The Doctor's Fake Nanny: Contemporary BWWM Romance

by Tiana Cole

  "Thanks for taking the slack yesterday. The rain usually drives them in. What time did you close shop?” Ron asked.

  “Around 8:30,” Cassidy replied.

  “Quite late, don’t you think?” Ron questioned in puzzlement.

  “Would have been earlier but some guy came in and begged me for a cup just as I was cleaning up. Then we got to talking and I missed my damn bus,” Cassidy explained.

  "You should really be careful who you let in at night. Some of these vagrants can be quite violent,” Ron warned with one raised eyebrow.

  Cassidy knew Ron’s concern was for all of their safety. He was okay about giving vagrants a warm cup every now and then, but the recent muggings, no pun intended, had made him understandably nervous.

  “He wasn’t a vagrant. His name was Tristan… but I don’t remember if he mentioned his last name. He said he was a photographer and he showed me some of his pictures. They were really beautiful,” Cassidy explained lengthily.

  She remembered something and dug into her pocket.

  “He left this for a tip, and I thought I’d put it in the tip box to share with the other employees.”

  Ron glanced at the bill in her hand and his eyes widened in disbelief.

  “He left a $500.00 tip? Who did you have here last night? The king of England?”

  “That’s what I thought myself,” Cassidy laughed. “I wanted to return it to him, but he was gone by the time I went outside. If not for this,” she said, holding up the money, “I’d think he was just a figment of my imagination.”

  “Tell me everything… don’t spare on the details,” Ron urged, his curiosity fully roused.

  She happily obliged, and when she finished Ron flashed her a strange look.

  “You must have made quite an impression on him,” he teased.

  Cassidy shook her head, not wanting to be drawn further into it. She was embarrassed to admit she'd hardly slept a wink last night. She’d never been that way before. The image of those grey-green eyes, the chiseled face, and the way he moved haunted her.

  She was certain Tristan didn’t mention his last name, but she didn’t want Ron to think that it was anything but a casual incident. Men never impacted her the way he did. Not even with Ray, her high school sweetheart who qualified as a jock back at Central High.

  “I’m sure he was just being overly generous. Maybe he's not really a photographer. Maybe he’s a drug dealer or something,” Cassidy said dismissively.

  Ron’s attention was caught by a florist truck that slowed down and parked by the sidewalk fronting the shop.

  Cassidy scurried off to the back in search of her ubiquitous green apron. She tied it around her waist just over her boot-cut tan pants and black shirt.

  “Cassidy!” Ron hollered from out front.

  She was hoping to get a bite to eat. Ron normally handled the early birds before the morning rush hour. She usually didn’t let a man affect her so much that she didn’t eat, yet she’d skipped breakfast at home after her restless night.

  “Coming!” she called back as she made a dash to the counter.

  Her boss was by the door, signing a delivery form before handing it back to the guy holding a huge basket of mixed long-stemmed, white, pink, and red roses.

  “These are for you,” he said, with a sly smile on his face.

  “What? There must be a mistake. Who would be sending me flowers?” Cassidy asked, eyeing the bunch doubtfully. They looked very expensive.

  “Read the card, silly, and we’ll know who they're from.”

  With trembling fingers, Cassidy pulled the card out from the small white envelope that had her name scrawled on it. She had a feeling she already knew who they were from.

  In the card she read,

  Late night coffee + your company = a perfect way to end the day.

  There was no signature, but Cassidy didn’t need to be a detective to know who they were from: Tristan.

  She looked up to see Ron watching her intently.

  “He sent me flowers.” Her face suffused with heat.

  “Uh-huh… and left you a $500.00 tip. Sounds like someone is a tad smitten with you, Cassidy.”

  Cassidy wanted to protest. Guys like Tristan typically didn’t enter her world.

  “I’ll go put these in a vase. They’d look nice here by the counter,” Cassidy offered shyly.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Ron insisted with the wave of his hand. “You’re bringing them home with you tonight. And that tip? It’s yours. You were here alone last night. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks,” Cassidy mumbled, unsure of exactly how she felt.

  Incredulous… apprehensive… expectant… ecstatic…

  Perhaps more than anything, she was feeling unwilling to succumb to an overwhelming optimism that there was something more. She was reluctant to put herself in a situation where she would just end up disappointed if she never saw him again.

  Still, as the hours passed, she couldn’t help the slight fluttering of her heart each time the bell chimed announcing the arrival of another customer. She hated herself for feeling disappointed, a lump forming in her stomach every time it wasn’t him.

  She was tempted to extend her hours until closing time. Maybe he would come again at the same time he’d wandered in the previous night. However, she didn’t want to appear too keen. Besides, her fellow workers had already been ribbing her about the mysterious admirer.

  Clutching the basket of flowers, she felt silly as she said her goodbyes to them only to be followed by playful catcalls.

  “When we gonna meet this guy, Cass?”

  “Do you have a date? Are you meeting him tonight?”

  "If he has a twin brother, toss him my way!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Cassidy remarked with a chuckle as she headed for the door.

  “God, I hope he doesn’t come in after I’m gone,” she mused as she slowly exited the café.

  Cassidy remembered where she had to be tomorrow and the thought almost gave her a panic attack. It also broke her from her giddy cloud and sent her hurdling back to Earth. She had to fight the urge to run back to the café and wait… just in case her mystery man showed up again tonight.

  She wasn’t scheduled to work at the café for the next two days because of her other job. Ron knew about it. He encouraged her to go for it. He was aware of her personal difficulties and was decent enough to understand that she needed to supplement her earnings from the coffee shop.

  Most of her coworkers at the café didn’t know that she’d taken a job with an escort service agency four months earlier and was employed by them twice a week. They assumed the two days she was away were her days off, but Cassidy hadn’t enjoyed a day off since she started her second questionable job. She was lucky the agency agreed to two days instead of the regular five working days.

  Her job mostly consisted of answering phone calls from potential clients and taking down their personal information. It was important for the agency to check a person’s background against a blacklist database for the protection of the girls working there. There had been several instances when an escort complained of being beaten and abused by a client, and it was her duty to ensure it never happened again. She also answered e-mails and handled a bit of advertising via social media.

  When she’d first applied for the job, the manager had been skeptical of her skills. He tried to convince her to work as an escort instead. She had the looks, he said, but Cassidy was adamant. She knew the extent of the services the girls offered the clients, and it usually lead to some form of sex. They could refuse, but most didn’t and Cassidy didn’t have the guts to do the same.

  The escorts themselves were all young, beautiful, and basically had the same story to tell. Money was the primary incentive for becoming an escort, and it was classier than being a street prostitute. She had made friends with some of these girls and had grown quite fond of them.

  Cassidy often wondered how she could keep her focus, given what her duties
entailed at the agency. Her entire being was at different ends of a pendulum, her moral compass being in diametric opposition to that of the agency’s. Her mind was back at the coffee shop, where she wondered if Tristan had returned to look for her. She immediately tossed this thought away, hoping he hadn’t because she wouldn’t have been there to see him.

  The hours at the agency crawled incredibly slowly and she was often assailed with an urge to call Ron and ask if anyone had come in looking for her. However, she knew Ron would see right through her no matter how casual she tried to appear.

  She just had to grin and bear it until Saturday came around. The agency manager could sense her unease and was giving her strange looks like she was a cat in heat.

  The escort service office was on the outskirts of Forest Hills, not that far from her modest apartment. She entered the discreet front door — no signage, only a number — and climbed the steps to the office. Her lackluster setup was located in the very back: a small room, an oak desk, a worn out leather office chair, a beige phone, an outdated computer, and one tiny window. That was it.

  She hung her coat on a hook and settled into her familiar seat. Before she could boot up her slow computer, her manager casually strolled in.

  “Cassidy, I need your help. Between calls, you enter these new guidelines onto the website, yes?” He handed her a printout from his computer.

  Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief. Another mindless task. This job wasn’t hard; it was just the business. She felt so uncomfortable here. She knew she was conflicted, and it was all about money. There was no getting around it.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Horvat,” she smiled politely.

  “Cassidy, how many times have I ask?” he said in his thick Eastern European accent. “It’s Edgar. Ed. Just call me Ed. We’re friendly here. Happy family. Girl friendly. Edgar friendly.”

  “Alright, Ed. I’ll get it done today. No problem.”

  “You still sure you don’t want other work? Make more money? Have good times?” Edgar asked with a hopeful grin. Edgar’s family had immigrated to America from Croatia when he was just a boy, yet his English was still quite broken. Cassidy found it oddly endearing.

  “No, I’m fine,” she replied flatly. “This suits me just fine. I couldn’t be… I couldn’t… I’m not…”

  Edgar shrugged his broad shoulders. “Okay. Just ask. You make good money.”

  “Ed,” Cassidy began firmly. “No. Don’t ask again, okay? I’ll come here help in the office and go home. That’s all I’ll do here.”

  “Okay, okay. You do good work. You good girl.”

  After he left Cassidy took a good look at the guidelines:

  Do not ever use her working name at the buzzer, and do not ever use it at her door. Providers generally want it to look like an old friend is coming to visit, so they need you need to be discreet. Buzz up and say something simple like, “Hey it’s me.”

  More directions like that, then:

  If you do not ask her for what you want and end up disappointed, do not write a negative review. That is very unfair to her as she is not a mind reader. If you do not ask for what you want and end up disappointed it is not her fault.

  Cassidy felt a shiver run down her back. This gray area, the crossover to sex, is what made her uncomfortable. She knew it was unrealistic to expect men to go out with a beautiful woman and then… just end the evening. How did they do it?

  She got back to answering phone calls and within a couple of hours she had the new guidelines posted on the website. She decided to send a notice to all the girls to check the updated rules so they would be up to speed.

  “Hey, Cass,” a southern drawl called through the door.

  “Hi, Kim. How’s it going?”

  “I’m fine, but I need to take a couple of days off. Can you take me off the schedule for Monday and Tuesday? It’s my little brother.”

  Cassidy realized the girls had lives and problems outside this world where they dressed to entice and wore makeup to enhance. She didn’t agree with what they did, but she was able to look past that had befriended the majority of them.

  “What’s going on with your little brother?” she asked with sincerity.

  “Well, it’s a mystery. First the doctors thought it might be ALS, but that’s so rare in children that they decided he needs to go in for some other tests. I want to be with him. All the hospital stuff and the doctors and crazy machines and needles. He gets so scared.”

  Cassidy could see Kim was close to tears. Unexplained nerve diseases, cancer. The world was filled with tragedies.

  “Oh, Kim. I’m so sorry. My Mom has cancer. I know how you feel.” She fiddled with the computer. “There, you’re off the schedule.”

  “Thanks, Cass,” Kim drawled. “How about you? How are you doing? I didn’t know about your mom.”

  “It’s why I’m here. Making money to send home.”

  “Yeah. Money makes the world go round.”

  Cassidy nodded agreement. “Yeah, it sure does.” She paused, not knowing how to go about asking the question that was really on her mind. She knew Kim was one of the girls who offered extra services privately. “Um, Kim… I… How do you? I mean… The strange men? Umm…”

  Kim laughed her familiar infectious laugh. Cassidy could see why she was popular. “Cassidy, you sound like one of the guys trying to ask for more than dinner and conversation.” She looked at the wall for a moment, eyes going distant. “At first, it is uncomfortable. You have to get used to being frank and direct. But the real thing is you have to change your thinking. If you think sex is bad, it’s not going to work. Plus, it not really about sex, it’s about pleasing. About offering the best service. You know, we all have our own limits and we discuss those before agreeing to any extra service. You have to believe that what you do not only uplifts your clients but uplifts you, too. You have to enjoy the job for what it is.”

  Cassidy tried, but she just couldn’t get her head there… not even for a few seconds. “Thanks, Kim. I guess it’s just not for me. I’m okay doing this office stuff. I’ll stick with that.”

  Kim nodded in agreement. “Yeah, some girls just can’t get there. You have to be okay mentally to make it work. Can’t argue with the money, though.” She let out another great laugh.

  “Um, so, how money are we talking? Oh, my god, that’s so blunt. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Hey, that’s okay. Just don’t tell Ed how much, okay? He knows we do it, and he knows it gets him more clients, but we never tell him how much. Deal?”

  “Sure, Kim. I won’t tell Ed. I was just curious.”

  “My best week was over six thousand for three dates. Usually it’s less, but the money is good. Makes life easy. No more struggling. You’re from the South, right?”

  “Yeah, Alabama. It’s why I’m here in New York. Not much money to be made down there. I miss my family, but it’s tough being single.”

  “No kidding! I’m from Georgia. Definitely know what you’re talking about.”

  ***

  Cassidy was up at first light when the weekend rolled in. She had never been more eager to report back to the coffee shop. She whistled as she showered and changed into her uniform. The day felt like it held a promise of something exciting, even as the familiar sound of a siren wailing in the distance pervaded her senses. The sun held court over azure skies with wisps of white clouds hanging in the horizon.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Cassidy grinned as she took her place on the bus that was hauling her off to work.

  “Good morning, Ron,” she cheerily hailed as she breezed in through the door of the café.

  “You’re looking very perky this morning,” Ron teased.

  She headed straight for the bulletin board where the staff had made a habit of sticking Post-It note messages. She scanned the small pieces of paper, but didn’t find any with her name on it. No, there were no new messages for her these last two days. She tried to fight the feeling of disappointment. Maybe Tri
stan came and saw she wasn’t around. Did he mention her name to any of the crew?

  She sidled casually towards her boss.

  “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” she asked casually. Too casually.

  Ron looked up from the morning paper, shook his head absentmindedly, and then resumed reading.

  Cassidy sighed. He could do better, but he was preoccupied with the goddamned weather report.

  “Umm… err… the usual patrons came around?” she tried again.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ron mumbled, his face still buried in the news.

  Cassidy searched for a way to fish for more information. If Tristan came around, then Ron would have noticed. He wasn’t the “usual patron.” However, she was dying to know for sure and blurted, “Ron, did anyone come by asking for me the past two days?”

  Ron finally looked up from his paper, his eyes moving upward in thought before answering, “No. I don’t think so. I closed at 6:00 p.m. last Thursday and then again last night.”

  Cassidy’s face noticeably fell.

  “Why? Were you expecting anyone?”

  “No!” The word came out too fast and too intensely.

  She tried for a more indifferent reply.

  “No… not really.”

  She tried to hide the disappointment on her face by turning to face the café‘s entrance, then heard the rustling of the newspaper as Ron folded it away.

  “The guy who sent you the flowers and the enormous tip?”

  She nodded her head as her shoulders slumped dejectedly. There was no use hiding the truth from Ron. He could read her like a book. He often joked that it was wisdom that came with age.

  Ron approached and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “He might still show up. You never know, Cass,” he tried to comfort her.

  But Cassidy knew the truth. She could never lie to herself. She would never see Tristan again and what happened three nights ago was a mere coincidence. A stroke of luck. A fluke. Fate mocked her and made her believe her mundane life was headed in another direction. Lady luck added insult to injury and threw her some scraps. Like a stupid dog, she hoped the rest of the steak would follow.