“Well, I don’t know what to do now, because Debra expects him to come to Marcial’s going-away party—”
“Marcial is leaving?” she cut me off.
“Yea, I was only informed this morning as well. So, Debra is making me organize a party for him. But she expects me to bring Damon along. And I don’t know what to do. I thought it would be fun last night—and it was—but it was a lie, all the same.”
“So invite him, hire him out again?” Cassidy simply said, looking at the few gifts that were piled on her desk. She ripped a purple ribbon from a silver-papered object.
“It’s not that simple,” I said with hesitation. Her eyebrows rose and she leaned forward toward me.
“What happened?” she asked, now intrigued.
“It was nothing, it’s just...I don’t know. He came back to my apartment after the campaign and helped me with that website page I had to organize. And it was really nice, like, really nice. And I don’t know, we were talking and then we were kind of staring at one another with an awkward tension. And then he couldn’t have run any faster out my door,” I babbled, embarrassed by what had happened.
“You like him!” she exclaimed, quieting her voice as a few people in the office looked up at us. “You like your escort, well...all the more reason to invite him. Who knows, it might be a secret forbidden love with him. Oh my, how dare the escort fall in love with his client. Just like in a movie.”
“Shut up,” I pushed her, amused by her theatrics. She laughed to herself before pushing back her blonde curls again. I continued in a whisper, “He actually left his wallet at my house... But it’s not like that. I just, I don’t know it was weird, but it was fun.”
“Maybe he left it there on purpose,” Cassidy winked with a wicked smile.
Although I wished that were the case, I highly doubted it. It was simply a coincidence.
“I think you should hire him again,” she continued.
Debra cleared her throat, grabbing our attention. “Clover, I don’t pay you to stand around and make jokes. I’ve just sent through some templates I need you to look over,” she said sternly before walking toward the journo’s room.
“She really doesn’t like you,” Cassidy said as I began walking to my office.
“More than ever today, for some reason,” I tried to joke.
When I sat down at my desk I opened a new e-mail from Liam. It had been sent to all staff members based on our campaign success last night. There were many photos of Issobelle Sherain and a lot of sponsors who looked well-fed and merry. My speedy mouse clicking stopped when I came across one picture. It was one of Damon and me after I had just demanded a discount from him. I compared the photo to the one on my desk where I was with Megan. It was the same smile—I was actually happy. Lately all the photos I was in I had noticed there was a dimness in my eyes when I smiled. I smiled because I had to. But here in this photo, like with my sister, I was genuinely happy.
I exited out of the e-mail and checked my phone again, which had not received a text or a call. “I cannot be tempted. It was only business,” I reminded myself. It was nothing more and nothing less. I scrolled through my recently called numbers and text messages, deleting any traces of Damon.
Chapter Eight- It is fun
Slowly but surely the day passed over. There was much to organize. We had the usual dull Monday morning meeting, complete with tedious briefs by the department chiefs. We always acted civilized, but we cut one another down with sharp words. Although we were a magazine and had to work well with one another, it seemed no matter what, the separate departments were always competitive, even though without one another no one would be successful. This behavior was highly encouraged by Debra. When I first became her personal assistant she said others worked better when competitive rather than holding one another’s hands and skipping alongside one another. The logic was an obvious indicator of her personality. But she was the boss.
I long ago gave up on personal opinions because they were so quickly shot down by Debra. She once considered my ideas and even nurtured my concepts. But after those first very short six months, she had turned on me, expecting so much more from me. But for what reason, I had no idea.
It was yet again another day when I had no time for lunch. I followed Debra as we discussed our next edition’s photo-shoot. It went on a lot longer than usual as Issobelle was struggling with the new male model. His poses were awkward. I supposed not everyone had a photogenic appearance. It still struck me as bizarre that he was to claim the cover if he didn’t connect with the camera. Although he was a well-known, handsome chef in the bustling CBD of New York, he really didn’t have a knack for the camera. But as he wasn’t a model by profession, it really was Issobelle’s responsibility to make the picture work.
I suggested to Debra that perhaps we should organize a new model, someone generic and experienced. We could keep the journalist’s piece on the chef. But we really had to have a model that would make the readers want to initially pick up the magazine. Issobelle quickly agreed with me, saying she couldn’t do much more with these photos, but Debra shot me down and simply stated I was wrong.
As soon as it was over I had to bust out a pace that would put an Olympian to shame. Next on the list was overseeing the catering. Within a short thirty minutes, I managed to organize the cafeteria into a classy function room, complete with champagne, and silver and gold balloons. I had even given the humble microwave in the corner a makeover. The long dark-blue marble counter and silver fridge even seemed to complement the decorations. If I had the time and notice, however, it would have been far more spectacular.
Silver ribbon streamed from the white roof. The white marble floor had small gold confetti scattered over it, which trailed through the glass doors and around the glass walls which enclosed the cafeteria. I pushed the elegant white tables with their sleek black chairs to the side of the room, creating a space where the staff could mingle and talk. It was a decent sized room, which was why if we had guests or held small functions we would use this one. Next to the cafeteria was the sales team’s room, who enjoyed a chuckle when I almost fell over whilst trying to attach tinsel to the roof.
Finally my task was complete, and with no time to spare as everyone swarmed into the room, laughing and jostling with each other. Spirits were high as the sound of champagne bottles popping punctured the room. It was a festive group that ran the magazine. Although we often had our differences and debated them quite freely, everyone compensated by drinking together happily, excessively even, when the company paid for it. It was a chance to gossip and to laugh together.
I was just arranging some trays in the kitchen area when Cassidy bounced to my side. “You did a great job,” Cassidy beamed with a glass in her hand. “I am going to pretend this was for my birthday.” She giggled loudly before suddenly sobering up.
“Speaking of a great job... you know how you were going to submit to Debra’s wrath and be patronized about your boyfriend’s dedication? Well, it seems like fate may have slightly intervened,” she smugly said, looking over my shoulder.
I furrowed my eyebrows at her in confusion. Fingers lightly brushed over my shoulder and I spun in shock at the familiar touch, almost spilling my own champagne in the process. Damon stood in front of me, dressed in black polished shoes, a salmon collared shirt, and firm fitting black pants.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“You have my wallet? I know you said to meet you at yours, but I was driving past the neighborhood and thought I would stop by. Reception said I could find you in the cafeteria,” Damon said casually, placing his hands in his pants’ pockets.
“This isn’t the best of times,” I said, quickly looking around for Debra’s sharp eyes.
“Hi, I’m Cassidy. It’s funny you’re here, actually. Debra was expecting you to come to this party as Clover’s boyfriend. And here you are,” Cassidy mused.
I felt red flush across my cheeks as I gave her a dirty look.
“I didn’t want to bother you again. I wasn’t sure you’d want to, you know, after last night...” I admitted awkwardly.
Damon leant toward me and kissed me on the cheek.
I froze under his soft lips and stared at him in shock. “What was that for?” I asked, straightening my blouse uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry I’m late, then,” he said with a smile. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment as my heart raced.
Cassidy excused herself by calling out to a friend nearby. I cast around for something to say. The atmosphere felt thick and I needed to dispel the tension. “I don’t have your wallet here. It’s at my apartment,” I stuttered.
“That’s okay, we can get it later then,” he said, looking around the room. His brown hair wasn’t as slicked back as it had been the night before. It had more of a messy, rough look to it. It framed his strong, muscular face more, causing my heart to melt immaturely at the sight. I wanted to slap myself, knock sense into myself so I could cool myself down. I was acting like a teenager.
“You’re not wearing a suit,” was all I managed.
“When I arrived at your apartment last night you were wearing sweatpants,” he reminded me with his eyebrows raised playfully.
“I didn’t ask you to follow me home,” I smiled, trying to gain my confidence again as others watched us.
“So, what are you going to do about your ingenious Fake Boyfriend plan,” he teased as he leaned against the fridge.
We were alone in the kitchen area, but he had lowered his tone, and instinctively, I had stepped closer to him. From the corner of my eye I was dimly aware of a small group of women—some models, in fact—who were whispering in excited tones whilst looking our way. I couldn’t help but feel smug when I saw that he had not even registered their existence. He was looking at me.
“Ah... well,” I mumbled, still embarrassed by my stupidity about the situation. Debra would only ask more questions about him. “Well, I guess I am going to have to be honest.”
“I still don’t understand why you are here when it sounds to me like your boss makes your life a living hell,” he said sympathetically.
I had always just kept working, and yet when Damon questioned it, for some reason, so did I. “I don’t know...because I believe it will get me where I want to be. I mean it has to, and besides, it’s not like I can just leave. Anyway, I don’t think this is the place to be having such a discussion.” I glanced at the women whose eyes still lingered. I knew their attention was not on me, but still, this was the worst place possible to discuss it.
Someone roughly pushed past me, which jarred me against Damon. I automatically put my hand against his hard chest to steady myself, whilst simultaneously trying to steady my full glass. Damon’s reflexes were just as quick, and one hand settled on my hip. My face was now centimeters from his. Almost imperceptivity, his lips parted. I was dimly aware of his pulse, which beat rhythmically beneath my fingertips. After a long, intense pause, he looked down to where my champagne had colored a small spot on his shirt a darker pink. He smiled easily, but I turned redder, realizing I had spoiled his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, composing myself.
He shook his head slightly to indicate that it was okay, and moved his hand to my arm. I stepped back from him slightly, but we maintained eye contact. His deep dark-brown eyes seemed to swallow me as my heart raced. His hand slid down my arm and to my wrist where he held it for a moment. I couldn’t look away from him. It was only when I looked at his hand clasped around me that he also seemed to notice his lingering touch. He pulled away with a tentative smile.
What was that? I had been with men before, but none had ever consumed me in such away, creating a fire like no other through my whole body.
“Let me clean that for you,” I said in a flustered tone.
When I turned to get a cloth, I saw that Cassidy was in the kitchen. I knew then who had pushed me, and why. She had always been a bit of a meddler. She had tried this trick a year ago with a journalist who had expressed an interest.
“Clover, its fine,” Damon said reassuringly.
“No, I will clean it.” I moved to the kitchen sink, looking for a cloth. I found a clean one in a drawer, and after wetting it slightly, I began wiping over the stain on his salmon shirt, embarrassed. It looked like an expensive shirt and it had a light, silky feel.
“Clover, really, it’s fine,” Damon repeated kindly, pressing his hand over mine to make me stop. He took the cloth out from my hand with a small smile. “Really, it’s okay.”
I smiled again in embarrassment, still flustered from our close contact. I could tell he was too by the alert way he looked at me. Luckily Cassidy saved me from thinking of something to say back.
“Would you like a drink, Damon?” she asked from behind me. I gave her a glare, insinuating that bumping me into Damon was not necessary. She bit her lips, hiding a small smile. “I’ll just grab you one.”
As Cassidy walked over to where a group of women stood by the champagne, Damon began to laugh. He took a seat at a nearby table, and invited me to do the same.
“What are you laughing about?” I asked inquisitively, still standing in front of him.
His hands were now tucked into the pockets of his pants. “Cassidy seems nice, and... determined,” he chuckled. “What did you tell her about my services?” Although he was still smiling, I could hear a hint of curiosity in his tone.
An awkward smile spread across my face and I took another sip to cover my embarrassment. Perhaps he thought I had been gossiping about him.
“Ah Damon, you could make it,” Debra interrupted us. She opened her hands, welcoming him as she walked over to us. Her hips were swinging from side to side in an exaggerated motion. Her makeup had been freshly reapplied, I noticed, and her once neat bun had been thrown over in favor of locks that flowed freely down her back. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at her. Her motives were so obvious it made me feel almost sorry for her. Poor Gary.
“Good afternoon, Debra,” Damon said politely, welcoming her into our already awkward conversation. But his face had assumed his professional mask of charm once again. There was no indication on his face or in his body language that he had been in any way flustered.
Cassidy walked over with a joyful beat to her step. She handed Damon the glass of champagne, pointedly eyeing Debra’s proximity to him.
“You might actually be just the person I need to see,” Debra announced. “You see, only a few days after Issobelle Sherain signed her contract, she has become disgruntled with her first model. She now refuses to use any of the photos—”
“Are you serious?” I interjected quickly. It was the first I had heard of it. And it was me who had to organize the models’ photography schedule and approve the concepts. Of course everything was watched over by Debra, but any problems usually came under my notice first.
If Issobelle was already complaining about her first model, I was certain this might become a regular problem. And we have no contingency plan for the cover of the next issue. I could bring forward the approved vision for the following month. But to bring everything forward would then put the staff under a large amount of stress.
I feared that Issobelle might be just as difficult in other shoots. Although we both agreed the chef was not the greatest model, after Debra firmly decided against changing the model, I was surprised that Issobelle had so readily disregarded her orders. Although it would now be my headache to fix this all, I couldn’t help but respect Issobelle slightly for standing up to Debra in such a way.
“Yes, Clover, after today’s photo-shoot she wasn’t overly impressed. So I tried to organize something with a few models. We might have an interview with a model, just an everyday man in the big mean city of New York. A piece on their thoughts on women—fashion, nightlife haunts, what they fancy in a woman. A real insight into a man’s head, you know, about what he would find attractive in other woman. So I thought why not Damon? He is handsome and—”
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“But I only have eyes for Clover,” Damon said sharply. His polite smile did not waver. I was surprised by his strict tone, but Damon could obviously see the tension Debra was trying to inject into our “relationship.” The mention about his thoughts on other women was a clear indication of that.
“Of course, all I am saying is this would be a great opportunity for our readers to gain a real understanding of the male psyche. And well, it would most certainly help Clover. My, it may be a few late nights for her because of the extra workload a new model will entail.”
“I have no interest in modelling or interviews, I’m afraid. Thank you for considering me, though,” Damon said blandly. Although he was being polite I could tell he was uncomfortable with the request.
“Debra, please,” I said. “I will find someone else. The concept sounds like a great idea. I will find someone.”
“Hmm, Damon what if it was just the modelling? It would only be an hour or two at the most, and I tell you what, in exchange for helping me, I will let Clover have Friday off,” Debra said cunningly.
“You can’t speak on behalf of me like that,” I interjected angrily. I didn’t like her manipulative words. It was almost beyond belief that she would offer someone who was almost a stranger the front cover of the magazine. In the cafeteria, no less.
“You have had a huge workload lately, haven’t you, poppet?” Damon said contemplatively.
I looked at him oddly, unsure of what to say. I went to argue with him, but...I was busy. Even so, surely he wasn’t considering...
“Okay,” Damon said to Debra. “But only the modelling. I refuse to do any interviews about other women or my thoughts on anything else. And so, Clover will be mine Friday. No calling her, no e-mails, she’s mine for the day.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. Cassidy giggled and I looked at her sharply. She took another sip of her drink innocently, before intently looking between Debra, Damon, and me.
My Escort Page 6