“Excellent. Looks like there’s only one other thing we need to discuss.”
I cleared my throat again as my mind spun with the possibilities. Did he want to talk money? Sexual preferences? Establish a safe word? “And that is?”
“What kind of experience you were seeking.”
My throat closed tight. This was the part where I confided my darkest, naughtiest fantasies so that he could make every one of them come true. Yet I found myself unable to do so, probably because soliciting for sex was still illegal as hell, no matter how legitimate we were trying to make it.
“I just thought… you know… that you could accompany me to the benefit as my companion.” I felt dirty even saying the words, even though they were benign at best. “Pretty simple, really. A few hours at most.”
“I see,” he said, and I could tell he was indulging me.
“I mean… I mean… what other services would you offer?” I finally asked, hoping he’d spell it out so I didn’t have to.
Again he chuckled. “Whatever you need to give you the perfect night.”
“We can play it by ear,” I choked.
“Sounds perfect,” he said. “After you get the package, you can text me yes or no regarding the evening. We can meet at your house, or at a place nearby, neutral ground, so to speak.”
“Okay.”
“I look forward to hearing from you,” he murmured softly, and I melted even more.
“Me too,” I replied, and then groaned at myself for being such a doofus. “I mean, I look forward to seeing what surprise you have in store for me.”
“If it works out the way I hope, there will be many surprises for you, Coralie.”
I shuddered. Hard. “Okay,” I think I said, but it was hard to hear anything over my thundering heartbeat.
“Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I squeaked again. The call ended long before I put the phone down. Lucy was beside me in a heartbeat.
“Well?!”
“He’s going to send me a dress. If I like it, we go on the date. If I don’t, we won’t.”
She punched me playfully. “Shut up! You’re really going to do it?”
I gaped at her. “I thought you said it was no big deal!”
“For any normal person, sure. But Ceece… your dad is going to shit.” I knew she was right so I grabbed for the phone, but she snatched it away. “But maybe he deserves to. Maybe they all deserve to,” she added as she toyed with a tendril of her short hair.
I thought about the handsome man whose deep voice still echoed in my ear.
Maybe… just maybe.
I had Simon fetch the package the next morning, and he delivered it unobtrusively by ten o’clock. Lucy, who had stayed with me overnight to avoid her mother, jumped up and down as we took the large box into my bedroom. We both gasped when I pulled the dress from the crisp, white tissue paper.
It was a velvet cocktail dress in deep wine, a pinup-inspired, curve-hugging number with a stretchy, comfortable fabric and a flattering fit, with a seam just under the bust line to create a sleek silhouette. The neckline plunged to offer eye-popping cleavage, while dainty bows on either strap alluded to a sexy innocence.
“Oh my God,” Lucy breathed as she held it up to me. “Try it on!”
Nerve endings all over my body fizzled to life as I stepped into the dress, which fit my fuller curves beautifully. I may have thought I looked sophisticated and sexy before. Nothing compared to what I felt wearing that dress. I felt powerful. Everything just worked, especially with my striking black hair and pale skin against the deep red color of the dress. I finished the look with the heels I had purchased for the swing dress, and Lucy grabbed a pair of seamed stockings to go with. By the time we were done, I knew that I could walk out of my door and proudly wear this dress. I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. I was me, but better. Beautiful, even.
Lucy insisted I take a photo in the dress to send it to Devlin. He texted back almost right away, with an address to a hot spot on Sunset Boulevard, where we could meet for drinks before the event on Saturday. I didn’t even say yes, but I didn’t really have to. By then I knew that I was going to go to the benefit in this dress, with Devlin on my arm, and everyone who didn’t like it was just going to have to deal.
That afternoon, Devlin’s escort service contacted me to arrange the details of the “date,” including a time perimeter. I opted for four hours. One, I didn’t want to pay for a whole night when I still didn’t know what I could expect from Devlin or the evening itself, and it seemed a little seedy yet to invite a stranger to stay in my house until breakfast just because I was paying him. This could be really sexy or really awkward–it was a coin toss. I didn’t care to spend thousands of dollars on that kind of gamble.
Two, I didn’t know how long the benefit would be. Odds were we wouldn’t stay very long, because a blowup with Father was inevitable.
This would give me some time for whatever might “come up” afterwards. Though I was fairly new at this kind of hookup, I didn’t think I could make the leap from zero to sixty within a limited time frame of an hour or two.
A girl needs a little time to be romanced, after all, especially if she’s paying for it.
“You understand that this payment is not intended for sexual services,” the female voice intoned. “This payment is for the time spent. Any activities that you participate in with your companion during that time are under the sole discretion of two consenting adults.”
This was their legal loophole. While everyone knew sex was likely, it wasn’t guaranteed, and by that small caveat, they could chalk all the other stuff up to personal liberty. The best part of that caveat was that I could turn down sex if I needed to, and I really needed that kind of assurance. I didn’t want to be locked into sex with someone I didn’t find attractive any more than he did, and as the one who was paying the bill, I wanted final authority on how the date ended. “I understand,” I said.
Despite all that we had to do by Saturday, every hour dragged as the clock crawled closer to six o’clock, when I was supposed to meet Devlin. I was a bundle of nerves that no intoxicant could assuage, and I should know. I tried them all.
Gus brought Lucy’s dress to my house around three o’clock. The tall man with dark brown hair and a hipster beard bent to kiss his fiancé. “Your mother is going nuts. You really should call her back.”
“She’ll see me when she sees me,” Lucy dismissed. Her big brown eyes sought Gus’s. “Do you like it?” she asked as she touched her hair.
His was the only opinion that mattered to her, and it mattered quite a lot.
He gave her a peck on the nose. “It’s on you, and you’re perfect, so it must be perfect.”
Her arms slipped around his neck and she hugged him tight. I envied them so much sometimes, especially in times like this, when he accepted her fully and completely. I got that from Gretchen, Lucy and even my long-dead mother, but finding it in a man had been a bit challenging.
I had a feeling I might marry, on the spot, anyone who showed me he could be that rare type of man, just so I would never have to let him go. They are a damn rare breed to find, apparently.
I thought about Devlin. According to their website, that was the experience I could count upon with him. It was his job to make me feel important and valued, and it was something that they seemed to take very seriously.
Maybe that was the only fantasy that mattered. All the sex stuff and the kink and the salaciousness of the business aside, it all boiled down to how they made their clients feel. As the clock inched closer and closer to six, it dawned on me that was what I had been wanting all along.
If Devlin Masters could pull that off, maybe I’d spring for the overnight date after all.
Lucy and Gus decided they’d wait until I returned with my ‘date’ to head to the big house for the benefit. I knew they’d use that alone time wisely, which made me envy them even more. Though they’d been together for years, they st
ill couldn’t get enough of each other. She had confided to me that she still got butterflies every time she knew she was going to see him. It sounded almost too good to be true, but maybe that’s how she knew she’d truly found The One.
And maybe that’s how I knew that I hadn’t.
Though the weather was temperate, I put on a long overcoat so that no one could see my outfit until the Big Reveal that night. I needn’t have bothered. Everyone was scrambling around the main house to put the finishing touches on our grand affair, so no one noticed when I scurried from my house to the garages on the other side of the property.
I may or may not have been humming the Mission: Impossible theme as I did so.
I arrived at the posh nightspot ten minutes early. I felt a rush of excitement as I took off my coat, exposing my new look to the public at last. I was rewarded by a couple of double-takes from a few men at the bar, where I was forced to sit and wait for Devlin.
One of the older gentlemen turned to me with a smile as I situated myself on the tall bar stool. “Pardon me for saying, but you could stop traffic in that dress,” he remarked casually. “Big night?”
“Sort of,” I replied as I signaled for the bartender.
“Make my night and tell me you’re alone,” he smiled as he, too, signaled for another drink, which looked to be straight scotch.
I offered a polite smile. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“Of course you are,” he said with regret. “Let me buy you a drink while you wait, at least.”
“Thank you,” I said, before I ordered a dirty martini.
“So where are you headed this fine evening? Movie premiere? Art gallery?”
I laughed. “No, just a benefit.”
“I don’t believe that,” he smiled. “You’re an actress or a model or something.”
“No, just a marketing director for a department store.”
“Really? Which one?”
“Cabot’s,” I said proudly.
“My ex-wife used to shop there. A lot. Thankfully all I have to pay is alimony now.” He winked at me and I giggled. “I didn’t know Cabot’s offered dresses like that one. If my ex had worn something like this, I might not have left her.”
“It’s not ours yet,” I replied. “I thought I’d test drive the new look, to see if there was any interest in the style.”
“Oh, there’s interest,” he assured as his gaze swept over every inch of my exposed milky white flesh. “Just a real damn shame that you’re waiting for someone.”
“That she is,” a deep voice responded from behind me.
My new friend at the bar took one look at the newcomer and graciously excused himself. Though he clearly had money, a receding hairline and a slight paunch around the middle clearly indicated to him that he was no match for my ‘date.’ “Nice to meet you,” he said as he lingered over a handshake, and then moseyed down to the next pretty girl at the bar.
After he had gone out of earshot, I turned to face my escort for the first time.
“Mr. Masters.”
Of course he was Devlin Masters. I would have known him anywhere. That dark hair, those piercing hazel eyes… those even, white teeth flashing that perpetual smirk. It all had immediately caught my eye when I scrolled down the list of photos of hunky men on the Internet, suggesting this was a bad boy up to absolutely no good. That was why I had ordered this tasty little morsel…
#JustLikeaCheesecake
“Call me Devlin,” he said in a deep voice that reverberated over my tightly drawn nerves. He firmly closed his large hand around mine and wedged himself beside me at the bar.
“Devlin,” I tested, and his name dripped like honey from my lips even though my voice shook. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t notice. Part of me hoped he did.
He was tall, towering practically a foot over me. His suit molded to his muscular body like a second skin. There was the merest hint of an accent left from his days in Belfast, which indeed gave him a worldly air. His eyes darkened as they swept over my exposed cleavage. “Nice dress,” he commented as he motioned to the wine-colored number that lovingly hugged my curves.
“You should think so,” I quipped. “You picked it.”
The grin broadened. “So I did.”
A waiter joined us, carrying a tray filled with flutes of bubbly champagne. Devlin snagged two and handed one to me. “To a wonderful night,” he toasted. His eyes remained locked with mine as he drank. There I saw every promise of every romance novel I had ever read come to life. His eyes consumed me with a hunger I’d spent years searching for; the look that suggested it was all he could do not to throw me across the bar and take me in front of everyone.
It was all part of the fantasy, of course. Made to order, for just one night.
Well, one date at least. Technically just four hours. That’s all I had paid for. That’s all I could expect. That was all I had wanted. But my God, he was delicious as he stood closer, and I could feel his body heat through my sumptuous velvet dress. His muscular leg brushed against mine, so rock solid against my soft curves. He stood so close that I could feel him stir, which instantly took my breath away.
#IShouldHavePaidfortheWholeNight
As if he read my mind, he bent his face toward my ear. I could practically feel the stubble on his chin against my cheek. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s go have some fun.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
In keeping with the fantasy Devlin took my keys from me, opened the passenger door and helped me inside, before walking around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. He needed no instruction to take control of our date, he simply took it. He’s a taker, I decided with a shiver, watching as he expertly navigated my tech-savvy car with ease, using GPS to direction him home. He slid a cool glance sidewise my direction.
“So what will we be telling everyone tonight, Coralie?”
I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?”
“Is there a story of how we met or know each other?”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, I suppose there should be, shouldn’t there?” It wasn’t like I could tell him that I hired him from an escort service. The dress was going to be enough of a shock as it was. “Um, maybe we met in college?”
“Where did you go?”
“Stanford,” I replied. “Where–where did you go?”
He chuckled. “Stanford.”
“Oh,” I said again. “Right. Is that something that will be easy for you to fake?”
Another chuckle. “I can fake anything, darlin.’ Part of the job description.”
I turned my focus to the traffic around us. This was the reality of our situation. He was getting paid to be whatever I wanted him to be. The drawback of that was I didn’t really get to know who he was. I guess for a four-hour date/appointment/encounter, it would have to be enough.
“What was your major?” he asked.
“Business.”
He grinned. “Beauty and brains. I like it. So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a marketing director for Cabot’s,” I answered. The dots were easy to connect, and connect them he did.
“Family business, I take it?”
I shrugged. “Chip off the old block.”
“So tell me about Stanford,” he said as he easily maneuvered my car through traffic.
“Not much to tell. I worked hard. Maintained a 4.25 GPA. Lived off campus with my best friend, Lucy. She was in her hippie phase, so she went to Berkeley. We both kind of wanted to ran away to join the circus the minute we could. San Francisco works well for that.”
“Indeed,” he murmured. “I lived there for a few years.”
My eyebrow arched. “You did?”
He slid a cool gaze my direction before he nodded. “I bumped around a lot when I was younger. From the East Coast to San Francisco, Vegas and now Los Angeles. I didn’t know myself much so it was hard to find a city with the right vibe. Seemed like I could outgrow a place pretty quickly. Or the place would outgrow me,” he add
ed with a deepening smirk.
Was that his way of justifying a job full of one-night-stands? I decided to ask. “So how long have you been an escort?”
Another grin. “Long enough to know better than to answer that question. So you lived with your best friend. What was your social life like beyond that? Did you date?”
It was my turn to chuckle. “I maintained a 4.25 GPA. There was no time to date. Besides, Lucy was always better at that kind of thing than me.”
“And why’s that?”
I shrugged again. “I just had other priorities.” He let a beat pass, so I found myself expounding. “I guess I was kind of like the den mother. I wanted to keep the place clean. I wanted to maintain the bills. I was the one picking up empty bottles and dried vomit, while Lucy was the belle of the ball.”
“Were you bitter about that?”
“God, no,” I said at once. “Some of us are meant to be Queen. The others merely resign themselves to serve. I guess because I had been thrust into the nurturer-caregiver role as a teenager that it was just more natural to me to take care of things, maintain them… keep them running as smoothly as possible. That’s my comfort zone, I think.”
“Comfort zones are pretty restrictive,” he commented. “Didn’t you ever want to just break free and do your own thing, your way?”
I met his gaze directly. “Why do you think I called you?”
His smile broadened. “Good answer.”
That smile frayed my nerves even more. “So what is our story, then?”
He made the last turn towards my estate. “I think I’ve got it sorted out. Just follow my lead.” Before I could question him further, we pulled up to the huge wooden fence. It opened easily and we followed the bricked driveway all around my heavily wooded estate, around the circular drive, towards the lane that headed behind the house and towards the garage.
I saw my estate through his eyes as we navigated the stately grounds. Over the years, I had begun to look at it like an average, ordinary house. But it was really impressive, from the stone statues to the lit infinity pool. All the lights were lit, casting a subtle orange glow as if hundreds of candles and lanterns burned to show us the way.
Masters for Hire Page 8