a piece of meat, and as usual, the feeling was bittersweet.
On the one hand, it was my job to make him want me like that, my job to make him picture me naked and fixate on my mouth and neck and cleavage. My job to make him think that if he played his cards right, I might want him back.
But that didn’t change the fact that, deep down, I knew the attraction was empty. Dirty. Wrong. Deep down, I knew there was nothing sexy about the manufactured chemistry between us.
Then again, deep down I knew he’d probably tip me at least a grand if I let him touch me between the legs, maybe even more depending on how convincingly I pretended to like it.
I always made it clear up front that sex wasn’t part of the deal, though. Just because I was prepared to sell my company didn’t mean I was happy to blur the lines of consent. As far as potential customers were concerned, I was merely a date-for-hire. Rentable arm candy.
Plus, if the sex felt like an extra— if the client felt they’d won something they weren’t guaranteed— I was much more likely to earn a tip for going above and beyond. Vivian taught me that. And as much as it often surprised me, Vivian hadn’t been wrong about anything yet, including the fact that I could do this job. That I would do it.
Like most girls, I never imagined I’d become an escort. Of course, when you’re already a criminal, it’s hard to care about sliding farther down that slippery slope, especially when the money’s so good.
My poor mother—may she rest in peace—would be horrified at the things I did to make ends meet. After wasting so many words explaining the difference between good touch and bad touch, she probably turned in her grave every time I let bad touch happen in exchange for a wad of cash. Then again, hindsight being what it is, I understood why she made those lectures a priority.
I also understood that she didn’t do enough. Not even close. But she wasn’t as strong as me.
Obviously, I didn’t blame her for what I’d become, but I wasn’t going to apologize for it either. I was over being a victim. What I was and what I was capable of had been tested, and I owned that truth.
Besides, if I apologized for everything I was sorry about in this world— if I indulged myself in that way—I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, and I didn’t have the luxury of selfishness.
I watched Richard from behind coyly batting eyelashes as he ordered. He had nice broad shoulders and was on the verge of becoming a silver fox. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man that needed to pay for women’s company, but like most rich guys his age, he was likely tired of being put through the ringer by gold diggers.
That’s usually how men like him ended up taking girls like me to lunch, anyway. They knew the true cost—financially and emotionally—of keeping a woman, and if they could skip the emotional parts, they were happy to pay extra.
As he spoke, women his age cast admiring glances his way, their gaze turning dirty when it strayed to me. I was used to that, though. After all, it’s always women’s fault in our society. It doesn’t matter if it’s an elderly man courting a younger woman, a black man dating a white woman, or a young man dating a cougar. The woman is always the predator. At least as far as other women are concerned.
I already told Richard what I wanted so he could order for me. I even pretended to care about his opinion on what I should get since making him feel like a big man was all part of the game. When he insisted on a specific tweak for both his starter and his main course, I made a mental note that he was one of those guys who liked things customized.
Therefore, if I did decide to sleep with him (assuming he hired me for the event we were there to discuss), I’d be sure to ask him what he was into. And whether it was something I’d done before or not, I’d say it was my first time just to satisfy him. Because he wasn’t paying me to be honest. On the contrary, he was doing the exact opposite.
He was paying me to be both charmingly vacant and a deep well of sexuality that would never run dry. He was paying me to be a fantasy.
But it was no trouble. I’d rather not be myself anyway.
“So,” he said after he finally let the waiter leave. “I’m sort of new to this.”
In his case, I believed him. He’d had a kid-in-the-candy-store glow from the moment I walked in, a shine that tended to dull with regular clients.
“Maybe you could walk me through this?”
He seemed kind, which put me at ease. After some bad experiences last year, I’d been focusing on a slightly older age bracket. Younger guys weren’t as flush, and they expected too much for their money.
I’d found older men were not only more grateful for the company of a sophisticated woman, but they were also more generous in every way that counted. “Well, I thought it would be nice to meet for lunch to get comfortable with each other, since you said the gala was important to you.”
He nodded.
“So we should formulate a backstory.” I twirled the delicate charm on my necklace since his eyes were drawn there anyway. “And if there’s anything I should know about who else might be there or—”
“My ex-wife.”
“I see.”
“She fucked our gardener, and he’s living in my house in Palm Beach now, drinking cocktails bought with my alimony payments.”
I dropped my hand. “I’m so sorry, Richard.”
“Me, too.”
“So you want to win her back?”
“God, no. I just want her to realize what a con artist he is.”
I squinted at him.
“I want you to make him want you so bad she’s disgraced.”
“Excuse me?”
His expression turned so grave I felt like a PI. “I want you to do whatever it takes to make her lose faith in him, to make her see him for the manipulative user he really is.”
I took a sip of water.
“You seem surprised.”
“It’s a different angle than I was expecting.”
“I need to get that piece of shit away from my kids.”
I swallowed. “Have you told her how you feel about him?”
“Of course I have.”
I sighed. “This is sort of outside my jurisdiction. I’m in the professional dating business, not the home-wrecking business.”
“Name your price,” he said. “You’re exactly his type.”
I didn’t want to know what that meant and was relieved when he didn’t elaborate. “Aren’t you worried what people will think of you if your date comes on to someone else?”
He shook his head. “I’ll make it clear to everyone that we’re in an open relationship because my sexual appetite demands it, and I’ll look like a hero no matter what.”
Interesting.
“All I really care about is getting that guy’s feet out of my goddamn slippers and his hands off my goddamn wife.”
I leaned back in my chair and considered his proposal while the waiter presented our starters…until something distracted me, causing a shift in the air. It was the fleeting view of a man’s profile as he passed an open doorway on the far side of the restaurant.
It wasn’t that he looked familiar. I hadn’t seen him well enough. It was that he felt familiar. Fortunately, I managed to convince my mind otherwise. My body, on the other hand, was covered in goosebumps by the time I realized I’d been holding my breath.
“Are you okay, Bianca?” Richard asked.
His voice sounded like he was speaking underwater.
“Bianca?”
I snapped myself out of it when I remembered that was the name I’d given him.
“You’ve gone pale.”
“Sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath. “It’s nothing.”
It couldn’t be.