The Blind Date

by Alice Ward

  “Oh, no, I’m fine right now,” I said, rummaging through my purse for my phone.

  I checked the display and frowned. Okay, it was almost eight.

  What the hell? My first dip in the dating pond and I was already being ditched? How was that fair?

  I opened a text to Leah and wrote, Guess who’s sitting here all alone, because your Mr. Pratt didn’t show up???

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zachary

  Since I was a teen, hardly a week ever passed by that I didn’t have some sort of black-tie function to attend.

  I fucking hated them.

  My father supported a lot of worthy causes, and we always found ourselves on the invite list for galas, along with the usual list of the same wealthiest people in the city. They were dull as hell, the same food, the same narrow-minded people, the same conversation. All the old, wealthy men would parade their trophy women in, and a good number of those women were escorts, so I didn’t feel ashamed in the least for hiring one. At least I wasn’t married.

  I figured that the Friday evening event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art would be a great opportunity to do as Gavin and I had discussed. I would see a little art, schmooze a few of my father’s old friends, and then I’d fuck a beautiful woman’s brains out. I’d even booked a suite at the Four Seasons just for the occasion, which was closer to the gala location than my Hell’s Kitchen apartment.

  The perfect night. Well, except for the black tie and the schmoozing, but I’d deal.

  On Kitn.com, it hadn’t taken me long to find the woman I wanted to take to bed. There were thousands of beautiful escorts available for the right price in the city of Manhattan, but I saw her right away.

  Her name was Jewel. She had stick straight, dirty blonde hair down to her shoulders. I loved dirty blonde hair, loved black roots tapering to golden streaks, because it gave the appearance of rawness, of imperfection, and I didn’t want perfect. There were dozens of pictures of her on the profile, in various states of undress.

  She was slim and petite but had curves where it mattered. A thin waist opening to a perfect ass. The last picture was of her lounging on a velvet chaise, wearing nothing but a black thong, garter, and stockings. Her face was blurred out, but I could tell that she was beautiful, and the inability to see her only made me want her more. Her body was exquisite, her tits full and heavy, with perfect pink nipples I could already see myself licking.

  Just what I needed.

  Plus, she’d turn heads. At the gala, she’d make every guy in the place jealous of me. Not that I cared much about what those old blowhards thought, but I loved the thought of fucking a woman that every man wanted.

  And this woman? There was no way any heterosexual man could turn her down.

  The blurb on her profile had turned me on even more:

  Hello, my perfect gentleman,

  Are you willing to experience something you’ve never felt before? I like to think of myself as warm, bright, sexy, and engaging, with a wicked sense of humor. Other men have confirmed at least a few of those adjectives. I'm also told that time spent with me can be cathartic. Being open-minded and willing to explore different parts of myself seems to have that effect on the people I’m with. Do you have a need for such a release?

  Our time together should be indulgent, savored, and unrushed.

  I have a full life, and only see a few gentlemen per week, as I prefer to keep each rendezvous individual, fresh, and exciting for both of us.

  So tempt me. The gentlemen I choose to spend time with are articulate, intelligent, well traveled, well groomed, and as discerning as I am. Introduce yourself in your first email to me to set yourself apart as one such gentleman, and make me more apt to choose you for a little tête à tête. Anything goes, and I mean anything.

  I have a quick mind and appetite for new experiences. My free time is filled in galleries, cinemas, bookshops, world-class restaurants, wine bars, museums, and everything else this amazing city of Manhattan has to offer. I love adventure and am looking forward to getting a little hedonistic with you.

  Xxx Jewel

  I wasn’t quite sure if I’d set myself apart in my first email, or she just wasn’t as discerning as she claimed to be, but she agreed to meet me the following Friday night at Terra, a wine bar in Tribeca, before heading uptown to the museum. It was in between for both of us, since she was coming from Brooklyn.

  I’d found her price list on her website and had told her I was willing to pay the full seven thousand dollars for the “full night of hedonism,” even though I explained to her that if she had to leave the hotel earlier, it was more than fine with me. Though I doubted she’d want to leave since the suite at the Four Seasons had run me another five for the night.

  I made the meeting time for seven-thirty, though the gala was at nine. I thought I could ply her a little and calm myself with a few scotches so I could be my charming self before we got the show on the road.

  But as I finished off my third scotch, I realized something was wrong. The shelves covered with thousands of wine bottles in an industrial setting overlooked a packed crowd of people, and plenty of beautiful women, but none that looked like my escort. There was dirty blonde hair, sinful bodies, eyes twinkling with mischief everywhere, but none who were alone or appeared to be the mind-blowingly gorgeous person I was waiting for.

  I checked my phone. It was nearly eight.

  Damn.

  I wasn’t used to being blown off. Especially by someone I was fucking paying for.

  I ordered another scotch and looked around. Traffic in the city was unpredictable, so I’d give her another ten minutes. It was one thing to have to endure a gala knowing I’d get to take a gorgeous woman to bed afterward, but if I’d have to endure it alone? Pure. Torture. Fate worse than death.

  “All right, Jewel,” I muttered under my breath as I adjusted my bow tie, scanning the busy restaurant for my beautiful escort. “Show yourself or forever hold your peace.”

  I didn’t know if I expected her to jump out from behind the bar, but she didn’t. It was all the same people who’d been tossing back shots since I’d arrived here an hour earlier: Ride’em Cowboys in the Big City at ten o’clock. Pretentious Columbia A-holes at one o’clock. Bachelorette Party at eleven. Three-piece-suited Financial District pricks blowing off steam at twelve. But no woman, alone, at least from where I could see.

  A few of the bachelorette party girls were giving me eyes and blowing me kisses, and where I would have ordinarily played along, I had other things on my mind. Namely, that fucking gala. What were the chances I could get the marginally attractive girl with the tulle veil to blow her bachelorette party off and come with me?

  Probably not good. Shit.

  I whirled on the stool, giving the place a thorough scouring with my eyes. Standing, I changed vantage points, peering into the darkened corners.

  Bingo.

  There she was, tucked into the corner, reading a book.

  It seemed wrong for her to be there, tucked away like an afterthought. The Jewel I’d seen on that chaise lounge was definitely not the type of girl who hid in the background. I strained forward to see her, hidden in the shadows and dim orange candlelight.

  She wasn’t the same as the picture. Her hair was dirty blonde, but it was shorter, barely grazing her bare, pale shoulders. She had those same full lips, and though her lower half was covered by the table in the corner, and the light wasn’t so good, it looked like she had a body on her. It was difficult to tell because she was hunched over a book, alone. Her long-lashed eyes darted across the page as she gnawed on her pinky nail.

  Hello, mind-blowingly gorgeous.

  I was instantly intrigued.

  Why be here, reading, alone, unless… she was waiting for someone?

  Taking a sip of my scotch, I slid off the stool and took a step closer. As I did, she looked up, checked the phone on the table beside her, and glanced around. Her face clouded. Then, sighing so forcefully that she blew a lock of
hair off her forehead, she thrust the book into her bag. She had the body, the face that most men would have to pay for.

  Jewel. It had to be.

  Working my way toward her, my steps grew surer.

  I weaved my way around the bachelorette party girls and the cowboys, until I was nearly in front of her booth.

  At the same time, she tucked her purse under her arm and stood, colliding with me. She hit me so hard that I stepped back while she wobbled and fell back into her seat with an embarrassed thud.

  “Oh!” She looked up at me, clutching at her chest. “Oh. God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  I was already taken. Those big blue eyes rimmed in dark lashes were as wide as saucers. I’d scared her.

  “I’m sorry…” I touched her hand, and damned, if I didn’t feel a surge of electricity. The kind that only happened in fiction. “Are you Jew—?”

  “Yes!” she burst out, friendly and bubbly. “Chris? I thought you weren’t going to come.”

  Chris? Who the fuck was Chris?

  “Actually,” I pointed to my chest. “It’s Zach.”

  “Oh, right. Zach. I knew that.” She blushed, tapping on her forehead as if to say what was I thinking?

  “That’s okay, I’m sure you must…” I stopped. Fuck a lot of men didn’t seem appropriate. Her profile had said she only spent time with a couple of gentlemen a week, but it probably wasn’t easy to keep them all straight. “Have a busy schedule.”

  She motioned to the seat across from her and set her bag back down. “No, no, it’s fine. I haven’t been waiting long. I’m glad you found me. I didn’t see you come in. It’s getting crowded in here.”

  “You were reading,” I observed, nodding toward the book.

  She pulled the Agatha Christie book out of her bag. “I know. Lame, huh?”

  “No, I love to read. I love Christie too. That’s a great book.”

  “I’m into it.” She beamed at the cover featuring a silhouette of Hercule Poirot. “Don’t tell me who did it.”

  “With Christie, it’s always the…” I stopped and shook my head. “You’ll find out. Have you read any more of her books?”

  She nodded. “Almost all of them, I think. And I think I know what you were going to say. The killer is always the person who seems most unlikely.”

  “Exactly,” I said, wondering how she’d gotten into my head so quickly. I’d expected with escorts, I wouldn’t be going for the top of the gene pool, intellectually. She was fucking perceptive, which was a nice thing, considering that in another hour we’d be headed to a place where everyone was a cardboard cutout, not unlike the privileged society Christie wrote about. If only someone at the gala would commit a murder, maybe it would liven things up.

  “Well then…” She pressed her lips together, thinking. “The doctor?”

  I made a show of zipping my lips and throwing away the key.

  “Well, I appreciate your determination not to spoil it for me.” She tucked the book into her bag. “I brought the book because I hate… you know, the first meeting. It can be awkward. But I’m relieved.”

  I was more than relieved. I was fucking ecstatic by this purchase. “And why are you relieved?”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “Because you’re as described.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t quite remember describing myself as anything other than tall, green-eyed, thirty-two, and up for fun. “I’m sure many people must lie to you, in this sort of thing?”

  She frowned and lifted a shoulder, drawing my attention to her perfect skin. “Well, not to me. This is the first time I’ve ever… you know.”

  I blinked. Her profile had looked so professional, I’d expected she’d done this a hundred times before. In fact, her profile said that she was “top-rated.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize you were new to this. You mean you just started?”

  “Yep! Just last…” she frowned, clearly searching her mental calendar, then shrugged, “whenever it was you got in touch with me. I’ve never met a stranger like this before.” She buried her hands under her thighs like a little girl, and I realized it had to be an act. She probably got more money by playing the innocent. “So go easy on me.”

  I held up my hands. I’d try, but I honestly couldn’t make any promises once I had her close to me. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, motioning to her water.

  She bit her luscious bottom lip. “I suppose so. A gin and tonic, please. I didn’t want to start drinking, in case…”

  She trailed off, but I mentally filled in the rest. In case… I turned out to be a total creep.

  Now, she was letting her guard down. Let the fun begin.

  I motioned to the waitress and ordered her drink and another scotch for me.

  She chattered on, and all I could think was that she wasn’t anything like that sultry vixen she portrayed online. I’d expected someone deep-voiced, world-weary, and rawly sexual. The woman across from me was sweet, chatty, and had a girl-next-door vibe going for her.

  The dichotomy turned me on unlike anything else. Something Gavin used to say suddenly hit me… “She’s a lady on the street and a freak in the sheets.”

  It’s an act.

  I knew that, but it was an act that had caught me, hook, line, and sinker. It probably made her a fortune.

  “Do you come to this place often?’ she asked, leaning forward. Damn, her breasts were absolutely incredible.

  I kept my eyes on her face. She might be an escort, but she still deserved respect. “Honestly, this is my first time. I don’t usually get this far downtown,” I admitted.

  She frowned. “Oh. I thought you chose it because you’d been here before.”

  “Nah. I chose this place because I thought it would be the midpoint between us. You live in Brooklyn, right?”

  She shook her head. “Queens.”

  Okay, what in the world had made me think she was from Brooklyn? This was way out of the way from the Upper East Side and Queens.

  Whatever, it didn’t matter. In fact, few things did right now, except for this beauty in front of me.

  The more she talked, the more she unveiled bits of the woman whose profile I had read. She was spot-on with her description of herself — bright, funny, engaging. Definitely sexy. I was starting to be really, really happy I’d taken Gavin’s advice. I wondered if we could fast-track this night and we’d end up in bed quicker than I thought.

  Maybe it was just that I was a paying customer, but there was definite chemistry. I could tell by the way she licked her lips that she was happy with what she saw. It was nice to be in front of an alluring, intelligent woman without having to worry about what came next or what she was thinking. We both knew that this evening would end with both of us naked, my cock deep inside her.

  When she began to talk about how she loved museums, I remembered the gala. Shit, the gala. I consoled myself with the notion that at least this one wouldn’t be so bad because I’d have her on my arm. And all I really needed to do tonight was show up, make my presence and my monetary support known to the hosts, and then all bets were off.

  “Well, you’re in luck. We’re going to the Met tonight.”

  She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Tonight? That happens to be my favorite museum. But did I agree to such a thing?”

  “Indeed, you did,” I said, giving her my most charming grin as she leaned even more, tempting me. I leaned forward too, trying to get closer to her, to bathe in her presence a little more. When I did, I couldn’t stop my gaze from sweeping down to those voluptuous breasts encased in a silky, shimmery halter. I admired her shape, my eyes finally landing on her hips, where I realized something.

  She wasn’t wearing a gown.

  She wasn’t even in the eveningwear ballpark. No, though her top was dressy, she was wearing jeans underneath. I wasn’t up on the latest female fashion, but it didn’t matter. That would definitely not fly with my father’s conservative friends.

  “Well, all right,” she
said, as the agreeable escort should be. “I’m up for anything.”

  We flirted on, touching hands, touching arms, knees pressed together under the table, as I wondered how to break it to her. I was pretty sure I’d mentioned the gala in my email, making her aware of the formal dress code. I didn’t dress in a fucking monkey suit tux unless I absolutely had to. Maybe she’d thought I was joking, or she’d missed that little tidbit since I’d included it at the bottom of the email. It didn’t matter. I checked my Piaget timepiece. There was still enough time to make a stop at her place.

  Scooting closer to her, I caught a scent of whatever she was wearing. It was musky and vanilla with tones of amber. It was alluring enough to make me want to lick her. “Should we go to your place first?”

  Her lashes fluttered, and not in a sexy, Yeah, let’s go to my room kind of way. No, there was panic in her reaction. “My place? Why?”

  “To change. I did mention that there was a gala tonight, at the Met.”

  Her eyes slowly lowered down to her outfit. Just as slowly, she raised her head and licked her lips. Damn, she had pillowy, sexy lips.

  “You were serious about that?” she breathed, and I could see her pulse pounding in her throat. “No, I didn’t know that. I can’t wear this?”

  I covered her delicate hand in mine, thinking. Sexy lips. Smooth skin. Holy hell, this girl was ticking all my boxes. I made a mental note to buy Gavin dinner at Gallagher’s later for giving me this idea.

  She started to panic, but I held up my hand. Valentino was practically on the way to the museum, and I had friends there. Hell, this was a minor problem.

  “You know what?” I said to her, stroking the back of her hand gently with the pad of my thumb. “It’s okay. I have an idea. Come with me.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Juliana

  Leah wasn’t kidding.

  Her brother’s roommate’s cousin was not just a Chris Pratt look-alike. In a tuxedo — a real, honest to goodness tuxedo — he had this effortless suave thing going for him. He looked like Chris rolled in a little bit of James Bond, with sprinkles and a freaking cherry on top. Beyond sexy.