by Emma Slate
Tiffany gently took the teacup from my hands and set it down on the coaster. “You need a real drink. And a place too loud to think. Come on, get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
“Too loud to think about the fact that I’m about to become a high-class hooker?”
She waved her finger at me in admonishment. “I have one rule. And one rule only.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not allowed to call yourself a hooker or an escort. You’re a courtesan. Got it?”
“Got it.” I paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever had a client not treat you well?”
“Yes. But that was agreed on before he ever laid a hand on me.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He was into darker stuff. But he didn’t surprise me with his wants. We talked about it, and I let him school me on a lifestyle I never thought I’d be into.”
Her hand absently went to fiddle with the key pendant around her neck. I finally was able to get a good look at it, and my eyes widened in surprise and I let out a gasp.
“You have a yellow gold key,” I murmured and leaned forward to examine it more closely. “It’s gorgeous.”
“You know what’s strange?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“This apartment could burn to the ground. My clothes with it. All the furniture and artwork. But this necklace? I value it above all things. It represents my power and my freedom.”
“Thank you, Tiff.”
She lightly smacked my thigh in a signal to end the deep and dark discussion. “Let’s get a move on.”
“I’m not in the mood to go out.”
“Sterling, we should at least go out and say goodbye to your old life. You know?”
“What, get drunk and talk about my mother and the past I wish I didn’t know about?”
“We don’t have to talk about that. In a few days, you’re going to have a different name, a different persona. It will be like you never existed.”
I paused and then said, “I have nothing to wear except for my interview dress.”
“I have a whole closet. What’s mine is yours. We’ll find something that fits you.”
My interview makeup was still on, aside from the lipstick that had faded. I touched up my lashes with more mascara and swiped my lips again. I brushed out my sprayed waves and pulled my dark hair into a high ponytail. I made sure all the flyways at my temples laid flat.
“You cannot wear those jeans. I won’t allow it,” Tiffany said. “They’re one good wash away from falling apart.”
“Yeah, and they’re just now perfect.” I pointed to a black skirt on the bed. “What is that?”
“A leather miniskirt.”
“No. Absolutely not. I adamantly refuse.”
She grinned. “I thought you might say that. I might’ve bought you a pair of black skinny jeans when we were at Folson’s the other day.” She skipped out of the guest bedroom and returned a moment later with a shopping bag.
“How did you do this? I never saw you—”
“Oh, it was easy. I did it while you were in the dressing room. Now say, ‘thanks, Tiff’. And don’t look at the price tag.”
“Thanks, Tiff,” I said with a winsome smile.
I slid into the designer jeans and had to admit that I felt like a million bucks. I donned the emerald satin tank she’d laid out on the bed and wore the black flats I’d worn to Folson’s. I borrowed a pair of small silver disk earrings from Tiffany.
“You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“How’s the mood?”
“On the upswing,” I admitted.
“Told you. You can’t sit around and stew.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“The event you mentioned, the one that happens in a few days...I’m going, too,” she said.
I let out a breath. “Good. That’ll be good.”
“Yeah, a familiar face.” She squeezed my hand.
My gaze dropped to the key she wore around her neck, and I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions about it.
“I wore a rose gold key for two years, Sterling.”
“I didn’t ask you anything, did I?” I looked her in the eyes.
“You were clearly mulling it over.” She grinned. “Yes. Two years before I went to yellow gold.”
“What made you decide to—ah—advance?”
She laughed. “I was just ready. I felt comfortable enough with my status, but I wanted more. So, I offered more.”
“Any plans to move to platinum?” I asked, super curious at the path Tiffany had taken.
“Eventually,” she said. She paused before she went on. “Do you know how Gen got her position as a Madame?”
I shook my head.
“You have to hold a platinum key for at least three years to even be considered for a Madame position. Ultimately, I’d like to retire the key and run an entire floor of my own.”
“Really? You’re not going to take the cash and run when you’ve done it long enough? Maybe buy yourself a home on a beach somewhere?”
“Nah, I’d grow bored in retirement.” Her eyes twinkled. “I know this sounds odd, but I’m really good at this business. Not just the sex—which I’m sure you’ve learned by now it’s not even about that. Not really. But the idea of running my own floor at another Rex location…well, I feel like it would be a really good fit. An amazing challenge. And then, one day, I won’t just be a courtesan. I’ll be something more.”
“I thought being a courtesan doesn’t bother you.”
“It doesn’t. The Rex…it’s safe, it’s familiar. It’s addictive.”
“What’s addictive? The power of sex?”
She smiled, looking amused and secretive. “You don’t know what The Rex can do for you, Sterling. It can open doors you didn’t even know existed. You will meet men who have the power to change the face of the world. You know what this job has given me?”
I shook my head.
“Lessons in how to own myself. How to own my body and sensuality. And how to use that knowledge to my advantage. It’s powerful, what I do. I have real power.” She squeezed my hand again. “We can talk more about it at the bar. You ready?”
“Yeah. Are you calling a car?”
“The place I want to take you to…you don’t really arrive in a chauffeured town car.”
“What kind of place is it?”
She held out her hand. “The kind of place where we should take your beater.”
“You drove us to Waco,” I accused.
Tiffany swerved my dated Toyota into a parking spot and cut the engine. “Yes. This is my favorite spot.”
I looked out the window and saw a bright sign blinking the name Shelly’s across the roof. Motorcycles were parked out front and a few grubby overweight men wearing leather vests were smoking cigarettes, looking like their broad shoulders could prop up the walls of the establishment.
“Your favorite bar is a biker bar?” I asked in amusement.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I want swarthy instead of suits. What can I say? Let me buy you a shot of tequila.”
Tiffany locked my car and shoved the keys into her clutch. With brazen bravado, she stalked toward the entrance. The men who were smoking quickly jumped to like they were eighteenth century, leather-clad tattooed dandies and opened the door for us.
“Thank you, boys,” Tiffany flirted, shooting them a winning smile.
The bar wasn’t seedy or even a dive. It was a lot of dark wood and dim lighting, but it felt welcoming, despite the rough customers who sat at the tables.
We bellied up to the bar. I watched a petite brunette pick up a bottle of bourbon and pour it quickly into three shot glasses before sliding them to a scruffy blond biker who was waiting at the end of the bar.
“That’ll be fifteen dollars,” she said to the attractive biker.
“I thought f
amily drank for free,” he stated with a flirtatious grin.
“What, you don’t get enough free stuff while you’re here?” she demanded.
“Awww, Mia, come on,” he whined. His eyes slid to Tiffany who was looking on in amusement. “Can you talk some sense into her?”
Tiffany shook her head. “Solidarity for sisterhood. Pay up.”
The biker sighed and then looked at me. His flirtatious expression morphed into something else when his eyes met mine.
“Oh, Lord,” the bartender—Mia—muttered. “Boxer, grab your shots and get out of here.”
“But I want to stay and chat with,” he paused, obviously waiting for me to introduce myself, which I had absolutely no intention of doing.
I wasn’t looking for trouble. And Boxer looked like pure trouble.
“She’s not going to tell you her name,” Mia said. “Now get. Colt’s waiting on you.”
“You’re more of a hard ass now that you got married.” He shook his head and grasped the three shot glasses. “Ladies. It’s been a pleasure.”
The biker took his drinks and sauntered away from the bar, disappearing into the back, down a long hallway.
“Sorry about that,” Mia said with a sassy grin. “Boxer is like the older brother I never wanted. Sometimes I have to school him. What are you drinking?”
“Two shots of tequila,” Tiffany stated.
“Better make it four,” I interrupted. “I’ll nurse the second one.”
Mia stared at me for a long moment and then nodded. “Tequila. Got it.” She quickly poured the shots. “They’re on me tonight.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I protested, reaching for my clutch.
She waved away my protest. “My bar, my rules. And any gals that come in and ask for multiple shots of tequila—well, I know what that means. So, enjoy your drinks.”
“Well, will you do a shot with us?” I asked.
Mia grinned. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations,” Tiffany said with a wide grin. “Damn girl, where are you hiding that baby belly?”
Mia tugged on her flowing black tank and dragged it close to her body. Sure enough, she had a baby bump. She glanced at me.
“Drink one for me, yeah?”
An hour later, Tiffany and I were sitting in a corner booth when the blond flirt plopped down next to me and curled his arm around my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I squawked.
Tiffany laughed when she saw my indignant face. She’d only had two shots of tequila, and then had switched to club soda.
“You know what I was doing while I was sitting with my boys talking about club business?” the blond asked.
“Can’t even imagine,” I said, brushing his arm off my shoulder.
“I was thinking about you.”
“Seriously, dude,” I said to him with a laugh. “You’re ballsy.”
He flashed a grin. “Have I got your attention?”
I gently pushed against his chest, noting the solid muscles beneath his white cotton T-shirt. “I’m flattered. Seriously. But I’m not interested. I’m just here to have a good time with my friend.”
He sighed but inclined his head. “Alright. But if you change your mind, my name is Boxer. I’m a Blue Angel, and me and my boys run Waco. If you need anything, you come to me.”
I raised my eyebrows but nodded. Boxer held my gaze and then reluctantly slid out of the booth and sauntered his cute butt up to the bar where he no doubt was attempting to coerce Mia into giving him another free drink.
“Nicely handled, doll,” Tiffany said, slinging back the rest of her club soda.
“The last thing I need is a complication right before I…”
“You’re also not allowed to get involved with anyone outside The Rex.”
I leaned back against the booth, my gaze flitting to the bar where Boxer stood. He caught me watching him and gave me a mocking bow.
“Would you have gone for it? If you weren’t in the situation you’re in?” Tiffany asked.
A vision of the hot Scot I’d met that afternoon flashed in my brain. If there had been anyone to make a mistake with, it would’ve been him.
“Sterling?” Tiffany prodded.
I shook my head and came back to the moment. “The biker is hot. Clearly. But no.”
“Because he’s not white picket fence material?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” I frowned. “Though I guess that dream is null now. I mean, what man wants to marry a…well, what we are.” I shrugged. I shot back the rest of the tequila, embracing the burn. “What do you plan to do, Tiff? I mean, when you run your own floor. Can you date then?”
“Yes. I could date then. But I don’t want to get married and have babies. I never have. I want what I’ve always wanted. Wealth, the ability to travel, nice things. I plan on choosing lovers who don’t care what I’ve done for a career. It’s different for me than it is for you.”
I wondered what I’d become in a few years. Would I still recognize myself? Would I resent the woman who’d been the catalyst for all of this?
No, it wasn’t fair to blame Mama for how I chose to disappear, how I chose to hide and find a way to live with the repercussions of her actions.
But I could blame her for leaving me this mess.
I knew she’d loved me. She’d said it in her letter which I’d read often enough. The lengths she’d gone to protect me from her family as well as the Foscari couldn’t be denied.
And yet, I condemned her. For leaving me alone. For not telling me the truth. For taking the coward’s way out. For ruining my only chance at having a normal life, when that’s all I’d ever wanted. For putting me in a position where I had to go on the run. For making me live this strange half-existence where I could never be me ever again.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, feeling the tequila infusing my blood with rage and destruction. “I need to get out of here before I do something catastrophically stupid with a really hot guy. Rex or no Rex.”
“Say no more. Let’s go.”
I slid out of the booth and looked around the room. Boxer was sitting at the bar, talking to another man in a leather vest. A big, brawny man who leaned over the plank of wood and kissed Mia on the lips.
My eyes slid to Boxer who was watching me with a glittering gaze.
He’d offer me solace. He’d offer me a night of forgetting. And then I’d wake up with a whole host of other problems because from the moment I’d let The Rex doctor examine me, my body was no longer mine.
It belonged to The Rex.
With a sigh, I turned my back on him and stalked toward the exit. A black town car was waiting for us at the curb, and a bunch of bikers were looking at us with interest.
“Why did you call a car?” I asked. “You didn’t drink that much. You could’ve driven us back in my car.”
“Your car is gone, Sterling,” she said softly.
“What did you do, Tiff?”
“I didn’t do anything. Someone from The Rex came and got it so they can use it to fake your death.”
“How did you—”
“Okay, truthfully, Gen asked me to bring you here. I mean think about it, the last place anyone sees you and your car is a biker bar where you’re doing shots of tequila. They’re going to hang onto your car for a couple of days until after the event. If you commit, then they’ll burn your car and some friends on the police force will retroactively date a few reports, a coroner will get a fat envelope to write some things out, and it’s done.”
Tears threatened my eyes. The car was a piece of shit, used, and the paint was chipped and faded. But it had been mine. It was all I had of my old life.
A life that no longer existed.
A life that hadn’t been much of a life anyway.
Chapter Seven
I entered The Rex two days later at nine a.m. on the dot. My hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and I was wearing skinny jeans and a white blouse. A
nnika met me in the lobby and took me to The Fifteenth Floor and showed me into Gen’s office.
Gen handed me a black jewelry box. Inside, was a rose gold key on a delicate chain. “This will allow you access to the elevator. You don’t need anyone to accompany you. We also need to discuss the fact that you can’t use your real name anymore. Even though you don’t have a new identity yet, I still don’t want you going by your given name.”
And so it begins.
“Have you thought of a name you like? You’ll use it as your persona and it will be the name on your new ID.”
“No. I thought you were going to assign me a name.”
“The choice is yours. A lot of girls choose gemstones,” Gen supplied, trying to guide me. “And I suggest something common for a last name.”
After a moment I said, “Eden. Eden Smith.”
She smiled slowly. “Head on down to the salon. They will be expecting you, Eden.”
I nodded, and in a daze, I took the elevator and used my key for the first time. It was surreal. I could only imagine how I’d feel when I attended my first event.
I walked across the lobby, glancing around, wondering if I’d run into the Scottish mystery man I’d met only a few days ago. I couldn’t seem to get him out of my mind. His arrogance, his assurance, his audacious virility all called to me.
When I arrived at the salon and spa entrance, I was greeted by the desk agent. After giving her my name—my new name—she handed me a salon gown and told me to follow her.
The salon was as glamorous as The Rex’s lobby but more soothing, with cream-colored walls, potted plants, and rows of chairs that were lined in a communal setting so friends could gab while getting their hair styled. It was as thoughtful a room as anything else I’d seen concerning The Rex. They had done nothing half-measured, which I appreciated.
I could see why Tiffany was loath to ever walk away from a career at The Rex.
When I was seated in a salon chair, the check-in girl asked me if I wanted anything to drink.
“Hot tea would be great,” I said with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Black? Green? Herbal?”