by Emma Slate
She paused, her expression pensive. “I owe Tiffany a great debt. And in our world, you pay your debts. And that’s all I’ll say about it. But frankly, I’m not sure you’re cut out for this line of work. It takes a certain type of person to do this job—and I’m not just talking about the business transaction of sex. To be a Rex girl…it’s not just about being beautiful. Which you know you are. But so are many other girls. No, it’s about something more. That je ne sais quoi.”
She lifted the teacup and took a sip. “Our clients aren’t looking for normal women. Boring women. Stupid women. These are wealthy men, powerful and decisive. They’re the movers and shakers of the world. They thrive on success and challenges. They buy eight hundred-dollar bottles of Barolo they don’t even finish. They have private art collections that rival the world’s best museums and yet have never been seen by the public, and on and on. Why? Because they can.”
Genevieve’s gaze scanned me from head to toe, cataloguing me again. “You’re hot headed and repulsed by what we do. It’s written all over your face. Girls like you normally don’t even make it through my front door.” She leaned toward me as if to ensure I didn’t miss what she said next. “But as I mentioned before, I owe Tiffany. You have bravado, I’ll give you that, but I can see the fear in your eyes. I’ll give you a new identity, but nothing in life is free. To earn it, you must become a Rex girl and have skin in the game.”
“I speak three languages fluently and—”
“Even better. Our clients are from all over the world.”
“No, I meant—”
“I know what you meant, but I don’t care,” she said, her tone hard as she interrupted me for a second time. “You want a regular job in an office cubicle. I’m not offering you that. You’d be wasted in an office. If you become a Rex girl, you’ll be given every luxury you can imagine by the men you spend time with. Gifts, jewelry, clothes. You’ll be able to travel and spend time on private estates. You’ll experience places that most of the population doesn’t even know exist as you see the world in first-class style. Are your morals so unwavering that you can’t be tempted by those things?”
“It’s not about morals.”
“It’s not? Then what’s the problem?”
My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that it drowned out everything else. I wasn’t sure why I was so shocked. My best friend had been doing this for years and seemed no worse for wear. Not only did she have every luxury she wanted, but she didn’t seem jaded. She didn’t seem…broken.
Genevieve’s gaze was unwavering. “You have a choice, Sterling. We all have a choice. But you have to ask yourself if your pronouncement still stands. What are you willing to do to be safe?”
Genevieve paused, waiting for my answer.
An answer I didn’t know if I was ready to give.
There was a knock on the door. Annika popped her head in, her hand still on the knob. “Sorry to disturb you,” she said. “Ramsey is on the phone for you.”
“Tell him I’ll be right with him.”
Annika nodded and then closed the door. I turned my attention back to Genevieve.
“I have to take this call, but we’re not finished with this discussion,” Genevieve said finally. “I’m willing to give you some time to think over what I’ve just told you. Please wait in the restaurant in the lobby. Have lunch and I’ll be in touch with you shortly.”
I tamped down an audible sigh of relief as I went to the door, ready to escape the room.
“And Sterling…” Gen called from behind me.
I looked over my shoulder.
“Give it some serious thought,” she said. “There are far worse things in life than becoming a Rex girl.”
Chapter Five
The lobby wasn’t as busy as it had been when I’d arrived for my interview, yet the few people present still moved about with purpose. The Rex suddenly reminded me of a hive of insects all united toward a common goal.
I headed to the restaurant. A young man dressed in a white button-down shirt, a charcoal gray vest, and a skinny red tie stood at the host stand. His brown hair was parted and styled like a 1950s businessman and he welcomed me with an authentic smile.
“Hello,” he said. “Do you have a reservation?”
I shook my head. “I just had an interview with Genevieve and—”
“Enough said. Right this way, please.”
He picked up a menu and led me to a two-top in the corner of the room and then went to one of the chairs to pull it out for me.
“Do you mind if I sit at the bar?” I asked.
“Not at all.” He pushed the chair back in and gestured toward the bar.
When I was settled on a stool with a menu in front of me, I was able to turn and survey the restaurant.
The decor was old-world yet inviting. Gaslight sconces graced the walls, casting the restaurant in dim but romantic lighting. It was classic in a way that was not only for those on dates, and I had the sense that a lot of business deals were made over perfectly seasoned steaks and handshakes.
A cute, blond bartender approached and set down a Rex Hotel coaster in front of me. “May I get you something to drink?”
“Just sparkling water, please.”
I glanced at the menu again but didn’t register any of the dishes. I wasn’t really hungry. Not after that meeting.
My thoughts swirled in my head like smoke. The truth about The Fifteenth Floor hadn’t fully sunk in yet, but for some reason I was strangely intrigued by Gen’s offer, by the picture she had presented. I wasn’t immune to opulence and wealth. I couldn’t ignore the fact that The Rex world was seductive. They sold sex, clearly. But was there more to it than that?
“May I get you something to eat?” the blond bartender asked, jarring me out of my thoughts.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’m not really hungry.”
He inclined his head and then moved away, leaving me alone with my questions.
Two older men walked into the Bar and Restaurant, dressed in tailored suits. The host sat them at a table in the center of the room. They commanded the space around them and when the server came to take their order, neither of them looked at their menus before speaking.
They knew what they wanted and how they wanted it, and there was no hesitation in their choices.
Would these be the type of men I spent time with if I became a Rex girl?
The man who faced me moved his head and met my gaze. He arched an eyebrow and a slow smile spread across his face.
I hastily turned around, wanting to hide, wondering if I would learn to flirt and be comfortable being valued for my physical being.
I wasn’t a prude or a virgin. I’d had relationships. They’d been underwhelming and unsatisfying, fizzling out as quickly as they’d started. I’d often wondered if there was something inherently wrong with me, since I could never find a man that held my interest.
Swallowing, I thrust that idea away. If I thought about all the reasons I couldn’t or shouldn’t be a Rex girl, I’d chicken out. I’d walk out of the lobby and never look back, and then I’d have to take my chances on the run again from the Foscari.
But if I said yes? If I said yes, a whole new avenue would open up before me. I didn’t know nearly enough about The Rex world or what it meant to work on The Fifteenth Floor, but I knew that my back was to a wall. I’d lived on borrowed time the past year, and I was exposed and out of money. I wouldn’t survive, not on my own. If I walked away from the offer in front of me, I might never have another chance at starting a new life.
Genevieve wasn’t convinced I was cut out to be a Rex girl, and I agreed with her. I didn’t want to become a Rex girl. But if I wanted to survive, as my mother had told me to do, I didn’t see any other choice.
I was staring into my glass of sparkling water, watching the bubbles fizz and pop when I noticed a man approach the bar.
Even though I was distracted, I couldn’t help but spare a glance in his direction. He unbuttoned his b
lack suit jacket before sliding his large body onto the stool right next to mine. There were a few other seats available at the bar, and I wished he’d used one of them.
His hair was blond with subtle hints of red.
A male strawberry blond. In the wild.
The thought made me smile.
My grin somehow pulled his attention because he looked at me head on. His stormy blue-gray eyes were mesmerizing, and when I was able to pull my gaze away from them, I was finally able to see the entire picture of his face. He had a bold, unapologetic nose which was the slightest bit crooked, no doubt from a fight. His jaw line was chiseled and cut.
He sat close enough that I could detect the faintest trace of expensive aftershave, and it made me wonder at the color of his beard. Would it be blond? Red? Darker auburn? I suddenly had to know.
I’d never seen a man like him in my entire life. Brawny and impressive—and though he filled out the expensive, tailored suit perfectly, it looked like a shield from a world he didn’t belong in. He appeared to be fighting his natural instinct, hiding something in the darkness to seem civilized in public.
“Like what you see?” His voice was a sensual Scottish burr, and it had me shooting my gaze to his face.
He didn’t look at all like he was joking, and there was no hint of a smile on his cruel mouth.
Cruel because his lips were temptation. Full and rich. Designed perfectly to drive hopeless women to the brink of stupidity.
He was too angular, too sure of his countenance to be anything but assertive, and it was clear he wore his natural confidence better than he wore a suit.
Desire pulsed low in my body.
“Cat got your tongue?” he pressed.
His tone did not come out teasing, as if he couldn’t be bothered with banter.
It made my spine snap straight. I would not give him the satisfaction of retreating, of trying to lie and pretend I hadn’t been physically assessing him. If I was interviewing to be a high-class call girl, then why not practice the art of flirtation on a complete stranger I’d never see again?
I took a sip of my water and dropped my chin so that I could look up at him through the sweep of my lashes. “Yes. I think I do like what I see.”
He clenched his carved jaw and refused to turn his eyes away from mine. If anything, his gaze darkened. The mood transformed from stormy to tempest.
What would he be like unleashed?
The fear of the Foscari and the complete lack of control over my own life, the crossroads I was at, all melded together in a stew of lust which I hadn’t felt in far too long. I was ready to do something dangerous.
I wanted to lean toward this stranger, place my lips against his, and get lost in the feel of him for a few hours. It was out of character, it was destructive, it was playing with gasoline and a lighter.
The bartender returned with a platter of bone marrow and set it in front of the man next to me. “Compliments of the house,” he said. “Would you like something to drink?”
“SINNERS neat. Thank you.”
After the bartender set the glass of amber liquid on a coaster, he said, “Enjoy.” He moved away to the other end of the bar to talk to another patron.
The stranger scooped up a dollop of marrow and placed it on a slice of grilled Tuscan bread.
“Do you eat?” he asked.
My mouth flickered up in amusement. “On occasion. Why? Are you asking me to dinner?”
He looked at me. “Why go to dinner when there’s food in front of us right now?” The man took his bread plate and set down the grilled Tuscan bread slathered with bone marrow and placed it in front of me.
“Are you adventurous?” he asked.
I boldly met his gaze. “Are we still talking about food?”
His jaw clenched again and the muscles near his neck pulsed lightly, and without bothering with a piece of bread, he spooned out the bone marrow and slid it between his lips.
I picked up what he’d set in front of me and took a bite. The bone marrow tasted like rich, decadent sin sliding down my throat. With my eyes focused on him, I couldn’t help but wonder how he tasted.
I devoured the bone marrow in a few bites, not caring how it came across. As I ate, he watched me with resolve.
“If I didn’t have a very important business meeting soon, I’d ask if you wanted to get a hotel suite for the afternoon.”
“Just the afternoon?” I breathed.
He nodded slowly.
My nipples tightened as a shot of desire zinged through my veins, and a gentle throbbing pulsed between my legs.
He leaned forward ever so slightly toward me. “What are you doing later tonight?”
The reality of my circumstances, and the fact that I was waiting to finish an interview to become a high-class escort came crashing back, effectively obliterating the bubble of desire I would’ve gladly remained in.
“I’m busy.”
“Too bad.” His cell phone rang and he reached into his breast pocket to pull it out. He looked at me, his blue-gray eyes hard when moments ago they’d been openly lustful. “When you change your mind, leave your name and number with the front desk of the hotel.”
He got up from his stool, and without a backward glance, put the phone to his ear and strode out of the Bar and Restaurant.
When I change my mind?
Arrogant ass.
My nipples didn’t seem to care that he was an arrogant ass.
He didn’t ask for my name; he hadn’t cared to. I didn’t even know his, since he’d never offered it.
I looked at my phone, and saw it was already two o’clock. There had been no word from Genevieve.
Was this a test? Was she waiting for me to decide one way or another, refusing to coerce, instead leaving the choice to me?
It would make her life easier if I walked out of The Rex and never returned.
I opened my clutch and pulled out a few bills and left them next to my water glass and then I hopped off the stool.
The blonde reservationist at the front counter was in the middle of a phone call, and I impatiently waited for her to give me her attention. She smiled at me as she hung up.
“Hello, ma’am. Checking in?”
“Actually, I’m trying to get ahold of Genevieve.”
I watched the desk agent’s blue eyes widen in understanding. “Absolutely. Who shall I say is calling?”
“She knows.”
The woman lifted the receiver and pressed a button. A moment later she said, “Hello? Yes. I have someone for Genevieve.” Her eyes rolled over my appearance as she waited for the person on the other end to finish talking.
“Yes, that’s correct. Great. I’ll send her up.” She placed the phone down and looked at me. “Take the farthest elevator and press the button that says WR.”
I frowned. “WR?”
“It’s the Whisky Room.”
“Thank you,” I said, wasting no time in trekking across the lobby to the elevators.
As I ascended the floors, my pulse drummed in my ears. I had to expect the unexpected with Gen. I was prepared for that now.
The elevator doors opened to a view of the Dallas skyline. It felt like I was floating among the clouds and the world was at my feet. It stole my breath.
I stepped out onto the dark stained wood floors into a room that was filled with leather chairs, couches, and coffee tables. An unlit gas fireplace graced the center of the room. The Whisky Room was deeply masculine and smelled of pipe and cigar tobacco, sandalwood, and leather.
Genevieve sat alone at the bar off to the right, a tumbler in her hand, and a slight smile on her face. She took a sip of her drink as I approached.
“Why is it called the Whisky Room?” I asked as I strode to her. I placed my clutch on the wooden bar, perched on the stool next to her, and crossed my legs.
“It’s what we serve the most of. Scotch whisky, Irish whiskey, American whiskey. There are actual casks of it through that door.” She pointed to a discre
et wooden door that nearly blended into the wall. “Including Flynn Campbell’s own signature scotch, SINNERS.”
That’s what he’d been drinking.
“Flynn Campbell,” I murmured. “The owner of The Rex Hotel empire.”
She inclined her elegantly styled head. “What’s your poison?”
“What are you drinking?”
“A glass of SINNERS, of course,” she said with a wry smile.
“Then I’ll have that, please. The same way you’re drinking it.”
She set her glass down and hopped up. Genevieve went behind the bar and grabbed a clean rocks glass, and then swiped a bottle of SINNERS, popped the cork, and poured me a stout, three-finger glass.
Shit’s about to get real.
Genevieve set the bottle down, slid the glass across the bar to me, and then came back around to sit on her stool.
I frowned as I grasped the tumbler and looked into the glass of amber beauty.
“Something wrong?” Genevieve asked.
“No. It’s just—well—you’re treating me differently than you did in your office.”
She reached for her glass again but didn’t move to take a sip. “I’m not often wrong about first impressions. I’m still not sure I’m wrong about you, Sterling. I have my doubts that you’re cut out for this, but you didn’t leave the hotel, which means you’ve thought this over somewhat, and you took it upon yourself to ask to speak to me again. I’m still willing to give you a chance. If you want it.”
My hand grew slick around the glass, but I refused to fall at her feet to thank her.
“Want has nothing to do with it. I need this.”
“Fair enough.”
I finally lifted the glass of scotch to my nose and inhaled. Peat and citrus teased my senses. I took a sip and held it on my tongue a moment before swallowing.
Genevieve’s eyes studied me, but she didn’t ask what I thought. “I’m about to tell you things that can never be discussed with anyone, ever. Before we proceed, you need to understand that what you’re about to get involved in won’t be supported by attorneys or NDAs. We have…other means of dealing with people who violate our trust. Are you with me?”