Last Words Prologue
Carly
“It was perfect. He’s perfect. He’s so handsome and polite and—and he opened the car door for me, and—I just, I can’t even tell you.”
I smile at that last bit. My beloved sister has been telling me for the last ten minutes about her marvelous coffee date with the most dashing man alive. I’d love to listen to her gab about her dream date for even longer, but the elevator doors open and it’s time to get my game face on, so I really need to wrap up this phone call.
“Laur, listen, I’m so excited for you and I can’t wait until I get home and you can tell me all about it, but my break is over so I really have to get back to work.”
She sighs heavily, still eager to girl talk. The bills have to be paid though, whether she’s met Prince Charming or not. “Well, should I go?” she asks.
I take a step into the corridor, spotting a suit-wearing gentleman standing outside the door at the end of the hall. Unease moves down my spine. I did not want to take this assignment, but when I expressed my reluctance to Rita, she laughed her ass off. Apparently, this is not a man you say no to.
“Go where?” I ask, not entirely paying attention.
“I told you, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner. I have to tell him when he gets back from making his phone call. I wanna say yes, but does it make me look like a total loser if I do? Like, they say it’s not good to be too available, right? Will he think I’m lame if I don’t have plans tonight? I guess he must not have plans either since he asked, but I don’t know the rules. Should I make him wait? I’m terrible at this stuff. You’re so much better at guys than me. I need your expert advice.”
I really don’t have time for this right now. “As long as it’s just dinner, sure, I guess so. I don’t care how hot he is or how many doors he opens, don’t you dare go home with him.”
“Oh, my lord, like I would do that. I’m literally hyperventilating at the prospect of the ride to dinner; I assure you we will not be getting naked anytime soon.”
“You better not.”
“I’m so nervous. Okay, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go to dinner with him.” She squeals, and I can’t help smiling. “Okay, got it out of my system. I’m good now. Nothing like this ever happens to me! Okay.” She pushes out another breath. “Wish me luck!”
“You’re brilliant, funny, beautiful, and awesome; he’s lucky to share a meal with you—you don’t need luck.”
“Love you. See you when you get home.”
“I look forward to hearing every intimate detail.”
I hang up the phone and tuck it away in my bag, taking a few seconds to collect myself before I strut down the hall toward the guarded door.
I’m nervous tonight.
I never usually feel nervous when I’m meeting with a new client—unless they like that, of course. Tonight I have no idea what my client wants, so I guess my nervousness is organic.
My orders for approaching Mateo Morelli are vague, at best. The only box he checked was “girlfriend experience.” I asked around to see if anyone might’ve tangled with him before me, but no one has—the uber hot Chicago crime lord never hires escorts to entertain him. Not until now, I guess. Maybe now that he’s getting married he wants to be a little more discreet.
Whatever, I’m sure it’ll be fine. I tell myself my nerves are just because he’s more dangerous than any of the men I’ve entertained before. I’m pretty good at landing on my feet, but when I’m dealing with the potentially dangerous, I like to have a better grasp of my surroundings. I would feel much better if I knew what to expect.
There’s a guard stationed outside the door who has to pat me down beforehand. This is actually not the first time I’ve encountered that, so I know the drill.
Another man opens the door, some scary-looking man with shaggy hair and a scarred face. He steps back to let me inside and closes the door, then he holds out a hand. “Phone.”
“I’m actually supposed to keep my phone on me for safety reasons.”
The man rolls his eyes. “Trust me; your phone wouldn’t save you if we had any bad intentions.”
That’s probably a good point. I don’t like to go off-protocol like this, especially with a first-time client, and especially with such a notorious first-time client. I hope this guy doesn’t have a basement full of dead hookers. I know he killed some girlfriend a long time ago. I also know he asked a lot of very specific questions about me before booking me, so I hope he doesn’t have some weird murder habit, like he goes around seeking hookers who remind him of her. He’ll fuck me and then kill me after. I’ll be really pissed.
Scarface here is still waiting for my phone, so I reach into my bag and hand it over. He takes it apart and dumps the pieces on a gleaming end table along the wall. Then he points to the wall and tells me he has to pat me down.
“The guy outside did that already,” I inform him.
“I know,” he states.
Lot of free feels going on here tonight, but I brace myself against the wall and let this one feel me up, too. “Good thing I don’t charge extra for this,” I say, lightly.
He is not amused.
“Just kidding,” I assure him. “I get it. Gotta be cautious. Better safe than sorry.”
“Are you a nervous talker or just a pain in the ass?” he asks, his hands creeping up my bare thigh. This is a little awkward.
“Sorry, I’ll shut up.”
I wait for his hand to “slip” like some of these ass clowns, but he remains professional, switching sides and finishing up the thorough pat-down without being gross. That’s nice. It actually makes me feel slightly better about this whole thing.
“You’re good,” he tells me.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I assure him, barely missing a beat before adding, “Unless he’s not into that. Do you know if he’s into that? I’m not sure what he’s looking for.”
“One way to find out,” the man states, opening a tall, gleaming door and gesturing for me to go inside.
Of course he rented out a giant-ass suite. Not like I had doubts he was a high roller, but this hotel room cost more than my fee. Can’t these guys just get a simple room with a bed and give me the rest of the money they clearly have to waste as a tip?
Since apparently no one wants to give me any hints, I’ll just play it by ear. Girlfriend experience, so he probably likes familiar and friendly. Don’t want to strut in like a man-eater. A lot of powerful men get turned on by the woman taking the dominant role, but that idea dies a swift death the moment I lay eyes on Mateo Morelli in person. He oozes dominance, and strikes me immediately as a man who holds onto his power with a death grip; no one’s prying it away from him while he continues to draw breath, not even in the confines of the bedroom.
My stomach sinks a few levels as he turns to face me, his sharp brown gaze locking on mine. He doesn’t immediately check me out, look over the goods he’s rented; he merely holds my gaze until I’m forced to look away.
Well, I guess I’m not forced, but I get the impression he wants me to. He wants to see if I’ll submit or challenge him, and all my instincts tell me this one much prefers submission.
I absorb this new information and feed it into my character. Dropping my eyes demurely, I take a couple of tentative steps closer, then coax a sweet smile onto my face and meet his gaze again.
“Hello, Mr. Morelli. I’m Madison. The agency sent me. You probably—you knew that already.” A fraction of a laugh slips out of me. At least I don’t have to feign the uneasiness. That’s authentic as fuck. I just got here and I’m already dreading and looking forward to this fuck in equal measures.
He’s hot and scary, and I do like hot and scary.
He still doesn’t speak. He cocks his head very slightly and keeps watching me.
I think he’s trying to make me uncomfortable. Okay… so, maybe he wants me to be a bit timid? Maybe he wants to be the big, bad wolf? I think he already is, but I guess he doesn’t drop that in the bedroom, either. Some people want an escape in the bedroom, something different from their everyday. I guess he isn’t one of them.
Since I’m not sure what else to do, I aim to melt some of his reserve. My touch tends to warm men right up, so I take the rest of the steps toward him—he makes no move to meet me halfway, not so much as one single step—and offer my hand.
Amusement flickers in his gaze as he looks at the hand I’m offering. He does not shake it.
After a moment, I drop my hand.
Okay, that was a flop.
Is he going to speak? Or move? Or give me fucking anything? I feel like I’m at an audition, performing for an audience of one without knowing which role I’m trying out for. Someone should’ve sent me a copy of the fucking script.
Well, best to keep things going. Girlfriend experience, girlfriend experience….
I keep my tone even and sweet. “How is your day going?” He doesn’t answer. I’m already beginning to expect that. I ignore his lack of response and continue on. “Mine was okay. I missed you, though. I was at home all by myself, so I just lazed around in my bed all day. I didn’t even bother getting dressed. Not until it was time to come see you, anyway,” I add, more fondly. I take a step to the side. He watches me, but doesn’t move. He lets me move around him, step behind him. With light, uncertain fingers, I rest my hands on his shoulders. To be honest, I half expect him to swat me away, but he allows me to continue, so I must be doing something right. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day,” I assure him. “I started thinking about you earlier, in my bed, when I was all alone. But...” I pause, biting down on my bottom lip and laughing shyly. “Well, I imagined I wasn’t alone. That’s silly, isn’t it? But I thought about what we would do if you were there with me. How much more fun it would be.”
He turns his head, glancing back at me, but he doesn’t offer any more than that. I assume I’m on the right track. If he doesn’t like this, he would let me know, right?
I press my breasts against his back—just a lean, an innocent enough move. My fingers work the edges of his jacket. I start to peel it off him, and he doesn’t stop me, so I keep talking.
“When I started thinking about you being there with me, I got so….” I sigh, like I can’t bring myself to say it. I finish taking off his jacket, then I take a step back and drop it on the bed. It’s his turn to make a move. He needs to give a little here, or I’ll be talking all night about how hot I got for him in my imaginary, probably pink, sorority-girl-pillow-fight-hosting bedroom.
“I got so wet, thinking about you,” I tell him, as I drop lightly onto the edge of the bed. “You wanna see how wet you make me, Mateo?”
I brace my hands behind me on the bed. I scoot back and cross my legs, drawing his attention to the incredibly short hemline of my tight black dress. (Incidentally, I would not have worn this dress, had I realized he might like them a little more innocent. Not much I can do about it now, so I’ll make it work.)
Finally, he speaks. “Not bad.”
My eyebrows rise in surprise. First, at hearing his voice for the first time. God, he has a good voice. He finally takes a step closer. My heart pounds in response. It feels like a reward for my efforts.
He leans forward, bracing one hand on either side of me on the bed. A breath rushes out of me and I flash him the doe eyes, but I hold his gaze. He drifts closer. I think he’s going to kiss me, but he brings a hand up and suddenly pushes me back on the bed. I wasn’t expecting it, nor was I expecting him to pounce afterward, straddling my hips and pinning me to the mattress.
Heart hammering, I search his face. Is this part of the game? Do I keep up the character I was playing? Is this a rape fantasy or a girlfriend experience? Those are usually not requested in the same night. Why couldn’t the asshole have just given me the information I requested before I showed up in this hotel room?
The sound of a man clearing his throat steals my attention. I dart a look over at the man with the scarred face. I didn’t even realize he followed me in here, but he’s standing guard at the door. I guess he’s going to watch. I don’t especially care, but it’s not my preference. Right now his narrowed gaze is on Mateo. He does not look remotely impressed.
Mateo ignores him, watching me. “Can you do rape?”
My gaze darts back to him and I nod my head quickly. “Sure. Do you want me scared, angry? Want me to fight you? Plead with you? I can probably cry if you need me to.”
He nods once at the option he likes. “Play it sweet. You’re more worried about my soul than your body. Plead with me to stop. Appeal to the good in me—you’re sure it’s in there, if you just look deep enough.”
That sounds like fun. I nod my head to let him know I get the message, then settle into my character. This is why I wish he’d given me information prior to our appointment. It’s much more immersive if you work out the details of a particular fantasy beforehand, then you don’t have to pollute the atmosphere night-of by going over the dirty details.
Now I wait for a cue from him. He seems to understand; he raises my hands over my head and pins them there, skimming my side with the tips of his fingers.
Cranking up the emotion, I tell him, “You don’t have to do this, Mateo. Please. You’re better than this.”
As if my words anger him, in a sudden burst of emotion, he grabs me, lifting me just to toss me down further back on the bed. “Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
Fuck, that was a lane change.
I rush to assure him, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes. I do know you, and I know you’re better than this.” He hasn’t pinned me back down yet, so I bring a hand up to tenderly caress his face, my heart in my eyes. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
His eyes narrow, then he roughly grabs my wrist. I gasp and he turns me over on my stomach, twisting my wrists behind my back and holding them there. “Maybe I wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t hurt me. Maybe if you weren’t such a faithless fucking whore I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
Oh shit, plot twist. Am I still doing the girlfriend experience on top of the rape fantasy?
I writhe, trying to get away from him while I search for my next words. “I… I—You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It’s all my fault. Please, can’t we just talk about it?”
His weight presses against my back as he leans in to ask roughly, “What is there to talk about? You’re getting exactly what you fucking deserve.”
I gasp as he yanks down my zipper and the back of my dress falls open. “Please, Mateo. Please, I’m so sorry. It’ll never happen again, I promise. I’m so sorry, but please don’t do this. You’re better than this. You care about me.”
“That’s right,” he agrees, too smoothly. Dangerously. “And if you fucking cared, you wouldn’t have let another man touch you.”
Even though I know logically that I, personally, have not done this, dread moves down my spine for whomever did. I hate the fucked up situations like these where it’s too specific and you know it has to be real.
I try to get my character to fight some more. This is supposed to be a rape fantasy, after all. I’m supposed to struggle. But she’s feeling saintly, because when I open my mouth, what spills out is a broken, “Fine. You’re wrong about that—it was a mistake, a mistake I’ll always regret, but if this is what you feel you have to do... Do whatever you have to do to me. Punish me if you need to. I’ll never stop trying to convince you how sorry I am. I’ll never stop loving you.”
There’s a pause and my heart skips. Maybe that was bad. Maybe I should’ve kept to the script—it’s just hard to follow, the damn script keeps changing!
Suddenly his weight is gone and cool air hits my bare back. He’s not holding me down anymore. He’s not on top of me. I wait, breathing heavily, figuring maybe he’s undressing. He snatches his jacket off the bed and I frown. Finally, I lift up and turn over so I can look back at him.
He’s pulling his jacket back on. The bursts of anger from our game are gone and he’s calm again, watching me, but clearly not addressing me. “Cancel the fourth girl.”
I glance over at the man by the door. He nods his head and pulls out his cell phone.
I look back at Mateo, curling my legs up behind me. I’m completely confused. He’s acting like he just finished and he’s done here, but he’s hardly touched me.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, tentatively. “I was just inspired there; I can go back to…”
He shakes his head. “No, you were perfect.”
“Okay.” I hesitate. “Um, but you didn’t fuck me.”
“I’m not going to fuck you.” He straightens the sleeve of his jacket, more interested in that than the semi-undressed escort on his bed.
I frown. “You’re not?”
“No.” For such a short word, he sure fills it up with disbelief and disdain. “Trust me; I can have better sex at home than I could with you.”
My jaw drops a few inches at the casual insult, but he continues on.
“You can zip your dress back up. The physical part of this interview is over, now I want to ask you some questions.”
I scoot toward the edge of the bed, more confused by the second. “Interview?”
He ignores me. “When I was combing through applicants, I specifically sought out the ones who collect admirers. You’ve had three so aggressive that you had to cut ties—one who progressed to a full-on stalker. Tell me about that one, the restraining order one.”
I sit here a bit dumbly, struggling to make sense of what’s going on. Interview?
This is the strangest fucking evening, I swear to God. I try to keep up as I reach behind my back and tug the zipper back up. “There’s not much to tell, really. It’s not unusual for clients to become admirers. I tried to be as nice about it as I could; I even tried to keep seeing them until it became clear that… it was becoming destructive for them. They were too consumed with me. That sounds really arrogant; I apologize.”
He smiles faintly, pulling a cushy leather chair from behind its desk and taking a seat in front of me. “No, it doesn’t sound arrogant. These were all after they fucked you? Were they pathetic men?”
I shake my head, recalling each of them in my mind. “No. Well, one was a bit of a sad sac, but the other ones broke the stereotypical mold, for sure. In fact, the one who went stalker was the hottest of them all.” I review his question and realize I forgot to answer part of it. “And yes, it was after we had been sexually involved.”
“Do you consider yourself a nice girl, Madison?” He halts, frowning slightly. “That’s not your name. What’s your real name?”
At this, I hesitate. “We’re not supposed to give out our real name. Specifically because of situations like the one we’re currently discussing.”
This amuses him. His handsome face lightens as he regards me. “Just tell me your name.”
“I really…” I really don’t want to tell a gangster my name. I didn’t even want to come here tonight. I don’t do high-profile like this. Though, as crazy as this man is reputed to be, I can’t say I wasn’t tempted on an academic level. Studying him in an intimate environment would be kind of cool.
It’s not going the way I expected, though. Whatever this is, he doesn’t even want to have sex with me. I don’t know why I’m here.
He awaits my answer.
“Carly,” I say, on a sigh. “My name is Carly.”
“There we go.” He gives a curt nod of approval. “And do you consider yourself a nice girl, Carly?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
“Do I enjoy fucking men for money?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s not what I envisioned for myself when I was a kid, if that’s what you mean. But it’s helping me meet my goals and cover my responsibilities, so it’s fine for right now.”
“Would you like a different job? Similar, but different.”
I’m highly suspicious of any job this man could possibly offer me. “What kind of job?”
“A long-term position. You’d still be fucking for money, but only one client, and he would never know the nature of your relationship.”
I cross and uncross my legs, looking away from him. “I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t want to trick anybody. I don’t like hurting people.”
“Don’t think of it as hurting or deceiving him,” he advises. “Think of it as doing him a favor. Helping him move on. He’s hung up on someone from his past and I want you to sneak into the empty space she left and fill it. He may require excessive patience and understanding. He’s possessive, so for the duration of your assignment, you’d have to be loyal. If you’re not, it will get ugly. If you get soft-hearted and decide to tell him, it will get much uglier. He has a violent temper, but as long as you’re careful about not provoking it, you should be fine.”
My eyebrows rise and fall. I adjust my skirt. “As tempting as this offer sounds, and as flattered as I am that you’re offering, I’m afraid—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “This isn’t an offer. This is your future. It can be a nice one, if you choose to make it nice. Or it can be a chore if you choose to be difficult. Whether this is a good or bad thing depends entirely upon your attitude.” He reaches inside his suit jacket and draws out a few photographs. As he leans forward to hand them to me, he adds, “There’s room for stability and advancement in this position, too. Once you get him over her, I don’t care what you do with him. He doesn’t excel at letting go, so if you want to keep him, that’s a realistic possibility.”
“If I want to keep the violently angry man you’re paying me to seduce…” Before I can finish that ridiculous sentence, my eyes land on the man in the photographs. For a moment, I forget how to speak. This is the assignment? He’s hot as hell. How does this man need someone to hire a hooker for him? This doesn’t make any sense at all.
“It’s a good set-up,” Mateo states. “He’s set to inherit millions shortly after you get settled into your relationship, as well. Get in on the ground floor and he won’t know you’re after his money.”
I’m not after his money. I’m not after him at all. This man talks like I’ve already accepted the position.
I flip through the pictures for another minute. This is sort of tempting, if I’m being honest. I don’t love banging different men for money and I’m not attached to a single one of my clients. It would be an enormous relief to be able to quit this job but still have enough money to pay for Laurel’s school—not to mention my own.
Would I be able to pursue my own studies, or would this guy be my full-time job?
I almost ask, but I stop myself. If I ask questions, it seems like I’m considering it and I can’t. It’s wrong on so many levels. I don’t want to lie to this guy. I don’t want to use him.
“I really wish I could help,” I tell him. “It’s just everything you’re saying makes me feel dirty and disgusting, so I can’t. I understand my vocation probably leads you to the conclusion that I’m trashy or superficial, but this is honestly a means to an end for me. Like stripping your way through med school, but less public. I start grad school in the fall. I’m not whatever you think I am. I don’t…” I shake my head, offering back the pictures. “I can give you recommendations, though. I do know girls who would leap at this kind of offer—”
“I don’t want other girls, I want you. I’ve already combed through every escort in Chicago. I have very specific parameters for this position. I narrowed the pool down to four. You’re the one. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I recommend the easy way. I give you lots of money and potentially a rich, handsome husband; you give me peace of mind.”
“And I hurt and use and lie to someone.”
“It won’t hurt him,” he argues. “As I said, he’ll never know.”
“I can’t keep a secret like that,” I tell him, eyes bulging. “And husband? Pump the brakes.”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “Whether or not you marry him is up to you. Based on knowing him, I assume he’ll want to get married eventually. All I really care about is that he gets over my wife. I’ll contract your services for one year. In that time, you do what I need from you, and when the year’s over, leave or stay. I don’t care. I just need him adequately past his last serious relationship so that my wife can see he’s fine and I can put him behind us. It has to be real enough that the performance holds up in front of an audience. It’s one year of your life. It’s not that long.”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know this guy. What happens if he doesn’t like me?”
“He will. I met with you myself to make sure. Plus, this is only the interview. You’ll get some training before I throw you out in the field. I’ll give you surefire advice for catching his attention. Your job-related skills will go the rest of the way. It’s a good plan. It’ll work.”
“My answer is still thank you, but no,” I tell him, rising. The longer I sit here and listen to his pitch, the angrier he’ll be that I’ve wasted his time. “If you want a refund for tonight’s fee, I can put in a request at the agency. I only get a portion, so it’s up to them whether or not they give you a full refund, but given who you are—”
A smile flits across his face and he stands. He approaches me, using his full height to intimidate me. I swallow, but keep my shoulders back and my head up. “They never seem to pick the easy way, do they?”
I open my mouth to apologize again but he is already turning around.
“Call Alec.”
The man by the door nods his head and gets his phone back out.
Mateo turns back to me, his tone lightly regretful. “See, I thought we could do this the easy way. I leave knowing several of my loose ends are about to be tied up, you leave knowing you don’t have to suck an array of random dicks for money, and your sister returns home safely at the end of the night, thinking she had a nice date with a charming man. It could’ve been a good day for everyone.”
My blood runs cold at the mention of my sister. He shouldn’t even know I have a sister. He definitely shouldn’t know my sister went out with a charming man. The muscles in my legs seem to melt. I’m still standing, but it’s a balancing act. A gentle breeze could knock me over.
“Wait…”
He does not wait.
“Got him,” the scarred man says, with a phone to his ear.
“Tell him to get rid of her. Her sister isn’t cooperating.”
“Permanently?”
“Of course.”
I launch up off the chair, looking between them. “Wait! What—Slow down.”
Mateo meets my gaze coldly. “I don’t wait and I don’t slow down. Would you like the job?”
“I… I…can’t.”
Mateo nods once at the other man.
“The date’s over,” the man says, into the phone. “You won’t be seeing her again.”
Is that code? Oh, my God, are they putting a hit on my sister?
“Wait.” I lurch forward and grab Mateo’s arm.
He shakes me right off, scowling at me like he doesn’t appreciate being touched. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Enjoy the high ground. I’m sorry it cost your sister’s life.”
My chest feels like it’s caving in. “No, wait. Please. Please.”
He doesn’t stop walking. My cries don’t stir his sympathy. I don’t think he possesses any.
“I’ll do it!” I cry desperately.
Mateo pauses, his back still to me.
“I’ll… I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just please don’t hurt my sister. Please.”
Adrian looks to Mateo for direction. Mateo deliberates, keeping all of us hanging here in suspense. I can’t breathe. I think I’m going to pass out. I try to take steady breaths, but I can’t. Tears well up in my eyes.
Finally, Mateo glances back at me over his shoulder. “Good choice, Madison.” Approaching the door, he says, “Tell Alec to take Laurel home. Safely.”
I brace a hand on my chest, relief pouring through me.
I expect him to stick around, but he continues to head for the door. “Where are you going?” I call out, confused.
“Home,” he says, simply.
Mateo leaves the room, like wrecking my life is just an item on his to-do list and he doesn’t want to be late for dinner. I stare at the scarred man, eyes wide, chest heaving. They just turned my life inside out and they’re so fucking casual about it.
“We’ll be in touch,” he tells me, before turning and following Mateo Morelli out the door.