Masters for Hire

by Ginger Voight

  #LawdHaveMercy

  Those eyes, though. Even in the two-dimensional images of him, each one tastier than the last, his gaze was captivating. He had a good body, sure, but there was something else, something simmering right under the surface. Something more than what he appeared to be.

  “He’s perfect,” Lucy decided. She opened up a link to request an interview, which is where I decided that we’d had just about enough fun. I reached for her hands to stop her typing.

  “All right now. Enough is enough.”

  I heard the swish of the request being sent, whereupon my heart promptly landed in the pit of my stomach. “What did you do?” I screeched.

  “It’s just an email,” she shrugged. “Put the guy in your cart for a while. Carry him around under your arm. See how he fits. You don’t have to go through with it. Just see how it feels knowing you can.”

  I shook my head. “But I can’t.”

  “Sure you can,” she corrected easily. “And tomorrow, after you get off work, we’re going back to that mall and back to Tempestuous, to buy you something proper to wear for Saturday.”

  Again I shook my head. “Lucy.” But that devious smile would not be denied. I decided to do what I always did where Lucy was concerned. I would put Mr. Devlin Masters in the cart for a while, to show her that I considered the option.

  In the end, though, there was no way in this life or in any other that I would bring a paid escort into my Father’s home. Dear ol’ Dad was out of touch, but he didn’t deserve a shock to the ticker like that.

  I watched Lucy chug the last of the wine. “And what are you going to do?” I said. I wasn’t the only one who was going to be put on the spot, dammit.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Like in many years past, I guess I’ll have to use our shopping spree to inspire me.”

  I laughed as I reached over to my nightstand, withdrawing a joint for us to share. Since we had decided to dance with the devil, I figured it was time to put one foot on the dance floor.

  “You’re going to get in so much trouble when you go to work tomorrow,” she giggled as we passed the joint between us.

  “Didn’t you hear?” I said with a smirk. “I’m way too immature to hold down a real job.” I blew out a steady stream of fragrant smoke.

  Lucy laughed. “And I’m way too scatterbrained to plan a wedding,” she said. “Must be all the weed.” We dissolved into giggles.

  “I know. You should call off the L.A. wedding and get married in Colorado. Au natural,” I said, holding out the joint.

  “Don’t tempt me,” she said. “One more crisis and I might do exactly that.”

  Of course she was about as serious about dropping her wedding as I was dating some paid escort. But they were nice fantasies to entertain while our worlds spiraled out of our control around us.

  The next day I did call off work. Fortunately I had a light workload, thanks to the benefit that weekend, so Simon could play defense for me while I was out of the office. I barely felt guilty at all as Lucy and I made our way to Glendale for a carefree day of shopping.

  Of course, I say carefree. I had never really shopped with Lucy before. She was petite, so she could shop in any store she wanted, where my options were always more limited. Most of our forays to the mall usually found me holding dozens of bags for her while she got to try on all the new outfits and model the latest trends.

  I did this in countless malls around Southern California, as well as a variety of secondhand or thrift stores, particularly in Hollywood and San Francisco during our college days, when Lucy decided she was going to singlehandedly revive the hippie movement.

  Regardless of the store in question, Lucy was a shopping fiend. And I never really knew this until she dragged me inside Tempestuous and basically went hog wild at all the choices we now had to dress me. She kept bringing me options to create different looks, and her eye was even better than Emma’s had been. This time I didn’t send anything back. I bought everything from studded jeans and trendy tops to sleepwear, footwear, necklaces, earrings and makeup.

  We didn’t find a proper replacement for my sequined monstrosity of a pantsuit until she dragged me into yet another specialty boutique that also catered to extended sizes. I was honestly surprised to find another store dedicated to my specific niche. For a hundred and fifty dollars, I found a snazzy formal dress with a pleated skirt from the fitted waist, stopping just at the knee, with a sleeveless bodice snug to the body, featuring sequined embroidery in a striking filigree design.

  I went from frumpy mother of the bride to sassy club superstar. I looked young and sexy, especially when Lucy added a pair of strappy high heels to the ensemble. I bought it solely because of how it made me feel when I wore it, which was pretty much the reason I bought all the other stuff that day.

  Of course, I wasn’t exactly sure yet if I would wear any of it. But Lucy was right, just knowing that I could was quite empowering.

  And Lucy must have been inspired, because she ended up dragging me to another bridal shop near the mall. Somehow I felt dirtier darkening the door of the plush bridal shop than I had all the specialty boutiques where I purchased the bulk of my clothes. I knew this was because unlike those specialty boutiques, this designer dress shop competed directly with Cabot’s. It made me feel even naughtier. I had to fight the impulse to keep watch over my shoulder; I was sure Father would roll in after me to drag me out by my hair.

  Despite this, I couldn’t begrudge Lucy the exquisite pleasure of finding the perfect dress. The one we had sold her was divine, but it wasn’t Lucy. It didn’t capture her fearless individualism or her unique style. It was a perfectly generic wedding dress that just happened to be designed by famous person.

  The vintage dress she found at this new shop was Lucy through and through, from the beaded fringe that fell in sparkly waves from the off-the-shoulder neckline, to the intricate beaded design from neckline to hem, one that drew your eye from every angle. Because it was a shimmering light silver shade, thanks mostly to all the beading, it wasn’t the right color. Since it was off the rack (and used,) it wasn’t the right designer. Instead of modern, it distinctly called to a time gone by, of flappers and elegance and true Hollywood glamor, which wasn’t the right “aesthetic” to Sylvia’s more modern and dramatic white, black and puce color scheme.

  But the minute Lucy emerged from the dressing room there was no denying that it had been made for her. From the impish way she chewed her lip, I knew she knew it too.

  “And it fits,” she announced as she twirled. The motion of the fringe and the dazzling light show from all the mother of pearl and rhinestone beading made her look as sparkly as a disco ball. This was Lucy. I couldn’t even bring myself to talk her out of buying it on the spot. For the first time in months, Lucy was excited about her wedding. Tears sprang to her eyes as she imagined herself walking down the aisle to Gus, wearing that show-stopping unusual dress which matched her right down to her vintage opal and diamond engagement ring.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I told her again as we left the store. They only had a few small alterations to make, mostly just the hem, but it would be ready in a week. That gave her seven days to break it to her mother that she had purchased another dress. “I don’t see how you’re going to tell her,” I concluded. I didn’t envy her task.

  “She keeps changing everything on me every other day,” Lucy reasoned. “She wants me to roll with the punches, she better be ready to do the same.” We walked past a hair salon on the way back to the car. I had opened the door before I realized she was no longer following behind. Instead she stared inside the salon window, as if debating something.

  I walked up behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she murmured as she cupped her hand to her chin. “I just had an idea.”

  Of course I knew that look, and I knew that nothing good could follow. “Lucy.”

  But it was useless. Two hours later, Lucy’s near waist-long honey-blonde hair had been
chopped to a fun pixie cut, bleached platinum and enhanced with a dramatic black streaks at the roots surrounding her face as well as an entire layer of black hair underneath. It would perfectly compliment the vintage dress she had purchased, but I knew her mother would likely level half of Tokyo the minute she saw her daughter’s drastic change.

  Lucy was unconcerned. “She wanted it tied back anyway, and black is one of our colors, so I won’t clash. What difference does it make anyway? It’s just hair.”

  “It makes quite a difference, Cruella,” I informed her. Ultimately I had to sneak her onto my property just like she had spent many nights sneaking me off of it. I knew that Sylvia was at the house, and if she saw Lucy, it would have been game over. Whether it was her hair or not, or her wedding or not, or that Lucy was a twenty-three year old woman who could do whatever she damned well pleased or not, we all knew that Sylvia would not take these changes on the cuff the way she expected her daughter to.

  So we planned to stay hidden in my private house until we prepared for the party the that weekend. This meant movie marathons and delivery pizza and whatever was left in my bar.

  Thank God dispensaries delivered.

  And I needed an intoxicant big time after I checked my email, where I found a response from Devlin Masters himself.

  Dear Ms. Cabot:

  Thank you so much for your interest. As it happens, I do have a spot open Saturday night and would be honored to escort you to your benefit. Perhaps we could chat on the phone to discuss specifics sometime this afternoon?

  Stay true to you.

  Devlin

  I blinked at the email for a solid minute before I called for Lucy, who did likewise.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

  I took the bottle of rum from her hands. She had planned to make pina coladas, but I didn’t think I could wait that long. I guzzled straight from the bottle as I thought about the world traveler I found via an escort site. I could picture the intensity of his gaze as I stared at the screen. It gave me a chill. (But that might have been the rum.)

  One thing was clear. Devlin Masters was in my cart, and I was heading straight for the checkout lane. I glanced at Lucy, who looked like a whole different person with her new ‘do. She looked like her own person. By no coincidence she looked much happier than she’d been all year. It had been a bold decision, one she couldn’t easily rectify if someone didn’t approve. I could tell from the defiant look in her eyes that only made her decision more satisfying.

  My hands trembled as I reached for my phone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “This is Devlin.”

  I thought I was prepared to hear his voice, but I was mistaken. It was deep and rich and textured, like pure velvet. Its timbre reverberated across my senses, sending a shiver right to my toes. I could still picture his piercing gaze as my eyelids fluttered closed. I cleared my throat. My mouth was suddenly dry.

  “Hello, Devlin,” I greeted, almost haltingly. “This is Coralie Cabot.”

  His voice softened. I could almost hear his smile. “Ms. Cabot. Thank you for calling me back. I had actually given up hope you would.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was after eight in the evening, and he had sent his email at roughly eight o’clock that morning. I thought about the dress and Lucy’s hair. Apparently it takes time to burn bridges.

  “Sorry about that. I was busy finalizing some of the details for the party.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “So tell me about this party.”

  “It’s a fundraising benefit,” I started. “We’re raising money for children affected by neurological disorders, to help their families pay for the cost of care, and provide therapy and support. Friends of the family are hosting at my family home in Bel Air.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” he said. “I assume it’s black tie.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  “Do you have a dress already?”

  I blinked in confusion. It seemed such an odd question. “I… well… I’m torn between two,” I finally admitted. And it was true. I really was. As much as I liked the one that Lucy found for me, I didn’t know if I could show up at the party in a dress that didn’t come from Cabot’s. It was a big deal.

  “I can make that choice a little easier for you. What’s your size?”

  I nearly choked on my saliva. Was this an insidious way to figure out what kind of heavy lifting he’d have to do on the date? “Depends on the store,” I finally replied.

  “What are your measurements, then?” he persisted. It immediately set off warning bells. All this time I had pretended that his desire for me was a given, simply because he was getting paid to bring my fantasy to life. It never occurred to me that he would actually have to pretend to be interested. That took a little wind out of my sails.

  I cleared my throat, suddenly very self-conscious. “It’s, um, 46/34/44,” I finally managed, feeling, for the first time in my life, embarrassed to answer the question.

  That he hesitated didn’t help matters at all. “So, size 14, then?”

  I cleared my throat again. “Like I said, it depends on the store and the designer. Thanks to…,” I swallowed hard, “thanks to my bust size, it can fluctuate between a 14 and a 16, possibly an 18 if they even keep the size in stock.”

  I hadn't meant for it to sound as bitter as it did. Fortunately Devlin didn't miss a beat. “Did you have a particular color scheme in mind? Did you want classic or modern?” “Did you have a particular color scheme in mind? Did you want classic or modern?”

  “Whatever makes me look beautiful,” I answered in a near squeak. I almost–almost–wanted to add, “If such a magic dress exists,” but I stopped myself. Why I felt I had to throw myself on the grenade of his rejection was a mystery to me, as if making fun of myself first would make it hurt less if he did it. I hadn’t pulled such a juvenile stunt since I was in high school, when I tried to be the quirky, funny sidekick to Lucy’s pretty Queen Bee.

  And why was I trying to impress him anyway? He was the one who needed the job.

  He chuckled then, which took me by surprise, as if he could read my thoughts. “All women are beautiful if you just know where to look.”

  It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “That has to make your job a little easier.”

  “Indeed,” he replied. “I tell you what. Send me photos of yourself in the outfits you’ve already purchased.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a few ideas how to make you feel beautiful.”

  I couldn’t help but notice he said ‘feel’ instead of ‘look.’ There was probably a very good reason for that. “You don’t even know what I look like,” I pointed out.

  “Hence the photos,” he replied, humor lacing his tone.

  “You know, I’m not even really convinced that I can go through with this,” I started. He was quick to cut me off.

  “Of course you can. Now send me your photos, Coralie.”

  I gulped hard. It was unusual to hear anyone call me that name, aside from my father. And there was nothing at all fatherly about the commanding tone of his voice, which flipped the script immediately. No longer was I the one hiring someone who needed a job. I was being commanded, taken in hand, by a man who knew damn well how to do that very thing. I found myself stammering in response. “I’ll have to go change.”

  “Fine. You have ten minutes. Then call me back.”

  “Okay,” I found myself replying, though I didn’t know why. This was pure craziness, which was exactly what I said to Lucy when she entered the room. She handed me a frothy, frozen pina colada with a smile.

  “Here’s to getting a little crazy.”

  Thanks to Lucy, it actually took about thirty minutes for me to send the photos. She wanted to do my hair and my makeup in addition to modeling the clothes. “You never get a second chance to make a first impression,” she said as she tried to style my boring black hair.

  “But it doesn’t matter what I look li
ke. He gets paid the same amount of money either way.”

  She turned me towards the mirror, where I studied my sexy new expression. My hair shined like onyx, framing my ivory face. My lips were luscious and red, pouty and perfect. My light eyes were made lighter thanks to the heavy smoky eye that Lucy had applied.

  The woman looking back at me I had never before met, but suddenly I wanted to. “It matters,” Lucy said with a victorious smile.

  She was the one who took my photos, which we sent to Devlin per his request. There was one of the mother of the bride outfit, one in the sequined party dress and the retro chic swing dress thrown in for good measure.

  The phone rang the minute I sent the last one. “The pantsuit, no,” he said decisively. “Save that for when you’re forty.” I chuckled to myself. That was kind of how I felt about it. “The second sequined dress is nice, but almost too young. Makes you look like you’re ready for prom.” I cringed. He was awfully blunt for a man expecting me to pay over $400 an hour for his company. “I like the last one, very sexy. It looks a lot more you than the rest. But it’s not really the kind of thing you can wear to a more conventional fundraiser.”

  I nodded. He was right.

  “I have an idea, if you trust me.”

  “Do I have a choice?” I quipped.

  “You always have a choice, Coralie,” he murmured, and again my insides turned to mush. “But since you’re still uncertain, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll send over a dress for you to wear. If you like it, you accept the date. If not, all bets are off. No harm, no foul. Deal?”

  “I…um…,” I stammered, unsure of what to say.

  “I’ll send the dress over by messenger tomorrow morning. I’ll just need your address.”

  More alarm bells. “You can send it to my office,” I said, unwilling to give a complete stranger–a gigolo (hustler?) at that–my home address until my decision was made. I wasn’t that far gone, for crissakes. He said nothing about it as he took down my information.