Chapter Four

Nightshift. How I hate working nights. I’d much prefer to work throughout the day, but my workplace operates twenty-four hours, and nights are when most of the action happens … when most of our bookings for following days, weeks, and months are confirmed.

My job: To pencil in appointments for our many escorts. To make sure all bookings are entered, and instructions for the meetings are communicated to the employees.

Our cliental: Wealthy, high-end, straightforward, money-making businessmen and women.

There’s no love involved in these appointed hook-ups. There’s no illusion of a future revolving around two-point-five children, a dog, and a little girl’s dream house. It’s piles upon piles of hundred-dollar bills and bustling schedules. Being perfectly presentable, showing up on time, and giving the client all he desires is a must. I guess it’s like online dating, but a millionaire’s version, for hook-ups and see-ya-laters.

Working here at Kit on High fascinates me even though I can’t say I enjoy it in any way, shape, or form. I stumbled into the job after replying to an online ad. It had little information about the actual profession I’d be walking into, just a request for a receptionist. I still, after answering these phones for the past two years, can’t fathom how two people can put on a show of attraction and fondness when they barely know each other. It’s even harder to comprehend when you consider most of these meetings take place in luxurious venues in rooms packed full of people and always end in a sexual encounter.

Ring, ring, ring.

I shift the microphone attached to my headset in front of my mouth before pressing the accept button on the console situated beside the computer. “Welcome to Kit on High, you’re speaking with Mindy. How can I be of service?”

“Good evening, Mindy, it’s Matthew Muller. How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m great, Mr Muller. Another booking?”

“Please. You have such a beautiful voice. I wish I knew what you looked like.”

I roll my eyes. Matthew says these exact words to me every time he calls to make a booking. He’d be less than impressed if he saw what I looked like, though. “Mr Muller, you’re very kind. Now, your booking, how can I help?”

“I’d like Callie for an event at the end of October. Is she free?”

“Date and time please, Mr Muller?” I click the mouse now cupped under my hand, bringing up Callie’s calendar.

“Yes. I need Callie from five p.m., Friday, the twenty-ninth, until ten a.m., Sunday, the thirty-first. Can this be arranged?”

“I will check. Please give me a moment.” I scroll down the page to find Callie’s slot for the requested dates only to spy the weekend highlighted in orange, which means a tentative booking has already been placed. I read the name: Matthew Muller. Callie would have created this booking herself because the only person who can add a tentative booking is an escort herself. It’s lucky for Matthew that Callie did because every other day up until the end of December in her schedule has already been allocated to a client. “Callie will attend, Mr Muller.”

“Perfect.” He sounds relieved, which is strange because I’d not noticed his tone was tense prior to him saying this.

“What requirements would you like me to note for your appointment?”

There’s a long pause.

“It will be a weekend on the water. Many string bikinis are a must. And an evening gown for a function on the yacht Saturday night. I’ll supply the necessary lingerie and jewellery.” He pauses. “I want Callie to wear red. Red looks so radiant against her pale skin.”

I type the details into the notes section as Matthew rattles them off. “Yes, sir,” I say once completed.

“You don’t fancy some time out to sea do you, Mindy?”

I fake a giggle. “Water and I don’t mix, Mr Muller.”

“You say this every time I ask you to come out on my boat.” I can hear his amusement.

I giggle again.

“Okay, beautiful, you have yourself a good night. My assistant will send you the address details, and if I think of anything else, I’ll pick up the phone and call you.”

“Thank you for using Kit on High. Have a lovely evening, Mr Muller.”

“Goodbye, Mindy.”

The line goes dead.

Pressing the end button on the console has me leaning back in my leather chair. If only making dates for myself was as easy as making these appointments for our escorts. How am I so confident in my job on the phone with the opposite sex, but in everyday life, I’m a bumbling mess?

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

You have to press six numbers into a keypad outside my door to gain access not only to the room I work out of but to the entire floor.

I sit stiff and upright in my chair at the sound, placing my palms on the glass table in front of me. I turn my eyes towards the blacked-out door panels, awaiting the entry of who I believe will be my boss, Ms Kathleen High. Usually I’d know beforehand who’s entering, but since the security camera’s outside the door are currently on the blink, I’m left blinded.

The door opens. Platinum blonde hair and blue eyes fill the gap between the door and its frame, causing me to relax my posture.

“Hey, hey, gorgeous. Is Kathleen around?” Callie’s voice is soft, smooth, and sweet like honey. Her toothy smile reminds me of the same one Julia Roberts flashes in many a movie. The door closes.

“No, she’s not in yet.” I smile.

“Shoot,” Callie tsks.

“I expect she should be arriving any minute, though.” I peek at my watch. “It’s one forty-five a.m.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. She’s never later than two.” As she sits, Callie’s long legs seem to stretch on forever until they disappear under her small black leather mini-skirt. There’s no doubting she’s in immaculate shape with a body created for the catwalk. She has toned arms, a tiny waist, and a large bust currently spilling out of a corset top now sitting an inch from my face.

“How're my appointments looking?” She’s bent at her midsection, sliding my mouse under her hand and tapping the glass over the top of it with one of her long black-painted nails. “Booked until December. Oh, and Matty did take that weekend. Good.”

“I just took the booking.”

“Fantastic.”

“Why does he always book in the early hours of morning?”

“Um.” Callie stops speaking. Her chin tilts slightly, in a way I assume she’s thinking about or searching for a reply. “Let’s just say he has a mind that never stops processing. He doesn’t sleep much, and he’s always working on something.” She stands, towering over me. “Oh, I love your dress.” Her instant change in tone, from monotone to chirpy, implies the conversation change. Callie’s always so lovely and complimentary, and she’s also incredibly smart from what I’ve gathered from our often-brief conversations. Out of all the escorts, Callie’s the one who most has her finger on the pulse. She doesn’t wait for her calendar to fill up; she takes the initiative and ensures her clients are rebooking her before she’s even left her appointment with them. Maybe it’s why she’s the most sought-after escort here. Perhaps I could learn a lot from Callie on how to sort through the plethora of men I might possibly find myself facing thanks to this new online dating world I’m currently entering. I’d like to find the right guy for me in a very short timeframe.

“Where did you get it from? I love those red roses against the black. What material is this dress made from?” Her blue eyes sparkle when I gaze up at her, and I’m not sure if she does like my flowy dress or if she's just being nice.

“I actually can’t remember.”

“Well, it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

Ring, ring, ring.

“Welcome to Kit on High, you’re speaking with Mindy. How can I be of service?”

“Melinda, it’s Kathleen, and we have a big problem. Is Callie with you?”

“Yes.”

“Put her on.”

“Okay, doing it now.”

I pull the headset from my head and hold it in Callie’s direction. “It’s Kitty, and she said there’s a problem, and she doesn’t sound happy.”

Callie’s red-stained lips tug upwards. “I’m sure she's acting dramatic. She’s often dramatic.” Callie slips the headpiece into her hair. “Hey, boss, what’s wrong?”

Callie’s face is mute of expression. “What happened?” Her eyes go bug wide. “Oh no. Is she okay?” There’s a long pause. “It was bound to happen. She doesn’t eat enough, and she probably got dizzy and passed out. I’ve been warning Alice that eating properly was essential.” Callie shakes her head. “Yeah, I can manage it, but I want your cut as well as mine.” She purses her lips. “It’s called business, Kitty Fingerlings, and my fingerlings want all the dollars.” She laughs. “Don’t you hate it when we repeat your catchphrases back to you?” Callie tips her head to the side. “Right-o, I’ll be there, and I’ll charge my phone so you can get a hold of me. But tomorrow, I need to talk to you. It’s important, and why I came in,” she says, laughing once more before hanging up and passing me the headset. “Got to fly, beautiful. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“I’m not on the night shift tomorrow. I have the weekend off.”

“Well, enjoy your weekend, sugar.” A quick turn on her six-inch heel has her hips swaying in the direction of the door. I really need to learn how to sway my hips like Callie does. It’s sexy—guys find it hot. I need to go from floppy sausage to sexy diva. I’m going to appoint Chris to help me with mastering the seductive saunter. I’m sure there’s a course on how to be alluring yet graceful. There’s a course for everything these days.

I open my internet browser.

Courses on how to be a sexy woman.

Search.

I sit scrolling down the page, wondering how many of these will open to porn. I take a risk and click on one, reading, learn to be as sexy and sultry as our women.

The alarm at the door beeps. My computer speakers fill with the sound of a woman who is either having the world’s most magical orgasm or she’s dying. I don’t look. Instead, I click my mouse frantically. “Close, no close. CLOSE!” I say in a panic.

“Coffee. Black. Strong. Now!” Kathleen stomps through the door, wearing a hoodie covering her natural tan and usually made-up face. “Watch porn on your own time, Melinda. Not at work.”

Oh, thank fuck! The screams of delight suddenly cease.

“I wasn’t …You see, it was …” Just let it go. She won’t believe you. “No porn. Okay, sorry.” I already know from this point to keep my head down and to be as quiet as humanly possible. When Kitty gets in a mood, all hell can break loose over even a minor situation. And I wouldn’t think using the work equipment to view porn is a minor issue. When Kitty thinks you’re doing personal stuff on company time, she gives you the stink eye and lets you know how pissed she is at you at every given opportunity.

“I’m not paying you to get your rocks off.”

“Yes, Kathleen. I understand. It won’t happen again,” I reply quickly.

I don’t breathe until she makes her way into her office. As soon as she’s gone, I drop my head and mutter, “Seriously, why me?”

Kathleen stays in her office and barely says two words to me after her arrival. I deliver her coffee, keeping my eyes turned downward and my lips zipped. She’s in full dramatics tonight, so much so that I begin to worry about how pent up she seems. I sit, listening, extending my neck in the direction of her closed door, trying to decipher the words she’s suddenly screeching down what I know to be the work phone because one of the many lines out is lit red, and I’m the only other person here.

There are bumps and banging, even a moment when she roars, then everything goes quiet again.

What’s going on?

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“Morning,” Indie chimes, walking towards the desk.

“Morning,” I answer, distracted. Maybe Kathleen’s had some plastic surgery gone wrong.

“Busy night?” Indie puts her handbag on the table beside mine.

“Yes. Alice passed out. Kitty’s in the worst mood I’ve ever seen her in. Be warned, there’s been banging and lots of shouting coming from out of there.” I point in the direction of Kathleen’s office.

“Really? Oh crap! Well, this shift is going to suck.”

I offer Indie a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll call Alice and make sure she’s okay. I love her; we’ve become friends, you know?”

I nod.

“You’re good to leave when you’re ready.” Indie runs her fingers through her long, straight purple hair.

“Is it six already?”

“Five minutes to, yes.”

I shake my head before throwing my arms into the air and pulling my shoulders back in a stretch.

“You look beat.”

“I am. I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Sounds good.”

I scoop my bag against my chest and shuffle my weary feet across the floor.

“Oh, by the way, nice dating profile you have on Romancing Gold, Mindy.”

I swallow hard. I know I’ve turned the colour of a rose from my sudden embarrassment.

I don’t turn around. Instead, I hang my head in shame.

I need to delete my account. How mortifying.