Tramp (Hush Book 1)

by Mary Elizabeth

  Talent pulls along the curb in front of my apartment building and turns the car off. Dizzy with adrenaline, my hands tremble and I can’t wipe the smile from my face. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve done in a long time. Maybe ever.”

  He lets out a short breath and says, “I don’t get to drive it too often. There’s no fucking way I’m not getting a speeding ticket in the mail.”

  “The fact that you drive anything else when you own a Lamborghini is a shame, Ridge.” I unbuckle the seat belt with shaky fingers and say, “But does that mean I was right about the unpaid traffic tickets?”

  His smirk somersaults from charming to devious. “You’ll wish all it was is unpaid tickets, Lydia.”

  Do I kiss him goodbye? Thank him for the memorable night? How do I say goodbye to someone who brought so much raw emotion out of me and go on to live my life like it never happened?

  I start by reaching over and cupping his face with my hand. He turns slightly to kiss the inside of my palm, never taking his eyes off of me. The car is suddenly crammed with the things left unsaid, incomplete and muddled, and I don’t have it in me to piece the words together to form coherent sentences.

  “Quit trying to say goodbye to me, Lydia,” Talent says. He covers my hand with his. “It’s too late for that now.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I whisper.

  He lowers my hand from his face to his heart, where it beats as heavily as mine. “The only thing I’m asking for is you. The rest will fall into place, or it won’t. I don’t care. Nothing else matters to me.”

  Talent walks behind me with his hands in his pockets, dressed in a casual pair of shorts and a plain black T-shirt—a far cry from the tailored suits he wears normally. If his face wasn’t so recognizable, he may have blended in with those of us who don’t live in the most luxurious apartments in town. We’re far from slumming it, but we’re double level only, and we can’t see the ocean from here.

  A mom following behind her son on his bike, a man flipping through a stack of mail as he walks back to his building from the mailroom, and, of course, our very own neighborhood watch coordinator, Dog Mom, have no shame and gawk at the infamous Talent Ridge as we follow the sidewalk to my front door.

  Talent’s oblivious, shrouding his face between my neck and the curve of my shoulder as I strain to get my key in the door. I drop my set of keys twice.

  “I can’t wait to see your room,” he teases. “I never made it that far.”

  The front door opens with a crack, and I notice right away that my apartment isn’t the same place I left yesterday. Camilla’s candles have spilled out to the living room, flickering on the coffee table and the kitchen counters. She’s thrown a sheer scarf over the floor lamp beside the couch and has covered every flat surface with a potted plant.

  “Oh, you’re home,” Camilla mumbles over the nails she’s holding between her teeth. She spits them into her hand once she realizes Talent’s following me in and sets the hammer down on the coffee table. “What do you think so far?”

  I recognize the art Gary has given me over the years on the walls right away. They’re one-of-a-kind reminders of every time I stepped into his office and knelt on the marble floor to be at his service. I don’t accept gifts from clients, and these paintings shouldn’t have been the exception. Their beauty hypnotized me, but now it feels like I’m surrounded by my indiscretions.

  “I found these beautiful paintings in the hallway closet.” Camilla holds up the contemporary piece she was in the process of hanging when we barged in. “I can’t believe you had all of this hidden away.”

  It’s all I can do not to rip the paintings off the walls and tear them to shreds with my bare hands. No one but me knows the personal cost of owning such coveted pieces of art. I’ve put forth an exorbitant amount of effort to taper who I am deep down—brutal, calculated, and hardhearted—to guide Camilla without scaring her and to show Talent I can be more than a slut. But at what point do I start to keep it real?

  Noticing my discomfort, Camilla rubs the back of her neck and asks, “Should I take them down? I was going to ask before I put them up, but you smashed your phone and I didn’t have a new number—”

  “I like the plants,” I admit before she spills more about the phone I destroyed with the same seven-dollar hammer she’s hanging hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of art with.

  Enthusiasm returns to her expression, and she smiles. “I took a taxi to the nursery after you left yesterday. They’re drought tolerable, so we don’t have to worry about watering them too often. Just make sure you keep them off the ground because Dog ate one already. Like, he literally ate it. The dirt and everything.”

  As if on cue, Dog growls from his spot on the couch.

  This is my fault because I gave her permission to decorate, but I expected a few throw pillows and an area rug. I didn’t imagine she’d find my skeletons in the closet and hang my transgressions on the walls for everyone to see. My life two months ago is unrecognizable now, and I can’t process any of it. Today, especially.

  “Looks good, bleeding girl,” Talent says, glancing around the apartment. “This collection is impressive.”

  If you only knew, I think to myself.

  Camilla has a hard time making eye contact with Talent, and I hope she doesn’t have the same problem with her client this evening. I’m not convinced Camilla has it in her to be an escort, and I haven’t figured out why she wants to. Curious, harmless, and kind, Camilla is everything I’m not. There are moments when her demons surface, but the more I get to know her, the more conflicted I am about introducing her to a lifestyle where one day, she won’t stomach the paintings on the walls.

  I am not harmless, kind, or curious.

  If Camilla is as successful as Inez predicts she will be, I can move on. Inez has done too much for me to leave her high and dry, but if Camilla takes over my clientele…

  Camilla snickers and points at her nose. “Bleeding girl. Because of the grocery store. That’s cute.”

  Talent steps past me to offer his hand to Camilla, changing into the straight-laced businessman everyone knows him as. He oozes charisma and poise, and I want to snatch him by the back of his shirt to keep him to myself.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Talent Ridge.”

  Camilla’s gold eyes check mine for permission before accepting his hand and saying, “Camilla Hearst, but you can call me Megan.”

  She winks.

  I want to hit her over the head with one of the canvas paintings that taunts me.

  Talent follows me to my room, pushing inside after I try to close it in his face. A normal functioning person would tell him that ten years ago today my mother died, but I’ve used my voice and cried enough in the last twenty-four hours to exhaust me for a while. I still have dinner with Inez to look forward to, and those fucking paintings on the wall almost put me over the edge.

  Talent chuckles. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a while before you stop pushing me out.”

  “I come by it naturally,” I say, toeing off my shoes.

  My bedroom is minuscule compared to the size of his, and not sophisticated by any sense of the definition. His California king would swallow my queen-sized whole, and while I spent good money on my sheets, Talent’s felt like a damn dream. I have the room I wanted as a teenager, and he has the bedroom of an adult.

  He looks misplaced among my things, too glossy and too new. Talent drags his finger along my mattress before lifting the magazine from my nightstand to read the cover. It’s brainless celebrity gossip, and nothing his name would ever be mentioned in. He turns the lamp on, and then he turns it back off.

  “You don’t have any pictures up,” he observes. “No family. No friends. No boyfriend.”

  Smirking, I lean against the doorframe to the connecting bathroom and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m a paid escort, and you’re worried that I have a boyfriend?”

  Talent sit
s on the edge of my bed, and it’s outrageous that he’s here. He’s the only other person to ever set foot in my room, let alone my life. How did I allow this to happen?

  Oh, yes. By being a whore.

  He doesn’t push the subject, and instead asks, “Was that the stray from the coffee shop out there on the couch? The one Camilla said ate the plant?”

  Nodding, I say, “I haven’t found his owners yet.”

  Talent laughs, and it reaches all the way up to his eyes. “Is that why he’s still here?”

  “Yep,” I say in an even tone. “I’m going to make posters and nail them to telephone poles. He can’t stay.”

  The sparkle in his eyes dims, and his smile softens. Talent licks his lips and turns his face away from me.

  “What about me?” he asks softly. “Can I stay?”

  “Right now?” I understand this isn’t what he means, but say, “No, I have dinner plans with Inez.”

  Should I tell him that he can’t stay tomorrow night, or the next night, or the night after that because I have an entire week of men scheduled to fuck? For the sake of his feelings, I keep the gritty details about my line of work to myself, but could he tolerate me if he knew how stacked my client list is this week? What if I named names and enlightened him on the fine Grand Haven community? I can turn his entire world upside down.

  I won’t.

  For now.

  Exposing our clientele is against the rules.

  But so is bringing one home.

  He rakes his fingers through his hair and comes to his feet, letting out a bated breath. My heart quickens knowing this is the part when he leaves, and I don’t know if he’ll come back. Like a silent alarm, my heart soars and warns the rest of my body and mind that this is going to hurt. I’m prepared for Cricket’s ten-year death day, but I didn’t ready myself to fall for Talent Ridge.

  “Come here,” Talent says. He reaches for the front of my shirt and pulls me within arm’s reach. He doesn’t let me go, but maybe he’s learned I do better when I have space. “Can I call you tonight?”

  “I haven’t activated a new phone.”

  Talent pulls me a fraction of an inch closer. “I can come back tonight.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Talent.”

  He pulls me a little closer, and I close my eyes and wish I could be the woman he deserves.

  “Lydia, I know this won’t be easy,” he whispers painfully. Talent bends at the knees to find my eyes when he says, “Can you try? Just try. I am.”

  Jerking my shirt free from his grip, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor beside where his jaw has fallen. I unfasten my bra and turn away, stepping over it on my short walk to the bathtub. Talent’s asking for more than I’m capable of. He has to realize that I don’t know how to be emotionally available or in a committed relationship. I’ll never get the words right or be the type of woman he can take on romantic dates or vacation with the family, but I know how to use my body.

  I plug the bathtub and let the water run over my fingers to check the temperature before sliding my leggings down my thighs. I kick them toward the closet.

  I couldn’t find my underwear at Talent’s, so I’m not wearing any now.

  Talent swiftly closes the distance between us, bringing me in his arms to lift me onto the bathroom counter. He pushes himself between my bare legs and glides the palms of his hands up the side of my body. “You’re going to be the end of me. I can fucking feel it in my soul. I won’t survive you.”

  “You told me to try.” I feign innocence.

  Sliding his hands up my back, he urges me forward until my naked body is pressed against his clothed one. Talent’s warm breath tickles my sensitive skin, and his lips brush against mine when he says, “Try to fall in love with me, Lydia. Don’t try to kill me.”

  As the bathtub fills with hot water, humidity thickens the air and steams the mirrors.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  “Talent,” I barely whisper.

  He kisses the softest part below my ear and says, “Call me tonight or I’m coming back.”

  I soak in the bathtub long after the water freezes and the tips of my fingers prune, replaying the encounter with Talent over and over in my head. The last twenty-four hours feel like they happened to a stranger, because nothing this good happened for me. I’m split down the middle, unable to accept that someone as influential as Talent Ridge could fall for someone like me, but realizing his affection is undeniable.

  His kiss isn’t the kiss you get from someone who’s only interested in sex. His touch is too caressing and gentle to be forced, and his eyes always have an edge to them, like he is afraid that I will outrun him one day.

  I don’t know how to be the person he needs. After everything Inez has done for me, abandoning my obligation to her is out of the question. She rescued me from truck stops and alleys and set me up to succeed in the only way she knew how. Turning in a two-week notice of resignation isn’t an option when I owe my entire life to the ringleader of the largest prostitution ring in California. Inez is my boss, but she’s also the closest person I have to family.

  Where would I be without her?

  On some dirty stage, dancing for dollar bills?

  Stuck with someone like Marty?

  Or dead like Cricket?

  When my mom died, she took my chance at a normal life with her and I accepted my fate because what other choice did I have? I was sixteen with no family, nowhere to go, and I was on the run from a system that would make the strip club look like Disneyland. Armed with the only lesson Cricket had ever taught me, I used my body to get by. After a few months on the streets, fantasies of an education or a life outside my mom’s legacy became nothing more than an afterthought.

  I’ve never stepped on stage and danced for sweaty dollar bills. No man has owned me because I couldn’t support myself. I’ve never numbed my feelings with drugs. And I won’t ever be the person who dies alone in a strip club.

  I deal with crisp hundreds, and I have enough cash stashed to ensure I never sleep in the back of a car again. Utter solitude numbs me without the need for drugs, and I’ll likely die alone someday, but it won’t be in a dirty club.

  Despite the lengths I’ve gone to make sure my life is different than Cricket’s, the only thing I’ve done is become the fancier version of her. While I’ve kept my head down, the universe has gone on without me. Ten years have passed since the day Cricket died, and eight years have passed since Inez showed me a brand-new way. Not once since I chose this life have I considered making a real change.

  Not until Talent Ridge forced himself into my life and Camilla put a bunch of paintings on the walls.

  Now I’m so entangled in the lifestyle, I don’t know how to get out.

  Or if I want to.

  Old and new emotions have sabotaged the illusion of contentment, and I don’t know if all this sensation is worth it.

  To get to Talent, I have to wade through a lot of repressed trauma to resemble anyone human enough to justify his unconditional affection. It would involve coming to terms with Cricket and admitting how far I’ve gone in my endeavor to not be like her. Talent deserves to know the whole story, beginning, middle, and present. And he has to know that after the life I’ve experienced, I’ll always be a work in progress.

  It would be easier to continue my work with Hush, and maybe take over one day like Inez wants. The slut in me runs deeper than the girlfriend-type, and the slut will fuck up the girlfriend if I let her.

  I dry off after my bath and dress in comfortable clothes until I have to get ready to head over to Inez’s. My collection of ready-to-use burner phones is kept in the bottom drawer of my dresser. I pick one out of the bunch and quickly activate it, punching in Inez’s number.

  She picks up right away and immediately triggers my defensives. “Cara, I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

  Sitting down at my vanity, I don’t waste my breath and ask what’s wrong. Because something is w
rong. Instead, I keep my fucking mouth shut and wait for Inez to give me any information she can over the phone before I come up with a way to see her in person.

  “I’m sorry to do this, tesora, but you can’t come over tonight.” Her voice is unwavering and stern. “You’ve always been a good listener, Cara. Please, pay extra attention to what I’m telling you now. Your appointments are canceled until further notice. All aspects of Hush will operate like normal. We’re … remodeling. No need for you to come by until I say so.”

  I hold my palm to my chest to keep my heart from breaking out of my chest.

  “Everything will be okay. These things happen sometimes, but I’m figuring it out, Cara.” She exhales and says, “You are my most important thing. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  Hush is in trouble and she wants me to stay away until it’s resolved.

  I never assumed we were untouchable, but a large percentage of our clientele consists of government politicians, law enforcement personnel, and prominent businessmen and women, and I assumed that came with a level of protection. Consensual sex work and pandering are victimless crimes, but if Hush is being investigated and someone on our clientele roster couldn’t stop it, Inez is facing money laundering, tax evasion, and fraud charges. The trickle-down effects of such implications would be devastating.

  If the identity of our clients got out, Grand Haven would never recover.

  And then she tells me everything I need to know. “If you run into Naomi, don’t say a word.”

  Instead of breaking the phone into a million shards of plastic, I drop it into the empty bathtub and run the water.

  Inez specifically said that aside from me, Hush will operate like normal. If we suddenly closed the spa, it would only warrant unwanted attention from our legitimate clients and staff. But if we ordered our girls to cancel their dates until this blows over, not only would we frighten our not-so-legal clients who trust Hush not to expose them, but Hush may never recover from the suspicion.

  When the time arrives for Camilla to go on her date, I am the epitome of control and order.