Reclaiming Tomorrow: Kingsley Series Book 3

by Thorne, Haylee

  “I’ve given you twenty, dude!” He walks out of my bedroom, slamming the door behind him, shouting, “I’m leaving in ten, with or without you, Trey!”

  I drag myself into a sitting position, glance at the clock as I do, and groan when I see it’s after nine. I have a ton of shit to get done today, and it looks like I’ve already wasted away a good chunk of my morning. I hate late night dates. Especially when they end with me pouring a drunk divorcee into bed, her begging me to join her because she’s been so lonely since her husband left her for his secretary. Her words, not mine.

  I run my hand down my face, trying to pull some of the sleep from my eyes, and get my ass in gear. Five minutes later, I’m standing in the living room, ready to head to the gym with my roommate Trick.

  “It’s about time, asshole,” he grumbles, grabbing his gym bag off the table as he heads for the door.

  “Sorry, man. Crap night.” I shut the door after we both walk through, then we exit the building and head in the direction of the gym. It’s New York City, so we pretty much walk or take the subway wherever we need to go.

  “Who’d you have last night?” Trick asks as we walk.

  “Lucy Greene,” I state and roll my eyes.

  “Try and sleep with you again?”

  “Yep, but not until she had three martinis in her, and then you know you can’t tell her a damn thing. Literally had to peel her off me in order to try to get out of her apartment.” I shake my head at the memory.

  “You need to tell Cory to take her off your rotation. You don’t need to deal with that shit.”

  I nod my head and frown. “She pays so damn well that it’s hard to red light. Ya know what I mean, man?”

  He just nods his head. Trick knows better than anyone what I’m talking about because we both work at the same place: Temptations Escort Agency. And, yeah, it’s exactly what it sounds like. We’re paid escorts. Dates for hire. We are arm candy, paid to satisfy the whims of our client. And, no, we aren’t prostitutes. Money will get you a lot but some of us have our limits. We’re officially hired to escort a woman, or a man in some cases, to whatever event she or he requests. It could be a wedding, a simple dinner date for company, a not so simple dinner date where she’s trying to make an ex jealous, charity balls, funerals, or pretty much anything you can think of.

  Cory manages Trick and I and sets up all our encounters. She knows what our limits are, and if there’s any question, she forwards the request to us for approval. Officially, we’re only paid for our escort services. There’s no money exchanged with Temptations for sex. That would be illegal, after all. But it happens. All the time. Because sometimes the money is too good to turn down, and let’s face it, we’re not doing this because we need a date. And in my case, some of us need the money.

  I still owe thirty grand on my tuition for the physician’s assistant program I’m enrolled in, and the sooner I get it paid off, the less I have hanging over my head. I start my clinical practicum in three weeks, and even though I’ll be getting paid, it’s not going to be anywhere near enough to pay my rent in the city, my tuition bill, and my living expenses.

  But, even I have my limits; Mrs. Greene is case-in-point. She’s a beautiful, rich divorcee who likes nothing more than to throw her money at me, but she’s still in love with her soon-to-be ex-husband. Adding me into the mix will just make things harder for her. Even if she’s not able to see that yet, I am.

  We reach the gym and enter to the sound of metal clanking and the smell of testosterone thick in the air. Trick and I don’t say much during our workout. These are a matter of necessity, not enjoyment, and some days we just want to get through it and move on to the next thing. We’ve known each other since we served in the army together; me as a medic and him as a medivac chopper pilot.

  He could probably make bank doing private helicopter tours or as a medivac pilot here, but he was gutted when his chopper was shot down and everyone but him died in the crash. Hasn’t been able to fly since. Unlike me, Trick doesn’t have many limits. Working at the service allows him to be anyone but himself and get paid for it, making it easier for him to try to forget what happened overseas.

  Trick and I push through a standard workout and then take a quick shower. We meet back in the lobby after we’re dressed to figure out the rest of our day.

  “You have a job tonight?” I ask as I approach him sitting at the juice bar drinking a protein shake.

  He gives me a wicked grin. “I’ve got Grace Mathers tonight.”

  I roll my eyes as I sit beside him. “Better you than me. She’s a friggin wildcat.”

  “That’s what I like about her. I never know what she’s gonna surprise me with next, but it’s never dull.” He gulps down the rest of his drink. “What do you have going on?”

  “Someone new. Single woman wants a date for a charity event. Seems like an easy night.” I turn my attention to the staff behind the counter and order myself a shake. “I have to go pick my tux up from the cleaners. Haven’t needed it in a couple weeks.”

  “Okay, I’m going to take off then. Maybe hit Dark Pleasures on my way home and see if I can’t find something special for Ms. Mathers.” His eyebrow raises as one side of his mouth cocks up in a salacious grin.

  “Yeah, have fun with that. I’ll catch you back at our place later.”

  He stands, slaps a hand on my shoulder in goodbye, and walks off just as my shake is placed in front of me. I nod in thanks, grab my phone out of my duffel, and go through my messages as I drink my breakfast. Nothing too exciting, except for an email from Mrs. Greene, forwarded by Cory, expressing embarrassment and apologies for her behavior the evening before. I cringe a little reading the desperation in her email but can’t help but feel sad for this woman who is clearly feeling so insecure over her husband’s infidelities.

  I finish up my shake, leave a five on the counter and head to the cleaners to grab my tux for this evening.

  * * *

  Seven hours later, my town car pulls up beside an address in the very good part of town. I step out of the car, make my way into the building and stop at the concierge desk, where I’m greeted by a middle-aged man in a sharp uniform.

  “Good evening, sir. Can I help you this evening?”

  “Maddox Stone, here for Karen Perry. She’s expecting me.”

  “Of course, one moment, sir, while I ring her.”

  I take a few steps around the grand marble foyer and admire the paintings hanging on the wall as he announces my arrival to my date. I’m not familiar with the artist, but it’s definitely from the impressionist era and simply stunning.

  “She’ll be down in just a moment, Mr. Stone,” the concierge calls from his desk.

  I wave my hand in acknowledgement as I stop to absorb the beauty in one particular painting. It’s a simple image actually; a single boat in a pond, with a single occupant. A woman. But on shore are three smaller images. Her children? I’m not sure and the mystery of it has me investigating every speck of paint on the canvas for some kind of clue to the answer.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the painting, but it must have been for several minutes because I’m startled when a hand touches me on the elbow. “Excuse me, Mr. Stone?”

  I turn and come face to face with a much older woman. My brows raise slightly in surprise as my gaze sweeps from her face and down her body, which is sheathed smartly in a navy-blue satin gown. “Yes?”

  She laughs lightly, her eyes twinkling in delight as she replies, “Karen Perry.”

  My brows arch higher, and I fight to keep my mouth closed as surprise catches me off guard for just a moment. She must be at least eighty years old. This is my date? I recover quickly and plant a smile on my face and nod. “I’m so sorry. Nice to meet you.”

  “Not exactly what you were expecting?” Eyes that mirror the color of her dress light up in mischief as one side of her mouth crooks up in a slight smirk.

  Again, completely caught off guard. “Er, well, I—
”

  Her hand comes up and rests gently on my forearm. “Blame it on that damn Caroline Beaumont!” She pulls at my arm gently and starts walking in the direction of the lobby exit. “Every event I go to, she is rubbing her son’s accomplishments in my nose, knowing full well I never had any children with Astor.” She pauses mid-step and looks in my direction. “Astor is, well, was my husband. He passed a year ago.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry.” I’m sincere in my condolences, seeing the sadness that washes across her features upon saying his name.

  She pats my arm, her lips pursing downward for just a moment. “Thank you, dear. He’s missed.” She starts walking again, switching topics as quickly as one flips a pancake. “Anyway, Astor and I met quite late in life, and as such never had children of our own. And Caroline just loves to remind me of that. I’ve had enough!”

  We’ve reached the town car, and after a nod in the driver’s direction, the rear door is opened and I assist Mrs. Perry into the back seat. I move to the opposite side and settle myself in beside her. “I’m sorry, please continue.”

  She holds her finger up to me and then addresses my driver. “Dear, we’re going to Gotham Hall on Broadway. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gene looks at me in the rearview and I nod in approval, his indication to begin our journey.

  I shift my gaze back to my date who has lowered her finger and has both hands clasped demurely in her lap, a look of curiosity on her face.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you always the boss?” Again, the look of mischief plays in her eyes.

  I chuckle and run a hand over my chin at her observation. “Technically, you’re the boss, but Gene does like to make sure I’m on board with all decisions.”

  A smile pulls at the wrinkles around her mouth, making them smoother. “I think you’re going to do quite nicely as my nephew.”

  “Nephew?” My head cocks. This is a new one.

  “Yes, nephew. Tonight, you’re my sister’s son, here in town for a visit.” She nods her head matter-of-factly like I should already be aware of this fact. “You didn’t think I wanted to have sex with you, did you?”

  I can’t contain the laughter that erupts straight from my belly at her brazen question. She has no filter and I love it. “Mrs. Perry, I’ve learned to always expect the unexpected.”

  She chuckles back. “Well, I’m certainly not expecting that. And if we’re going to pull this off, you’re going to have to call me Aunt Karen.”

  “Got it.” I wipe the smile off my face and get down to business. “What else do I need to know?”

  “Well, let’s see. I need you to be successful, of course.” Her eyes travel over my face, studying it for a moment. “Exactly how old are you? I asked the agency for someone in their twenties, intelligent and good looking. They got the good-looking part down.”

  “I’m twenty-eight. Will that do?” I’d have to thank Cory for putting me in the intelligent, good-looking bucket.

  “That will do.” She nods and then waves a hand around the car. “Now, is this all you do?”

  I raise my brows in question. “This?”

  “You know, date the ladies?” She states it like it should be so obvious to me.

  I chuckle and then answer the question. “I was in the Army as a medic for six years and have been in PA school for the last year. I start my clinical rounds in a couple weeks.”

  “PA school?”

  “Physician’s Assistant. It’s sort of like a step down from an M.D. I can see patients, write scripts, work in a hospital or a doctor’s office .” I watch as she absorbs this information, her head bobbing up and down in understanding as I speak. “This is what I do to help pay for that.”

  “The Army didn’t pay for your schooling?”

  “A good part of it but not all of it. There’s still living expenses, books, clothing.”

  “Why not just go to medical school?”

  It’s a question I get a lot. Why a Physician’s Assistant degree? Why not medical school? It’s an easy answer for me. “Money. And time. Getting your M.D. is six more years of school and training. It’s an expense I don’t have the luxury to afford, and honestly, becoming a PA satisfies my need to be able to take care of people.”

  She places her fingers over mine and gives me a warm smile. “I wasn’t judging, dear. I was just curious.” She gives my hand a squeeze then. “So, PA it is then. It won’t be too hard at all for me to brag about you!”

  I return her smile. “Okay, let’s get some of the facts down then. My mother’s name? Where do I live? My name? How do you want to play this?”

  “Oh, you’re so good at this!” Her mouth pulls into a wide smile. “My sister’s name is Kathy, and is your mother. She’s real, and is retired and living in Palm Springs with her husband, your father, Thomas. You grew up in Los Angeles where, by the way, your father worked as a trauma surgeon at UCLA Medical Center.” She looks at me and pauses. “So far, so good?”

  “Yep. Kathy and Tom, Palm Springs, LA, UCLA. What about me? Am I Maddox? Do they really have a son?”

  She frowns. “Unfortunately, no. They have two daughters. But it doesn’t matter. Is Maddox Stone your real name?”

  “What do you think, Mrs. Perry?” I give her a sardonic rise of my eyebrow.

  “Aunt Karen,” she corrects. “Yes, well, Maddox Stone does sound like something a news reporter or an escort would use.” She chuckles at her own joke, looking at me as she does. “Can you tell me your real name?”

  “I’m not supposed to.” I purse my lips in thought and then nod my head. “But I don’t anticipate you trying to stalk me or cause me any harm.”

  “Oh, dear, I would never!” she exclaims.

  I smile warmly at her and nod, because I know she wouldn’t. “It’s Trey. Trey Riley.” It feels strange telling a client my real name. It’s a first for me. Something I’ve never done and, quite frankly, am not supposed to do. But Karen Perry feels the furthest from a client than anyone I’ve ever been assigned to.

  “You’re kidding me!” Her eyes are wide and her mouth falls open.

  “No…”

  “This must be fate or kismet or something like that.” She places her hand back over mine and leans forward like she’s about to tell me the secret of the century. “Tom and Kathy’s last name is Riley.”

  * * *

  Michelle Windsor

  Michelle Windsor is a wife, mom, and a writer who lives North of Boston with her family. When she isn’t spinning stories, she’s been known to partake in good wine and good food with her family and friends. She's a voracious reader, loves to hike with her German shepherd, Roman, enjoys a good romance movie and may be slightly obsessed with Outlander.

  You can find Michelle on her webpage at

  www.authormichellewindsor.com ,

  on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authormwindsor

  and on Instagram at

  www.instagram.com/author_michelle_windsor/

  Other Books by Michelle Windsor

  The Winning Bid, Book 1 of The Auction Series

  The Final Bid, Book 2 of The Auction Series

  Losing Hope

  Love Notes

  Tempting Secrets

  Tempting Tricks (Releasing 2/19)

  Books Co-Authored with Haylee Thorne

  Breaking Benjamin

  Marrying Benjamin

  * * *

  Iron Orchids

  Ariel

  Moving to the happiest fucking place on Earth had nothing to do with fairy tales or finding my Prince Charming. Thanks to my daddy, I no longer believed in magic or happily ever afters. I landed in this city because this was the land of hotels, conventions, and destination weddings, which meant it was my best bet at becoming an event planner.

  I didn’t hate being a seamstress, but it wasn’t my dream, it was my mama’s. I never told her that I’d rather be on the other side, planning the events where people wore the fancy clothes, costumes, and unifor
ms.

  I never got the chance.

  During my freshman year of high school, she had her first stroke, spoke with a slur, and relied a little more on me. But just before my senior year, Mama had her second stroke, and someone needed to keep the business going to pay the bills, so I took over. Because Daddy was long gone, he had no use for an invalid wife, and no interest in raising a teenage daughter who hated him.

  I told myself repeatedly that Mama would have wanted me to follow my dream, even if it meant hers was gone. Though, I doubted that included buying a motorcycle.

  I brushed the wetness away then strapped on my helmet and headed to my motorcycle. Ever since binge watching Sons of Anarchy, I wanted to be badass. Okay, not like crime badass. Just the I-look-cool-on-this-bike kind of badass. So, after I unpacked my last box, I went out and purchased a Harley Sportster. I couldn’t wait to start the engine and let the wind whip across my face. It was cathartic. As the engine roared to life, I replayed the words my teacher said just a few weeks ago during motorcycle safety class.

  Ease up on the throttle. Hold steady.

  Don’t freak.

  The bike will go where your eyes go.

  I found myself twisting the throttle a little more than I should have, and a small smile pulled at my lips.

  I shifted gears and headed to the service road around the Mall at Millennia, Orlando’s version of Rodeo Drive. Since I lived in metro Orlando, finding somewhere to practice riding wasn’t easy. There were always constant road improvements or tourists who drove like idiots reversing down the interstate because they missed the fucking exit. So, the rarely traversed area behind the mall was one of the best places to practice.

  It was also one of the only places I’d practiced. I stayed within a five-mile radius of my home, but I needed to get comfortable and feel confident so I could take my bike out for a long ride, let the sun shine down on my face and forget the reality that was my life.