Ann

 

 

 

What the hell am I doing? When I agreed to sign up for this ridiculousness, Miss Barry warned me that it would be highly unlikely for me to attract any of the clients' interest.

"Not with these pictures," she said, after taking a few quick shots of me. "And not for the amount of money you're asking."

I didn't care about her warnings, and I made it clear that I'd rather hear nothing back from anyone than to have to sell myself for an amount that wouldn't secure my financial future for good, even if it meant I'd have to sacrifice a few months of my life.

I walked out of Violent Delights a few days ago, my notebook filled with quotes and notes from the interview with Miss Barry and my head filled with silly thoughts and fantasies.

"So you actually want to do this?" she asked. "For real? You want to be added to our catalog?"

I was somewhat stunned by her question, because it was only in that moment that I realized what I was about to do.

"Yes," I said. "Let's give it a shot. Why not? I have nothing to lose, right?"

She looked at me with her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

"I mean, I don't have to do anything unless I sign a contract with a particular client, right?" I reassured myself.

Miss Barry nodded. "That's correct."

"Okay, can't hurt to see what it's like then," I told her. "In any case, it might prove to be helpful research for my article, if I hear back from a client soon enough. I'm working on a deadline and-"

"If you hear from a client at all," Miss Barry interrupted me. "Our clients have very specific, very elaborate, and very defined tastes. They're willing to pay a lot, but they're also expecting a lot."

She cast me a reprehensive look, and I gathered myself, nodding to signal to her that I understood. I'm no professional, no pin-up model, no class act hooker whose sole purpose in life is to serve men. Of course, I can't compete with women like that, and I felt silly for even thinking that I could.

This was just my mind running wild. The idea that I would just have to spend time with some rich dude and be paid so generously that I might actually be able to save up a fortune to make my dream of not having to work for money come true, is just too enticing.

Especially if it was with a man like the guy I'd just met a few minutes before...

Even having sex wouldn't be out of the question, if it was with a man like him.

"Sure," I said. "I understand."

"But there are things you could offer to make up for your lack of... expertise," Miss Barry added, causing me to tilt my head to the side in question.

"Would you be willing to stay at a client's side for a little while longer?" she asked. "Even in public?"

"You mean, would I be willing to play some rich guy's girlfriend?" I clarified, and she nodded.

"Yes. I think I could do that."

"What about your job?" Miss Barry asked. "Wouldn't that interfere?"

I explained that I'm a freelancer and would be willing to set aside my work for a few months, if necessary. It's not like I would have to quit altogether, something I don't even think I could do. Even if I was to become a millionaire, I'd still want to write stories and continue working as a reporter. But it would be nice to do these things just because I enjoyed them, and not with the pressure of having to make a living.

Still, I was only going to go through parts of the application process for research purposes, to see what it's like to become one of Violent Delights’ girls, one of the most infamous escort agencies in the area. I just wanted to gain a sense of their process, their working conditions, what they offer to both their clients and the girls who work for them. It was purely for research.

Until Miss Barry asked me if I wasn’t sure I didn't want to give it a real shot.

That's when everything was set into motion.

"So, you actually want to do this?"

She asked me the question again before I signed the agreement, and at that point, I didn't even think twice. We had hashed and rehashed the whole idea for so long that I just wanted to leave having made a decision that would fuel my life with a pinch of excitement. I know if I hadn’t agreed to do it, I would've wondered for days and weeks about it.

But that woman confuses me. On one hand, she's been trying to keep my expectations low, telling me that I shouldn't expect to hear from any client in the near future because I have "so little to offer", but then she starts asking for reassurance from me over and over again before finally letting me sign the agreement. Why was she being so cautious when she didn't even expect any of her clients to show any interest in me?

Now I know why.

It’s only been two days since I visited the agency when I startle at my desk from an unexpected phone call. Just like always, Brandon's piercing blue eyes dart right through me from across the desk, warning me not to speak for too long or raise my voice. I glare back at him as I answer the call without first checking the caller ID display.

"Porter," I say, partly distracted by Brandon's hateful glance.

"Ann, this is Belinda," an incisive female voice greets me from the other end.

Belinda? It takes me a few moments to realize who I'm talking to.

"Oh, Miss Barry, hello!"

"You sound surprised," she says. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all," I hurry to reply. "I'm just... yeah, I am surprised. Is there something you wanted to add to our interview?"

Belinda Barry chuckles, making me feel somewhat dumb for assuming she'd call about the interview.

"No, dear. I've said everything I wanted to say. I'm actually calling to let you know that one of our clients is interested in you."

"What?" I blurt out. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," she retorts, a hint of annoyance lacing her words. "He wants to meet you in person, as soon as possible."

I inhale audibly and my cheeks start burning up instantly. My eyes scurry rapidly around the room to see if anyone is listening in, but even Brandon is seemingly not paying attention to me at the moment. Yet, I feel like I've been found out. As if the whole office suddenly knows about me signing up to be an escort.

Is that what I did? Will I turn into a high-priced call girl if I agree to meet up with this man?

"You said you wanted to do this," Miss Barry reminds me. "And you said you'd be happy to hear from someone promptly. Was I mistaken?"

"Yes, I said I was, but still..."

"He's willing to pay more than your asking price," she cuts me off.

I gasp in shock. How is this possible? She told me I shouldn't expect anyone to be willing to pay the price I was asking - and now this?

"Don't tell me you're not interested," Miss Barry adds in a seductive tone.

I clear my throat and try to calm myself. What now? This is all so weird to me, so unfamiliar. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, or say.

"I... I don't know. How... would this work?"

"I'll send you an e-mail with some information, laying out the client's demands and expectations," Miss Barry explains. "You should know about the basics before you agree to meet with him. He's a very... interesting man."

"Interesting?" I ask. "How so?"

"You'll see."

And with that, she hangs up, leaving me confused and my heart racing. I stare at the phone in my hand, listening to the dial tone and trying to convince myself that this phone call only happened in my head, especially with regard to Miss Barry's mysterious way of ending the conversation.

But it’s not a dream. It really did happen, and the proof pops up in my e-mail inbox a moment later.