Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Once I get the marketing up and running, it will only need to be tweaked every so often. It might take a morning a week. And I love designing, too.” I had no idea until she’d asked me to go shopping with her. Grandma always told me I was good at spending other people’s money. “Don’t get too excited. Last night could’ve been luck. Let’s see what I do next month. And with Zach’s site.”

  She put her fork down. “Please tell me he’s paying you. And don’t do him any favors with your rate. Let me just say, if Jagger was still escorting, and I was still at the network, he would’ve been the breadwinner.”

  Leah had three on-air segments a week. Before the scandal shot bullet holes in everyone’s life, she’d been greenlighted for her own show.

  “Wow. We haven’t talked money yet,” I said. Zach and I had a lot to talk about, but at the same time, nothing at all.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let him take advantage of you.” She took a bite of crab cake, and the silence hung heavy. “Scratch that. Whatever you do, don’t sleep with him.”

  7

  Zach

  “It was so good to see you last night, Zach. I love what Jagger’s done with his gallery.”

  It had been a while since I’d done business with Marianne, and I’d blocked out her high-pitched voice and the way she dragged words like so and love out like she was talking to a puppy. The sun was up when I finally went to bed this morning. Alone. I didn’t have a hangover, since I didn’t drink, but there was a dull ache between my eyes. Not a good combination with the high-pitched squeaking.

  “Did you buy anything?” I asked, testing my theory.

  “No,” she said. I knew it. “I lost my husband, Harry. You met him, right? I’m not sure I’m keeping the house. Too many memories here. But when I get my new place, Jagger’s art will be everywhere. I can’t wait to tell everyone I know the artist.”

  I wondered if she’d tell them how well she knew him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Even sorrier that I called her. Marianne had a standing weekly appointment with Jagger for years. She’d been married to a much older man who adored her but was no longer able to satisfy her. I thought that would make her a great candidate for Brandon, but I didn’t count on her getting out of the business, too. I relied on the old clients to help me get the new agency up and running, but so far, it wasn’t working. And I had no idea what else to do.

  “It was good to see Jagger,” she said. The baby talk disappeared, and she sounded a million miles away. “How come you called, Zach?”

  “You know Jag’s out of the game.” I felt like a total asshole, going through with this. If I’d brought Brandon with me last night, I could’ve introduced them—seen if there was any spark. “I’ve started a new agency, since Barry closed up shop.”

  “Good for you.”

  I’d been around in the beginning of Barry’s agency, but I had no idea what he did to get clients on board. All I did was show up where he told me to, and fuck. An established client list should’ve been a huge advantage. I had to get them over the fear of being exposed. “I thought of you, since you hired Jagger a lot. If you’re interested, I’ve got a new guy I think will be the next Jagger Holiday.”

  I gave that a minute to sink in, before I told her about Brandon. The long hair, the tats… He’d be right up her alley. Man, I hope this guy can fuck.

  “You’re so sweet to think of me”—she dragged out so and me—“but if I were to be with anyone right now, it would have to be Jagger. Harry liked him. He was part of our family, in a way. I’m not ready to meet someone new.”

  Shit. I made her cry, and sounded like an insensitive dick. How the fuck was I supposed to know her husband recently passed?

  “Jagger always had great things to say about Harry.” More than he did about Marianne.

  “That’s sweet.” She sniffled. “I miss him.”

  I assumed she meant her husband, but she was at the gallery last night, supporting Jagger. Claire, another of his old clients, was handing over a boatload of cash to Jagger’s soon-to-be wife to redecorate her house. Just because the agency was gone, the need for the escorts didn’t magically go away. Those desires had to be fulfilled somehow, yet, the inner circle of clients—the ones who’d booked often, and I was most comfortable getting in touch with—had followed Jagger. They weren’t staying with me. They wanted something else.

  It didn’t make any sense. Jagger wasn’t Mr. Personality. He was a man of few words, but he had a fuckton of passion. He didn’t share it with many people. Or so I thought. Me? I never shut up, and I wasn’t serious about anything. But I loved my job. It was something not a lot of people could say.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The throbbing between my eyes intensified and I pinched the bridge of my nose as I leaned back in my chair. I had a small, loyal group of guys willing to stick it out with me. And not enough clients to keep them all busy. I hadn’t gone out on an appointment in weeks. I gave the job away unless I got a special request. In exchange for the booking, I got a cut of the guys’ rates. I had to book more clients. I had some money in the bank, but it wouldn’t last.

  I had no idea how to sell myself. Fucking ironic.

  My phone lit up with a text. Let me know when you want to get to work—Shannon

  We exchanged numbers last night, but I wasn’t sure I’d get in touch with her. In theory, I knew I had to lay the foundation for the business to run itself. For the calls to come in. I expected it to be slow at first, after the scandal, but I wasn’t prepared for it. After being an escort for twelve years, it was fucking embarrassing to admit I knew nothing about the business end of things.

  Shannon wouldn’t know shit about escorting, either, but she pulled Jagger’s gallery out of the clutches of failure and gave it a pulse. That was what I needed. An air of exclusivity that covered the stench of desperation.

  Whenever you’re ready, I sent back.

  Claire’s stuff was supposed to come Monday, but there was a delay. So there’s nothing for me to do here. Monday good for you? she replied.

  I had nothing but time. That’s perfect.

  Great! Looking forward to it. Should I meet you at your office? She hadn’t used any smiley faces yet. I expected her to be the smiley-face type.

  I’m running the business out of my apartment for now. An office would eat up too much money. The guys didn’t give a shit, and I arranged to meet with potential new clients at public places. They thought it was for their safety, not to protect my bank account.

  The blinking dots that indicated Shannon was typing her reply kept appearing and disappearing. I chuckled, picturing her flushing all over at the thought of coming to my apartment, and twisting that damn ponytail around her wrist while she asked Leah for advice on what to say. No doubt Leah would tell her to run. Or worse, show up with her.

  I walked away from the phone. I had plans to meet Brandon at the gym, and I didn’t want to let this guy down. I’d get him all the clients he needed. But first, I had to make him trust me. I told him it was the most important part of the business. The hardest part too.

  My phone dinged. Shannon. Want to meet at the gallery? I can kick Jagger out if that makes you feel more comfortable.

  Tell him you heard about an abandoned building up in Central Florida, and we’ll have the place to ourselves for days. Not that I had anything to hide from Jag. In fact, he needed to see me getting my shit together. I’d been a hot mess after Barry closed up shop. Partied way too much. I pissed some people off, him especially, and had no idea what I did because I’d been too fucked up to remember.

  He’s been dying to get out and get some new shots. He’s not meant to be cooped up in one place, she wrote.

  It was never the plan. I wasn’t betraying Jag’s trust, telling her that. He thought he’d keep escorting to support the gallery and hire people to run it.

  He’s getting there. The little dots flashed on my screen, as she typed another message. You weren’t meant to be h
eld back, either.

  I wasn’t sure if it made me feel better or worse that she realized it.

  * * *

  Shannon didn’t see me come in. She was on a couch by the window, lost in thought, twirling the end of her ponytail as she stared out at the street, her legs tucked up underneath her. Her lips were parted, like she didn’t approve of whatever she saw. I looked out the window, for anything unusual, but whatever had Shannon captivated was inside her head.

  “Hey.” I sat in the chair across from her, and laughed when she jumped.

  “Sorry. I was thinking about my own project.” She stretched out her legs and crossed them. Her knees stuck out of the frayed spots of her jeans. Most of the guys in the band on her shirt died before she was born.

  “I’m surprised you weren’t drawing on your sneakers.” I pulled my laptop out of my bag but had no idea what to do with it. This was as close to a real business meeting as I was ever going to get, and I was going to say the wrong thing to the only person remotely interested in helping me. Pretty par for the course in my world.

  She wriggled her foot, examining the inked soul of her sneaker. “I’ve gotten these how I like them. The wet sand from the other night blurred everything, and they look cool. I’ll buy a new pair if I get stuck. A blank canvas is always best for new ideas.”

  Fuck, she was cute. There was an innocence to her, but it didn’t make her less sophisticated than the women around her. It intrigued me. She made it this far without life sinking its dirty fingernails into her skin.

  “What’s the project you’re working on?” I asked. Between me, Leah, Jagger, and now Shannon, I counted at least five things she had going. Life had scraped her skin, and she was running from whatever had left a scar.

  She shook her head and put her laptop on the cushion. “Not ready to share. It’s still in the developmental stages.”

  “Not even a clue?” I was desperate for a glimpse inside her mind. She’d built a wall with work, work, work, but between the sneakers and the classic rock T-shirt, light shined through the cracks.

  “It’s a passion project.” She wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she focused on her computer screen. “Something for my own satisfaction. If I’m ever ready to share, you’ll be the first to know.”

  That was bullshit.

  She took a deep breath. “Where should we start?”

  “You tell me.”

  She peeked around the screen. “What’s your mission statement?”

  I burst out laughing. “Are you fucking serious? Mission statement? I’m running an escort service, not a bank.”

  She bristled, but she didn’t back down. “I’m totally serious. I know it sounds corny, but hear me out. Even if it’s something as simple as I fuck hot women, it will be the cornerstone of every decision you make for the agency. Everything you do should go back to that mission statement.”

  It made sense, and it was an easy way to keep the business on track. If it didn’t satisfy that one belief, we didn’t do it. “Okay. How about, The Collins Agency builds trust with their clients and fulfills needs that can’t be met anywhere else?”

  “That’s really good.” She nodded as the keys clicked under her fingers. “I expected us to spend the afternoon coming up with a mission statement, but I say we go with that. It’s clear and concise. Everything you do, whether it has to do with advertising, hiring, or taking a new client—that’s what you call the women, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thought so. I wasn’t sure if it was the guys you had working for you.”

  “They’re just escorts.”

  “No, they aren’t just escorts.” She tapped her screen. “They’re building trust and satisfying needs that can’t be met elsewhere. That’s a lot of job responsibility. Every decision you and your escorts make has to satisfy those criteria, or it’s moving your business in the wrong direction.”

  I was relieved to finally have some clarity. “You make it sound pretty simple, but how’s that going to bring me business?”

  She smoothed her ponytail over her shoulder, and this time, she caught me staring at her. Her gaze softened, and she grinned. “We’re building a business, not launching a get rich quick scheme. Do you have a website?”

  “No.” Even if I did, I would’ve forgotten all about it, as she finger-combed her hair.

  She gave it a quick tug, and then flipped it over her shoulder and leaned forward. “Good. I hoped you didn’t. Because then I’d probably have to fix it. Any ideas what you want it to look like?”

  “Straightforward. Clean. Not a black background, because I don’t want to imply that our clients are doing something they should be ashamed of.” I sighed. “I fucking hate society’s attitude toward sex. It’s not sin; it’s survival.”

  “Oh, that’s good. We need to use that somewhere.” She raised her eyebrows as she typed. I’d gotten good at picking up physical cues over the years, since a lot of my clients grappled with the sin-versus-survival aspect of being with me. Shannon was so expressive, it was like having a secondary conversation with her. “I’m thinking a light gray background, something really sexy but sophisticated on the landing page, and… What else should be there?” she said.

  “It’s got to be secure—passwords, verification, security. I have to protect my guys, as well as my clients.” I’d vet any new clients within an inch of their lives, after what happened with Jag. “Other than that, a page with pictures and bios of the escorts, and frequently asked questions, a way to contact us, and maybe a short about page. It’s not about us, though. It’s about the clients.”

  “We’ll spin it that way—what you’ll do for them.” Shannon stopped typing. “How do you reach your clients?”

  “That’s the problem. I never had to worry about that before. We had a lot of repeat clientele, and friends of friends who’d book for the first time. It was a word-of-mouth type of thing.”

  “You need to reach out to them. Let them know you’re back and the past problems with security have been rectified. Have you ever thought of throwing a party, like Jagger does with First Friday? Make it something exclusive. This way, you’ll remind your old clients of what they’ve been missing and give potential clients a taste of what’s to come.”

  She was good. But it wasn’t that easy. “Where would we do it? And what would we do?” We couldn’t put out some cheese and talk about abandoned buildings, like Jag did.

  “Do you want me to ask Claire if she’d host? Have you been to her house? It’s so huge, it’s ridiculous. I’m not sure how many people live there, but even if it’s—say—ten, there’s enough rooms that a guest may never see them.”

  Claire wouldn’t charge us to rent the space, either. She and I went way back, to the last time I had to watch every penny. “Not a bad idea. What’s our hook? It needs to be something that gets people’s attention.”

  “Can you offer a taste of your services?” she asked. “I don’t know how much is too much, or if that’s something the guys would want to do for free, but there could be a charge to get in.”

  Holy shit. “So you’re basically suggesting we throw an orgy at Claire’s house to drum up business?”

  She laughed. “I did, huh? Okay, so maybe dial it back a little. One thing you should know about me is I jump in feet first. If it’s too much, say so.”

  “It’s either brilliant or batshit crazy, I’m not sure which.”

  She snapped her laptop closed. “I hear that a lot. We can work on the concept. Ask the guys. Maybe they’ve got some ideas. Better yet, ask your clients. They’ll tell you want they want. But for now, I’ll work on getting the website up and running. Have you considered asking Jagger to take the headshots of the guys?”

  “I haven’t.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “Let’s face it—he can make anything look good.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that. But there’s no denying that the clients respond to him and his art. It would come through in t
he headshots.”

  She had no idea how bad that stung. I was sick and tired of needing Jag, and I wanted to show him I wasn’t the fuckup he thought I was. But I had to push that aside and do what was best for the business. People depended on me now. Jag would understand that. “I’ll ask him.”

  “Perfect. Anything else I need to know before I get to work?” she asked.

  “Yeah. There’s something I need to know.” The barrier between her ideas and reality. “How much are you charging me for this?”

  A flush crept up her neck from the ripped collar of her shirt and spread over her cheeks. She swallowed hard and steeled herself. “I thought maybe we could trade services.”

  8

  Shannon

  Zach Collins was a completely different man when his guard came crashing down. He seemed younger. The hard edges faded to something he’d never admit to—vulnerability. I had a feeling I was going to like this Zach who’d been hiding behind the wall, more than the smartass who made me tingle in all the neglected places. Which meant I should tell him I was fucking with him and that my rate was something outrageous. From the look on his face, I was willing to bet I could get any amount of money out of him.

  But I didn’t want his money; I wanted him. And I didn’t want a relationship. I wanted Zach, at the top of his game. The lover who’d fulfill the aching need no one had been able to touch in my twenty-six years. The one I’d never give my heart, but I’d trust with my body and maybe even my soul.

  “What did you say?” he asked, his voice soft.

  “I offered to trade services with you.” But I was losing my nerve. For all I knew, I’d insulted him. He asked me for professional help, and I propositioned him. But I was also asking for a little expert know-how. It wasn’t my fault he was an escort, and not a plumber.