Alexa

---

The taxi took me to Cipriani’s on Wall Street – the famous Club 55. Not that I knew what Club 55 was until I googled it earlier in the day. It was way out of my league.

Mr. Big Shot 69 was way out of my league.

I'd spent most of my life traveling with my dad to bases around the USA, living in base housing, and communing with the other military kids. We were firmly lower middle class. Before he retired and took a job teaching flying at a local flight school near Portland, my father drove an old Ford Country Squire station wagon and we pulled a trailer behind us when we went on vacation. He drank beer, liked to barbecue steaks over coals and wore a Timex.

So, I wasn't used to expensive men. I was only attending Columbia on scholarship and could never have afforded it on my own or based on my father's income or pension.

I paid the cabbie and then got out, standing in front, taking in the building with its impressive façade. Even the entry was gilded, shiny brass fixtures and glass. I didn’t belong there but had to admit it was fun to get the chance to go inside.

I took in a deep breath and opened the door, clutching my bag and wondering what kind of evening I’d have.

The interior of Cipriani’s ballroom was amazing. It was a huge venue with several large rooms used for meetings and receptions, as well as a restaurant and several bars. I had no idea where the terrace was, and in fact, had no idea that there were so many separate rooms, but the place was big. It looked like something you’d see in Italy. I went to the main bar in the ballroom and stood there, wondering where the terrace was. The venue was dim with sparkling lights that made the vaulted ceilings look like something out of Rome or Florence.

A tray of glasses sat on a linen-covered table. A small card at the bottom read “Bellini” which was a cocktail made with peach nectar and Prosecco – a sparkling wine like champagne. I took a glass and turned around to check out the crowd of people in the hall. I sipped the Bellini, enjoying the Italian cocktail’s sweetness.

I glanced down at myself, straightening my dress, checking that my jade Mala bead bracelet was on display, with my tree of life pendant. I wanted to watch to see if Mr. Big Shot 69 saw me and how he’d respond so I scanned the crowd.

Then, my cell dinged. A text.

I removed my cell from my bag and read it. Of course, it was from Candace.

CandyC: So, how’s it going? I’m dying of jealousy here…

Alexa: I’m here, Bellini in hand, waiting. No sign of Mr. Big Shot yet.

CandyC: Text me as soon as you can with all the gory details…

Alexa: I will.

I was going to put my cell back into my bag, but then I got another text and read it, thinking it was Candace, adding some snide or cheerleading comment.

Instead, it was MrBigShot69 himself. Luke Marshall. Cheating bastard with a huge fortune.

MrBigShot69: Come up to the terrace and meet me at the south end. I’ll be sitting at a table in the alcove so we can do some business before pleasure.

I swallowed hard at the pleasure part. He was the kind of man who might populate my sexual fantasies. Scratch that — he was the kind of man who most definitely populated my recent sexual fantasies, although he’d never be someone I’d want to get close to.

I sent him a text.

Lexi911: I’ll be there in five.

I drank down my Bellini for courage and then found the closest washroom so I could check myself over. I’d have to walk up to him while he watched, and I didn’t want anything between my teeth. Satisfied that I was as presentable as I could possibly get, I left the washroom and found a sign that gave directions to the terrace.

I took the huge marble stairs leading to the balcony, which was a narrow room with huge high windows overlooking Wall Street. Linen-covered tables lined the terrace and at the far end sat Mr. Big Shot himself, all alone. He was checking out his cellphone, and was sprawled on the chair, his legs spread like he owned the world. His dark bangs fell into his eyes in this really sexy way.

I took in a deep breath, and started to thread my way along the tables towards him, my heart beating a little faster.

Was I really going to do this?

I kept walking. I was really going to do this.

On his part, Mr. Big Shot was wearing some fashionable dark framed glasses and was dressed in a very sober black suit with a silky black tie and crisp white shirt. A red kerchief was tucked into his suit jacket pocket and I smiled to myself despite my nerves. It was his way of signaling who he was.

When he glanced up from his cell, I saw how gorgeous he was, even with the glasses. In fact, they made him even more gorgeous, because they gave him this air of nerd wrapped up in a very non-nerdy desirable package.

He removed his glasses when he saw me, tucking them in his pocket. Then, he stood, buttoning his jacket, blinking when our eyes met. Well, that was a good sign, right?

He stood straighter, a smile finally spreading on his lips. He looked pleased, at least.

When I arrived, he stepped closer to meet me, and bent down to kiss me softly on my cheek, one hand squeezing my arm.

“Lexi, I presume,” he said, his voice deep and warm. He met my eyes and his smile seemed truly pleased.

“Alexandria, to be precise,” I replied firmly, trying hard to be professional when what I really felt was sick to my stomach. “Apparently, that’s where I was conceived."

"Alexandria, Virginia?"

I shook my head. "No, Egypt."

He made a face of surprise. "Exotic."

"Not really. My father was an air force pilot stationed in Germany. He took my mother to Alexandria on their honeymoon and I was the happy result. Hence, the name.” I smiled, then kicked myself mentally. I was telling him about me – the real Alexa – not Lexi911. I wanted to come off as a sophisticated escort, not a nerdy college student. “You must be Mr. Big Shot 69.”

He bent down and kissed my other cheek, a smile on his nicely-full lips. I could swear he inhaled when he pulled back, as if he were trying to smell my perfume.

“The very man,” he said with a chuckle. “You can call me Luke.” He pulled out a chair and pointed to it. “Please, have a seat. We have some business to take care of first. But I’m truly interested in your story. John didn’t tell me anything, so I’m all ears on how a girl with a family like yours ends up being an escort.”

I sat down and he helped move my chair closer. I laid my bag on the table and waited while he sat back down beside me.

“Tuition is expensive.” I left it at that. “I’m a grad student at Columbia.”

“Oh," Luke said, frowning. "I thought John said you went to NYU. Well, I’m pleased regardless,” he said, pushing the sheet of paper and a very ornate fountain pen towards me, a cocky grin on his face. “Very pleased. John said you were hot in addition to being a brain, and he was right about the first part and if you're at Columbia, probably the second as well. That dress…”

I smiled to myself and leaned slightly forward, knowing full well that it would afford him a peek down my cleavage, which even I had to admit looked nice. I read over the legal document in front of me.

---

I’d never signed, let alone seen, an NDA so it was all new to me. I read it over, pretending that this was all routine to me, and when I had finished, I wrote my name on the line and signed the bottom, dating it as well. Then, I handed it back to him with a smile.

“There you are, Mr. Lucas John Marshall. Signed, sealed and delivered.”

He took it from me and folded it up, tucking it into his jacket interior pocket and slipping his fountain pen in as well.

“Wonderful,” he said and then sat there for a moment, taking me in, his eyes roving over me in a very lascivious manner. “I hope you don’t mind me asking once again, but why is such a beautiful woman like you selling yourself as an escort? You could be a model, with your looks.”

I scoffed at that. “You flatter me. I’m far too short, my curves are too big for standard modeling and not big enough for plus-size.” I shrugged.

“You look perfect to me. I personally love short women. I like to be able to pick them up and carry them to my bed.” He grinned widely at that. “Place them on top of me and let them ride me like a bucking bronco.”

My eyes would have usually widened at a statement like that, but I had to catch myself. I was an escort. Who knew what kind of whacky and perverted things I must have done in my time servicing rich men? Instead, I kept my cool.

“Then I’m your girl,” I said and smiled. “Short, eminently carry-able, and in addition to being a budding political scientist, I’m a very skilled bronc rider.”

“Political Science?” he said, his mouth open. “He said you were smart, but I had no idea it was Poli Sci.”

I had no idea what I was doing, revealing true tidbits about myself, but I decided to just go with the flow.

“Yes, I was going to study medicine, be a paramedic, but it was far too stressful. International Relations is far more sedate. You know, nuclear weapons treaties. International conventions on chemical weapons. That sort of thing.”

His eyes narrowed in response and he kept watching my mouth as I talked.

“I can see why he likes you,” he said softly.

“Who? John?” I replied, remembering the story of how he got my name. Of course, it was all a lie, but I wasn’t going to fess up at that point. Maybe later, when I saw how the night went, if he wanted some extra delicacies instead of just a straight date. At that point, I’d confess that I wasn’t Lexi911. Then, I’d go home with a fantastic story to tell at our weekly brunch the next day.

“Who?” he asked, his expression blank as if his mind was elsewhere. Then, he shook his head as if he’d made a mistake. “Oh, yes. John, of course. That’s how I got your name. Through John.”

“Yes,” I replied, a weird sense that we were both lying. “Through John.” Then, I got nervous. What if John was at the function? I had no idea who he was. As soon as Luke introduced us, the jig would be up and I’d have to confess.

All of a sudden, I got this feeling – the feeling that I should stop listening to Candace and start thinking for myself. I thought because I was older that she would no longer be able to lead me down the path to hooliganism, as my mother called it back when we were in high school. Apparently, I hadn't grown up yet. Candace had a real rebellious streak due to a bad family life, and it was only finding her calling in life – the study of rocks, of all things – that kept her from ending up in Juvenile Hall. I had no such excuse.

"Is John coming tonight?"

“No, unfortunately,” Luke said and frowned. “I don't think he can come. Sorry to disappoint. All you’ve got is me tonight.”

I smiled. “That’s fine. I just thought…”

He nodded. “You just thought since we were business partners that he’d be here at the dinner. No,” he said and leaned back in his chair. “He was invited but had other plans. This is all family and their business colleagues. My family. A pack of wolves if there ever was one.”

I frowned. “Really?”

“You don't know much about my family, do you?”

I felt really stupid for other than my google search on his failed engagement, I hadn’t done much reading up on Luke Marshall and his family fortune, relying on Candace to fill me in. I knew Marshall was a big name in the business world, but I wasn’t much into the local business scene. I was studying treaties. What did I know about business?

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not from Manhattan. I'm pulling a blank.”

“You know Er--," he said and then stopped and frowned, adjusting his tie. "I mean, you met John, though.”

I had to think fast. “We didn’t do a lot of talking…” I raised my eyebrows suggestively, hoping that would shut him up.

He grinned and laughed nervously. “Of course not. It’s just that I’ve never done this before,” he said and pointed to me, and then to himself. “I’ve never hired anyone before, to, you know. Go on a date. Or have sex. I’ve never really needed one.”

I nodded, trying to appear sympathetic but he sounded like an arrogant dick.

Never needed one...

“Of course you never needed an escort,” I said, and rested my chin on my hand, trying to look at him adoringly, when I was really thinking he was a spoiled brat. “I can’t imagine you’d be single for very long – or have to pay for sex.”

“I haven’t been and I don’t.” Then he took in a breath, like he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. “Let’s go downstairs. I hope you can put on the performance of your lifetime. Pretend we’re old friends from college. I went to Columbia for my undergrad so we can say we met then. We started to see each other only recently, but are very much in love. How does that sound?”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for my response.

“It sounds like a good story,” I said. “I happen to be a student at Columbia and while I was never in any business classes, maybe we met at the pub. It could have happened. I can fake it with the best of them.”

He stood up and held out his hand. “It totally could have happened. But,” he said and pulled me close, holding my body against him with a hand on my lower back. "No faking it with me if we get into any extra-curricular activities later. Okay?"

"I won't unless I need to," I replied, narrowing my eyes suggestively.

"You won't need to," he said, his voice sounding husky, like he was already getting ideas.

Who was I kidding? I was already getting ideas…

Then he kissed me, a full-on lip lock, and it wasn't just a friendly kiss. It was enough to set my heart racing, and my traitorous body responded like Pavlov's Dog to a bell, swelling and wet and ready.

When he let me go and grabbed my hand, it took a few seconds for me to recover and I couldn't help but smile to myself. When I saw his own smile, it made my back stiffen. He was not going to control me so easily.

Mr. Big Shot 69, arrogant cheater on his fiancée…

I took in a deep breath and tried to get ahold of myself. It had been a loooong while since I was with a man and I was not going to just fold up like a chair at the first handsome, sexy, wealthy, alpha male billionaire that kissed me.

At least I'd try not to…

---

We walked past the empty tables to the marble staircase.

"Here goes everything," he said and took in a deep breath. Together, we made our entrance to the event.

I felt eyes turn to see us as we emerged from the staircase to the main ballroom and several people pointed. It made me feel a bit like Cinderella at the ball with her Prince, except Luke wasn’t charming. Well, he was, superficially, but he was still a jerk. He was totally a business man, doing business, an exchange of money for services rendered, and was trying to make someone jealous.

Okay, I had to stop kidding myself. He was charming and gorgeous. Let's face it, a man who looked as good as Luke didn’t have to be too charming. You could shut off your ears for a while, forget he was a cad, and just look at him…

Was it a recent girlfriend he was trying to make jealous? Would she be here? I hadn’t thought to ask about who he was trying to make jealous.

“I forgot. Who are you’re trying to make jealous?”

“Don’t you worry about the why,” he said quickly. “Just look beautiful and sound smart when you talk to my family and any colleagues we meet.”

I nodded and together, we walked out into the throng of people, who looked like all the rich and famous of Manhattan’s business elite. Not that I personally would know what any of them looked like, but if I could imagine it, they would look like these people, polished, rested, rich.

Who was this Lucas Marshall?

I’d never heard of him until this whole business, but that wasn’t saying anything since money and commerce were not my things. More like politics and sociology.

Once upon a time when I was in High School, I had a dream to become an actress and move to Hollywood. I was my drama teacher's star pupil and was hopeful. Then I got mixed up in an intrigue that took me on a one-hundred and eighty degree turn from that and changed my life.

So, even though I had no idea who this bunch of rich people were, I knew how to act.

I’d pretend.