by Cara Dee
We Have Till Dawn
Cara Dee
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
More from Cara
About Cara
We Have till Dawn
Copyright © 2020 by Cara Dee
All rights reserved
* * *
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction and all references to historical events, persons living or dead, and locations are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.
* * *
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatted by Eliza Rae Services.
Dedication
To NY bagels and guitar players.
Chapter 1
Nicky Fender
“Let me get this straight,” I said, scanning the document. “The wife is the client? I mean, she’s the one setting her husband up with a male escort?”
“Correct.” Tina sat back as our server approached with dinner. “Well, her fiancé.”
I hummed and kept my mouth shut until we were alone again. Fuck, the pizza looked good. Of course, meeting with Tina meant it had to be some fancy pizza. She wouldn’t be caught dead with a regular slice. She wouldn’t be caught dead in Brooklyn either, which was why I’d met up with her in Manhattan at some swanky Italian place. But hey, she was buying.
“I’m waiting for the reason for why I’d agree,” I admitted bluntly. I hadn’t whored out my sweet ass in two years, and I was doing much better now. I worked three jobs for very little pay, I lived with my big brother, and I had practically no time for any hobbies. What’s not to love?
I’d thought about going back to Tina for some time, but whenever I considered it, there was this rock in the pit of my stomach that no amount of money could crush.
“I wanted you to see the requirements first,” she replied.
Well, there were a lot of them. I hadn’t gone through the entire list yet. After placing the document next to my plate, I cut into my fancy pizza and continued reading the list. There was plenty on hygiene, but nothing that went beyond what I was used to. I was to be blindfolded the whole time? All right… I’d never see the client’s face—or the client’s fiancé—which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“I get the impression from the client that the man wants to explore something before he agrees to marry her,” Tina revealed. I’d heard of weirder dynamics. “She hinted that it would be a one-time arrangement, and she placed emphasis on following instructions that seem to cover every inch of your body.”
Lovely.
“That’s a lot of exploring,” I pointed out. “He wants to meet with me four nights a week for two months.”
Tina lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug and sipped her wine.
More specifically, I had to be available for him between the hours of ten PM and six AM on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
I scratched my ear.
The pay better be out of this world, ’cause I would have to quit at both Applebee’s and Starbucks. Not that I’d mourn those shifts, but I’d been at Applebee’s long enough to possibly make assistant manager when the current one quit next month. She was having a baby and moving to Jersey.
I stuck a piece of pizza into my mouth and eyed the requirements for safety, at which I almost choked on a pepperoni slice.
“How loaded is this couple?” I asked through a cough. The man demanded exclusivity, meaning I wasn’t allowed to be sexually active with anyone else for the duration of our arrangement. And that cost a fucking mint.
“Read on…” Tina smirked wryly.
I furrowed my brow—then spotted one of my few hard limits. I shook my head and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “No fucking way. Tina, you—no. Fuck this.”
I didn’t mess around without protection. Not a chance in hell.
“This is why I asked you, Nicky,” she told me patiently. “Considering your stance on protection and your sad little Facebook statuses on how single you are—” she ignored my glare “—not to mention that you’re not the type of guy who walks around with a string of hookups, I can count on you passing a screening with flying colors and taking on someone who wants exclusivity. You’re my only candidate.”
“Candidate to say no,” I retorted.
Tina adopted a smug expression and reached down to dig something out of her purse. “There’s a reason I wanted to save the perks for last,” she said. “Okay, so you know the requirements. An exclusive arrangement for both parties—during which you’re sexually active only with each other—four nights a week for two months. You won’t see him. He won’t violate your limits—”
“Going unprotected is a limit, Tina,” I grated. Fuck, I was getting pissed. Part of me had carried foolish hope that this would be such a golden case that I’d jump on the opportunity and earn some good dough before the rock in my stomach returned.
“And when you’re an escort dealing with multiple clients a week, nothing else would make sense,” she answered, extending another document to me. “I wouldn’t even try to approach my other sex workers with this, Nicky. You’re the exception only because you quit the field.”
“Hmpf.” I cast a disgruntled look her way before I lowered my gaze to the piece of paper.
Ahem.
Holy fuck.
Three grand a week—minus Tina’s finder’s fee of ten percent—plus living arrangements. There would be a furnished studio in my name, so to speak, rent and utilities paid for by the client. Corner of West 39th and Ninth Avenue—not a shabby address at all. One of my best friends lived in the Garment District. Adjacent to Hell’s Kitchen, where another friend lived.
A Manhattan address and $3,000 a week for two months.
A guy could do worse.
I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. “Is there, uh, any way to ensure safety by making sure the guy gets tested too?”
“Of course, Nicky.” The compassion in Tina’s crystal-blue eyes reminded me of the fact that she ran an ethical business based on choice and vetting. She didn’t headhunt sex workers; they had to come to her, and they—we—had to go through a selection process before she could, in good conscience, give us work.
Today I was an exception for her, and my answer would be an exception too.
It was with a good goddamn feeling that I walked into our favorite happy hour spot in Hell’s Kitchen the next day, where my two closest friends were waiting at the bar. The place was packed as usual.
“Guess who just temporarily moved to Manhattan?” I hollered over the music and widened my arms.
Chris lifted his brows, and Ruby’s mouth popped open in shock.
At long fucking last, I wouldn’t have to blow them off for a while because I couldn’t pay for my own drinks. Unlike my Armani-rocking buddy Chris, I hadn’t been able to afford to go to college, much less a prestigious one like Yale. Today, he worked on Wall Street, and he’d made partner at his firm before he turned thirty-five two years ago. And unlike Ruby, I wasn’t destined for a life in modeling. With her Peruvian and Nigerian ancest
ry, she’d spent approximately three weeks at Pratt before a modeling agency had snatched her up. These days, she walked the runways in Milan, London, and Paris, and she was making bank to the point where she’d just become a Manhattan homeowner. She’d legit bought her place here in Hell’s Kitchen.
“Wait.” She slid off her barstool and narrowed her eyes at me. “You had lunch with Tina yesterday.”
So she’d seen my Instagram post. “Guilty as charged.” I gave the bartender a nod and a two-finger wave. “It’s only a two-month stint.” I paused to order a beer and two more of whatever Chris and Ruby were drinking. Then I turned back to Ruby. “Three thousand bucks a week and my own studio, and some faceless millionaire will stop by every now and then to explore his sexuality. I think I can deal.” I smirked.
“Just be careful, buddy.” Chris took a swig of his new drink, and I snatched up my beer and handed over my credit card to the bartender.
“I don’t think I’ll have anything to worry about,” I replied. “There was a whole section in the contract about letting him set the pace, and it was written in a way that makes me believe he’s anxious or something. I don’t fucking know.” I shrugged and took a sip of my beer. “Like I said, it’s two months. Then I’ll be able to go into business with Anthony.”
My brother ran a successful music academy out in Park Slope, and he’d been trying to scrape together the money to expand for years. He wanted me with him, and I wanted the same, but he also knew I’d turn him down if he offered a partnership without my bringing any green to the table. But now, I’d get my shot at actually getting somewhere.
I’d landed the golden opportunity I’d hoped for.
Ruby still had concern brimming in her eyes, probably because I’d told her about the rock I’d had in my stomach before I quit being a sex worker last time. This was different, though. I wholeheartedly believed it.
“Quit worryin’, mami.” I draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “I’m relieved. I feel good about my decision.”
She pursed her glossy lips and eyed me critically, but I could sense her thawing. She snaked an arm around my middle, then sighed and mustered a smile. “You’re the baby in our group, you know that. It’s my job to worry.”
She was, like, three years older than me, not three decades. She just turned thirty the other week.
“Fine,” she conceded eventually. “If you’re happy, I’m happy, and you deserve to be celebrated.”
I smacked another kiss to her cheek before I slid onto the middle stool. I was definitely in the mood for some celebrating.
Chris clapped me on my back and said the rest of the drinks were on him tonight.
“I knew it was true. Once you’re flush with cash, everything’s free.” I reached for a bowl of bar nuts and grabbed a handful.
“Gross, Nicky,” Ruby chided.
I ate them noisily, much to her displeasure.
“I need older friends,” Chris muttered into his glass.
“You wouldn’t dare abandon us,” I told him.
“Please,” Ruby snorted. “You’d get bored in a second.”
That was what was funny about Chris. In our little group of friends, he was the mellow, mature guy. Around his work buddies—the older ones, not the young weekend warriors who did more coke than Tony Montana—he was restless and reckless.
The only time Ruby and I saw that other side of him was when I had a gig. My brother and I, along with two of his friends, had a band together on and off, and Chris jumped in as our bass player when Marco was a no-show. And with six kids, that happened frequently.
It was how I’d met Chris. He’d been at one of our shows, and when Marco had to split, I’d jokingly asked the crowd if anyone played bass. A hammered Chris had put his fist into the air and volunteered. Marco hadn’t dared to put up a fight about whether he’d let Chris borrow his instrument.
It was a great memory of mine, even though our gig had sucked. Chris still had plenty of talent.
We left the bar right around the same time as the sun was glowing red and slowly dipping between two skyscrapers.
I had a good buzz going on and hoped we’d try that new place near Ruby’s building.
“When do you get your keys?” Chris asked, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet. Or phone. Or both.
“Already got them,” I replied and shrugged on my jacket. Fall was here. Chris liked to point out that I should get a “grown man” jacket, presumably one like his countless different coats, blazers, and windbreakers. But there was nothing wrong with my army jacket; I wore it in the winter too, just with a hoodie underneath. “Anthony’s helping me move some shit over to the studio tomorrow night.”
I was only bringing two or three duffels, my keyboard, and a guitar, but I couldn’t lug it all on the subway unless I wanted to go back and forth all day. My brother had a car, so that helped.
When I caught Ruby yawning, I mock-gasped and pointed at her. “What the fuck?”
She groaned and threw an arm around me. “I’m sorry, but I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been up since four.”
I cast a downward glance at her feet. No wonder she was suddenly taller than me. She was wearing six-inch heels. I hadn’t noticed before.
“I’m getting you an Irish coffee at the next place,” I told her.
She winced.
“Ruby.” I couldn’t believe it. She was calling it a night. I could feel it.
“I’m tired too,” Chris admitted. “I gotta be up at six tomorrow for a meeting.”
It was just barely dinnertime!
“I’m disappointed in both’a youse.” I shook my head and stepped closer to the curb.
We went back and forth for a while; Ruby promised to make it up to me when we met up for breakfast on Saturday after my first session with my mystery client, and it made me feel bad. She wanted to make sure I’d be okay, and I was giving her shit, knowing full well that she worked insane hours. So, in the end, Chris and I stayed on the sidewalk after hugging Ruby goodnight, and we waited until she’d disappeared into her building farther up the street.
I wasn’t ready to head home to Brooklyn. I had a key to a new apartment that would be mine for the next two months, and I had someone to share a cab with me over to the Garment District.
“What’s good to eat in your neighborhood?” I asked as we got into a cab.
Chris blew out a breath and patted his flat stomach. “I’ve had too much Arby’s.”
I liked Arby’s.
“There’s plenty along Ninth,” he went on. “Some good sushi and Italian.” He paused. “The bagel vendor on the corner across from the 7-Eleven is probably the best in Manhattan.”
Good to know. There weren’t many good bars in his area, so we didn’t meet up there often.
I peered out the window as the last light left the horizon between the buildings. It was the time of day I liked the most, because it was when my New York City woke up. I loved all of it. The city lights, the noise, the energy, the people minding their own business.
If I could be paid to people watch, it would’ve been the career of my dreams.
Twenty minutes later, I had an Arby’s bag in one hand and my new key in the other.
I took the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor and felt weirdly nervous. When Tina had given me the key earlier, it hadn’t felt real yet. It hadn’t even felt real when I’d gone in for a quick STI screening where Tina had sent me so many times before. But now, shit, I was getting back to it. Temporarily or not, I’d be a sex worker once more.
When I’d first started working for Tina, I’d actually loved it. I’d seen it as a well-paid adventure. Given the clientele that could afford browsing her, uh, menu, I’d dined with shy tech millionaires, fucked politicians, and received lavish gifts from closeted CEOs. I’d seen what New York had to offer from the most expensive hotel suites. Those who met with escorts to live out their secret fantasies and be themselves were usually the nicest. To them,
we were escapes. But I’d also been with clients who treated us like objects. It was part of the job. There was no denying that.
Ultimately, though, what’d caused this dark void within me was the sense of being fleeting in someone’s life. To always exist on the fringes of another person’s life took a toll. According to my pop, it was something I’d gotten from my mother. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve when she was alive. I was similar. I loved people. I loved to help. It was why I worked with children at my brother’s academy. It was the most rewarding job I’d had.
Stepping out of the elevator, I glanced left then right. Eight apartments on each floor.
Three thousand dollars a week… All cash. In two months, I should be able to walk up to my brother and hand over almost twenty grand and make myself a partner in his business.
Two months. I could do this. I wanted to do this.
Apartment 2704 was mine. I turned the key in the lock and opened the door, and it was kinda fucking impossible to fight a grin. There was no entryway to speak of, and the place was small, but I loved it. It was one open space. Bathroom straight ahead, an alcove next to it just big enough for the bed and two nightstands that were already there, kitchen area to my left, closet behind the door, a small table with two chairs by the kitchen window.
The biggest window was six or so feet to the right, in the alcove, and I walked over to it with my Arby’s bag and dug out my brisket sandwich.
Fuck me, this could work. Amazing view of the best city in the world. The buildings glittered in the night. This one had thirty stories in total, and I knew there was a terrace on the roof. I’d go up there tomorrow night when I had my guitar here.