CHAPTER FOUR
Gabe waited for the elevator, a nice fifty in his back pocket and the satisfying hum of success in his head. That would be a new client. A potential regular, he thought. Short, tidy, clean, rich, and all he’d wanted was a blowjob. Gabe’s kind of client. The client had booked for the next time he was in Dallas in a couple of months, and Gabe had texted a note to Stefan. What he liked most about the guy was that he didn’t talk too much. His name was Mike, he was there on business, and he’d wanted Gabe on his knees with his hands behind his back, just using his mouth to get Mike off.
Easy stuff.
The first time someone went to hold his head post the shitfest a while back, he’d lost rhythm, but tonight there’d been no sign of the tense awareness that he’d carried with him for quite a few clients. Also, his hair wasn’t exactly grippable anymore, if that was even a word. It was short and neat and gave very little for a client to hold on to.
Stefan had taken him to get it styled properly, looking out for him so he didn’t look as much of an idiot as Stefan said he did. Not having the length around him, or the weight of the bun pulled up, was an odd feeling, but he was slowly getting more used to it.
The elevator arrived and he walked in, pressing the button for the third floor, and the doors closed. Getting off at the third floor and walking the rest of the way was just a matter of self-preservation. No escort worth his salt was caught too many times on hotel cameras, not if the anonymity the clients paid for was going to stay intact.
The elevator moved, but to his consternation it began to rise, going from this floor, the twelfth, to the fifteenth, which he knew was the top floor, the executive apartments. Money. He straightened and checked himself in the mirror, seeing only the tidy young urbane, slightly worn man looking back at him. His knees were a little sore, but that wasn’t a new thing; if anything his knees were probably fucked anyway, given the pain he felt in them at times.
The car stopped and the doors opened, and a man stepped in—short, blond, cute, and dripping with money in his tailored pants and shirt. His hair was styled neatly, his face clean shaven and his scent fresh and not messed up with cologne. He was probably a few years older than Gabe—probably thirty or so—and without a suit jacket, his ass was nicely on show in well-fitted pants.
Possibly a future client?
Stefan’s voice rang in his ears. They come to you. You don’t fucking tout for it. Clear?
Yep, he was clear, but this guy, all preppy and toned? In a fantasy world, he’d be inclined to do him for free.
The first time, at least.
Gorgeous Guy slid his finger along the rack of elevator buttons, locating lobby, and pressed, but he didn’t turn to talk to Gabe, who leaned back against the bar that went around the three solid walls of the elevator. He must be rich if he was coming down from the top floors, and Gabe almost handed him a card, then thought better of it when Stefan’s voice rang louder than his own.
The elevator began to move, a smooth ride, the softness of carpet beneath his feet, soft piped classical music barely noticeable. The interior was mirrored glass, and it was big enough for a man to lie down, if slightly bent like a pretzel. And no, he wasn’t entirely sure where that thought had come from.
He rolled his neck, heard the crack, and grimaced. He needed a hot shower before his next appointment, but he wasn’t sure he’d have time.
The elevator lurched and came to a stop around halfway between levels eight and nine, a grinding, abrupt halt.
“What the fuck?” Gabriel said on a sharp exhalation. He waited for a moment, but the elevator didn’t move and the blond didn’t seem perturbed at all. He didn’t turn to face Gabriel in the socially acceptable way two men in a situation like this might do.
“You may want to sit down,” the stranger said, his tone soft and his accent less Texas south and more Dallas cultured. Still facing away, he gripped the rail and slid down the wall, making himself comfortable with his back to the polished mirrored interior and his legs outstretched. “This may take some time.”
He hadn’t even pressed the button to call for help, so Gabriel took it upon himself to do just that. Nothing. No instant connection to reception, or the fire service, or whoever the hell was supposed to come to their rescue.
Gabe moved closer and pressed other buttons. All the buttons. Including the emergency alarm again.
Nothing. No response, no movement of the car, no soothing voice saying that emergency services had been dispatched.
His chest tightened. He hated small spaces, and to be trapped and unable to get out…
“This happened last week,” his companion said, just loud enough to get through the rising panic that was gripping Gabe. “They fixed it in twenty. Sit down.”
“Jesus,” Gabriel said, and leaned back against the wall, trying to get comfortable with his ass against the rail, then giving up and sliding down to sit opposite Blondie.
Hank would lock him away when they were expecting guests, back when he was a kid. Lock him in so he couldn’t run and ruin the party. Lock him in and not let him out for hours…until he was needed
I can’t do this. Help me. I can’t stay in here.
The man thrust out his hand. “Cameron,” he offered. “Cam,” he amended.
Gabriel forced himself to look at his companion, the man’s calm snapping his panic. What the hell was he doing talking to Gabriel?
No way was he going to talk to a perfect stranger. Stefan wouldn’t be happy if Gabriel went outside the prescribed client list he managed. Also, the two of them were stuck in an elevator, none of the buttons were working, and panic was poking insistently at him.
So he settled back on the words from Stefan he could use as inspiration.
Always pull the mask down, Gabe. Never let the real you out. Because they’ll take that from you again.
Cam’s hand didn’t waver, and finally, with Stefan’s mantra in his head, Gabe shook it. He could do normal—he could be normal.
“Gabriel.”
They shook and released, then Cam loosened his tie.
Gabriel also settled back—no point in sitting and worrying if Cam was right and they were stuck there. He pulled out his cell. There was no reception, but he typed out a quick text to Stefan in the vague hope it would somehow connect—otherwise he was going to be in a whole lot of shit when he got out of here.
“You need to be somewhere?” Cam asked, and Gabriel saw him push his dark-lensed glasses back up his nose. From the way he did that, it looked like they had a habit of slipping. Panic rose again, and he had to concentrate on the here and now, try to forget his past and focus on the moron who sat opposite him.
Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors? Only douchebags of the highest order did that. Added to which, Gabriel liked to look people in the eyes. You only had the real measure of a person if you could see the emotions that were betrayed in their eyes.
This is good. Focus on the douchebag, not on being trapped with no way out.
“An appointment,” Gabriel answered, his voice steady and not betraying his panic. Cam was looking right at him and evidently expecting an answer. He couldn’t exactly ignore the man—after all, a potential client was always worth working on if it wasn’t so obviously an undercover cop that it meant you ended up getting arrested.
Stefan was right; the cops hated people like Gabriel.
Another one of Stefan’s mantras.
“In this hotel?” Cam asked, tilting his head a little as he spoke.
Gabriel pulled himself back from silent contemplation and pasted a polite smile on his face. “Sorry?”
Cam cleared his throat and laced his fingers together in his lap. “Is your next sex, liaison, booking, or however you describe it, in this hotel or another one?”
More silence; an absolute stillness as Gabriel’s mind raced with what he’d just been asked. He replayed the question, but there was nothing in that simple sentence that left him in any doubt at all about what Cam was asking.
Let me out of here. Someone help me.
He could ignore the question, and any minute now the elevator would start to move and he and Cam would go their separate ways. In fact, that was exactly what he was going to do. He pulled his knees up, wincing internally at the ache in them, not letting any of that show on his face.
But fuck if Cam didn’t keep talking.
“We know the hotel is one of your regular venues for hookups,” he said, unlacing his fingers and lacing them again.
Gabriel was good at reading people. He could tell when a client was going to come, knew if he was the grabbing type, knew the ones who shouted, the ones who silently orgasmed, and some he knew would cry. He read faces and body language because he had to—it kept him alive. And Cam was nervous, maybe unsure of what he was asking.
“Who the fuck are you?” Gabriel asked, his voice tight.
“Cam Stafford.” Cam waved a hand at the elevator. “This is my hotel. Stafford. You know, Stafford Royal.”
At that moment Gabriel should be saying he was a guest there, but if Cam was the owner of this place, then he’d know Gabriel was lying. A visitor, then—a beautician, or a masseur. Fuck, his head was empty of anything useful. So he sat quietly, not moving a muscle. The elevator would move in a bit, and he would stop it at the next floor. If Cam had called security, then Gabriel could talk his way out of things—he had specific words he knew to say.
Cam tapped a finger on his thigh. “I need to talk to you about hiring you.”
He allowed some time for a reply, but Gabriel was happy sitting there working the silent treatment. Cam wasn’t angry; he didn’t look like he was calling Gabriel on his career choices. Suspicion coiled inside him that there was something going on here that he couldn’t get a handle on.
And then Cam sighed and continued talking.
“So far, on the occasions my security manager has identified you working here, there’s been no drugs, no damage to property, no unexplained noise—”
“What the hell is it you think I do?” Gabriel snapped, and as he spoke he shifted a little against the wall of the elevator. The carpet was soft, but his back was as fucked as his knees and he just wanted out of this box.
“You provide…” Cam paused, seemingly searching for exactly the right words. “A service.”
“What the fuck?” Gabriel couldn’t hold that burst of temper inside him. This was the most surreal thing he’d ever been in the middle of.
“As I was saying, as escorts go, you’re one of the cleaner ones, or so I’ve been told.”
“Clean?”
“Tidy, personable. A remarkably acceptable escort for hire.”
“I’m not an escort. I get paid for sex,” Gabriel interjected harshly. He’d never considered himself an escort. He was making money. He had sex for money. It was simple and not something he needed flowering up as being an escort. “I have sex and I leave—there’s no fucking escorting.”
Cam wrinkled his nose and nodded. “Good to know. But differences between your definition of prostitution and mine are not why we’re here.”
Gabriel refused to react. He knew his place, and he was happy with that place until everything was done. Then he might want something else, but not right now. This Cam guy spoke like he’d had all kinds of education that someone like Gabriel could never have accessed.
“Actually, the reason we’re talking is that I want to hire you. For four hours, maybe five, and I will pay to cover any pre-existing clients you might have booked in at the time I need you.”
“What?” Gabriel was bewildered by all of this, because what the hell was this asshole on?
Cam ignored his reaction and forged ahead. “Of course, you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure, and the money would be cash with no audit trail. That is if you do taxes at all.”
“Jesus…”
“I will cover the cost of any and all clothes you need to purchase. That includes an obscenely expensive suit; the budget for that will be pre-agreed. The first hour of the booking is to ascertain suitable cover stories and/or share information.”
“What the fuck?”
Cam sighed again. He did that a lot, and it was starting to piss Gabriel off big time.
“You’re not listening—”
“What the hell is going on here? Is this some kind of sting? Are the cops waiting for me?”
“God, no, this is a genuine business transaction. How much do you charge for an hour?”
Gabriel stared at Cam for the longest time, but he didn’t look away. He probably thought Gabriel was assessing how rich Cam was, or what particular limit he could push to for money. Actually Gabriel, for all his training from Stefan, hadn’t had to deal with quite this situation before, and he felt lost.
I wish Stefan were here. He’d know what to do.
“Five hundred an hour,” Gabriel finally said. He didn’t qualify the amount with any provisos about who he had to cancel, or whether or not there was an extra percentage on top. Nope. He just laid it out there.
“Whatever we do?” Cam asked thoughtfully.
This he could do. He had hard limits and he knew them by heart. “You can’t tie me up, no drugs, no pain. I’m in charge, five hundred an hour, take it or leave it, makes no difference to me.”
Cam nodded. “Okay.”
What? As easy as that? I should have asked for more. “Okay?”
“Yeah. The only pain will be that you need to be anywhere near my god-awful extended family.”
“What?” Gabriel shuffled where he sat. “What?” he asked again.
“This isn’t for sex; I need someone to pretend to like me enough to go to a family event, and for that to happen in a discreet way.”
It was at moments like this that Gabriel wished he had a handy expression that would cover the shock he was feeling. Not sex. Not a night of sex, which was what he’d thought Cam meant, but…what? A night of family? Like a proper escort?
“I don’t understand,” he said finally, because he really fucking didn’t.
“It’s a business transaction,” Cam said.
“For real?”
There had to be something off here. Why would Cam have looked at him and thought he was suitable to fit in with a family?
“No sex.” Cam shuffled a little. “I want you to pretend we just met, you were a guest at the hotel, and the event next week is our first date. I thought that through so you wouldn’t have to remember too many things about me, or what kind of relationship we’d had so far. Hell, you don’t even have to know a thing about me; just that we met in an elevator.”
“Sitting, eating, pretending, no sex.”
“Yep.”
“For five hours.”
“Are you saying you can’t do that?”
No, of course I can’t do that.
Instead he imagined Stefan sitting there and what he would say right now. “Let’s talk money,” he said. Money was important.
Cam tapped his lower lip with his finger and looked thoughtful, staring off at the wall behind Gabriel. “We already did.”
“But you’d be interrupting my busiest time…”
“I didn’t tell you when it was.”
“When is it?” Gabriel asked.
“A week from Friday.”
“Yep, I’d have to turn away clients.”
“And?”
“That changes things. So, two five for the evening, no sex.”
“Five hundred total.”
“What the hell?” Gabriel wasn’t used to negotiating. “Eighteen, and that’s as low as I go.”
Cam didn’t even flinch. He held out a hand. “I’ll go to six, and that is as high as I will go.”
Gabriel hesitated. He’d actually managed to get another hundred out of the man, and that was another hundred in Stefan’s hands. He shook on it.
Stefan will be proud.
Cam was still talking, and that swell of pleasure at what Stefan would think diminished abruptly.
“I’ll need you in your new and hideously expensive suit, seven p.m., a week from Friday, room 1502. My security manager will talk to you about a budget for clothes.”
Gabriel entered the details into his phone and pocketed the cell. Six hundred dollars, take off what he paid Stefan, meant he’d be able to save some.
Cam tapped his ear. “You can take us down,” he said.
What did Cam mean? Who was he talking to? “What are you doing?” Gabriel said.
Cam frowned and pulled his legs up to his chest. “Six?” he said again.
“Who are you talking to?”
“My security man. He’s supposed to be starting up the elevator now.”
“What?”
“Seems my plan has backfired,” Cam murmured.
“Wait. The elevator stopping—that was planned?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, why couldn’t you talk to me on the fucking street?” Anger mixed with healthy fear. This was wrong; this whole situation was wrong. He needed someone to talk him down. He needed to get out of this damn tin box.
“I don’t discuss personal and private matters in public.”
“Get us down, then,” Gabriel ordered, aware he was letting some of his fear soak into his words.
“I’m trying.” He tapped his ear again. “Six?”
“Why isn’t the elevator moving?”
“I don’t know. Six?” Cam said firmly.
Nothing.
Panic was swelling; Stefan was going to kill him. Gabriel pulled out his phone again and held it above his head, hoping to see bars appear. Nothing. “You don’t have a signal in your elevators?” he asked.
“Our elevators are secure and private spaces,” Cam said.
“Wi-Fi?”
“Nope.”
Gabriel reached over Cam, pressing the same buttons as before.
“Six has control of the elevator.”
Gabriel forced himself to relax. Cam sounded so sure that this situation would be fixed.
Get me the hell out.
Now.