by S. E. Lund
MRBIGSHOT69: Cancel your other appointments. I'll pay you whatever you would have earned from them plus what you'll earn from me. It will be the easiest night you've ever had.
LEXI911: I don't know… I don’t like cancelling on clients. Especially repeat clients. If I piss them off, I could lose business long-term.
MRBIGSHOT69: Just this once, please! I'm desperate. I need someone with me at the function.
ALEXA: I could fix you up with another escort at the agency. Candy. You'd really like her.
MRBIGSHOT69: No, no, please! It has to be you. John described you and I want you. No one else will do. Period. I'll quintuple your usual pay plus add in what you would have earned from the other two clients… I'm desperate, Lexi.
I read over his texts and could sense his desperation. He really did need someone to come with him on Saturday and he seemed set on Lexi. I felt bad that I'd strung him along for as long as I had. To string him along even more and then not show up would be really mean.
He probably deserved it, considering he was hiring an escort and all, but at the same time, I felt sorry for him. He obviously needed a date for Saturday night.
LEXI911: Okay. I’ll meet you at the event. Tell me the time and place. We can sign the NDA before it starts. And since I'm squeezing you in, there'll be no dessert. Just a straight up date. Is that acceptable?
MRBIGSHOT69: PHEW… Thank you. Yes, certainly. If you insist. I'm not using you for sex. I really just need a date for this function. Believe me, you won’t regret it. Cipriani on Wall Street. We can meet before at Club 55, on the upstairs terrace so we can sign the NDA. Seven sharp. How will I know you?
LEXI911: I’ll be wearing a jade Mala bead bracelet with a white-gold tree of life bangle.
MRBIGSHOT69: Cool. See you then.
“Welp, I did it.” I looked up at Candace, who had a huge grin on her face and forced a nervous smile back at her. “I just agreed to be an escort to a rich jerk who calls himself Mr. Big Shot 69.”
"A rich gorgeous jerk and soon-to-be billionaire who calls himself Mr. Big Shot 69," Candace corrected me. "What can go wrong?"
What indeed…
* * *
Friday went fast since I had a seminar to attend and lots of work finishing up edits on a paper. I was honestly too busy to think very deep or hard about Mr. Big Shot and my date with him, but on Friday night before I went to bed, I did google him just to check him out. As Candace said, he’d been engaged but called he wedding off only a week before. His bride-to-be was from one of Manhattan’s wealthiest families. The google search turned up a blind item on gossip page that other people said was about Luke Marshall’s failed engagement.
…A little birdie told this reporter that a recent society wedding featuring the most eligible bachelor and bachelorette was called off because a he cheated and she found out…
What a dick. For a moment, I almost changed my mind. If he cheated on his soon-to-be wife, and he hired escorts, I could see why he couldn’t get a date…
Despite what I read, when Saturday came, I woke up with these annoying butterflies in my stomach that lasted all morning as I tried to focus on studying for my comp, but it was no use. I was a basket case.
“Did you know the wedding was called off because he cheated on his fiancée?”
“No,” Candace said, frowning over her cup of coffee. “He really is a dick, if that’s the case.”
“Maybe I won’t go,” I said, doubting my decision to be a mercy-date for him. “If he’s that much of a jerk, he should suffer.”
“Go,” she said. “It’s the chance of a lifetime. You’ll get to see how the one-percent lives.”
“Ha,” I said with a sardonic laugh. “More like the zero-point one percent…”
“Even more reason to go.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, determined to go through with it, I went to Suzanne’s apartment in Chelsea to find a dress good enough to wear to Cipriani's on Wall Street. Suzanne was an assistant to a fashion designer in Chelsea and had immigrated to Manhattan from London after she won a competition. We went through her closet, looking for something classy and sexy at the same time, so I could fit in with the rich bastards crowd. I tried on several dresses, discarding a red silk dress with a high neck and pleated skirt, as well as a floral dress that seemed more in line with a summer cocktail party on a patio than in an expensive restaurant venue.
“What about this?” she said and held out a black sleeveless dress with a low-cut V neck and cinched waist. It fell just above the knee. “This is classy enough but it also shows a bit of cleavage, which you have in abundance.”
I tried it on and it emphasized my very round butt and bust line, but also my narrow waist, for which I thanked my mother’s good genes.
“What do you think?” I said and turned in a circle.
Suzanne stood with her head tilted and examined me from head to foot. She was almost my size, except her curves weren’t quite as full as mine, so the dress was a bit tight. Not too tight that I couldn’t breathe or sit, but almost.
“With your blonde hair, it looks smashing. You look a lot better in it than I do, so I’d say it’s the one.”
I stood in front of her mirror and examined my reflection. I did look classy. With heels and some work on the face and hair, I might be good enough to count as arm candy for an evening with family and business associates.
“This is the one,” I said, smiling.
I left Suzanne’s place with a pair of heels, which she said were the most desirable shoes available at the moment. I didn’t know heels, since I never wore them, being more of a Brainiac than a Fashionista. I took her word for it.
Finally home, I had a shower and washed my hair. I put on a robe and sat at the kitchen table while Candace blew out my hair and then hot ironed it so that it was long, straight and shiny. Then, she applied a coat of makeup.
I slipped on the dress and hose, then the heels. In the end, I had to admit I looked the part. Candace had mad makeup skills and she highlighted my features with some extra mascara and lipstick. It made me look much more glamorous than I could have accomplished on my own.
“You sure the lipstick is the right shade?” I asked, noting the plum-pink color that matched my own lips.
“It’s perfect. You look high end, not cheap. Exquisite, actually. He’ll be really happy.”
“Worth four grand?”
She laughed. “I thought you weren’t going to take the money.”
“I’m not, but when he sees me, I want him to think he’s getting his money’s worth at least. I haven’t been dressed up for over a year…”
“It’s time you get out and circulate again,” she said. "Meet someone good.” She squeezed my shoulders, knowing the troubles I’d escaped over two years earlier. Troubles that I wanted to leave behind in the past where they belonged.
“I highly doubt Mr. Big Shot 69 is my man,” I said with a sour expression. “He’s rich and gorgeous, but what kind of asshole calls himself Mr. Big Shot 69 and cheats on his fiancée?”
“A very rich asshole. Hopefully with a big dick to match his credit limit. And if you want to sample the appetizers, or eat a cocktail sausage, who'd blame you?”
“Eat a cocktail sausage," I said and made a face of disgust. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
"I'm here every night," she said with a laugh. "You’re going to stand there looking beautiful, drink champagne, eat canapés and make polite small talk to rich assholes, occasionally wowing them with some political science. It’ll be fun."
"Yeah, sure,” I said and grimaced.
“You just wait,” she said while I spritzed on some perfume. “I bet you’ll have so much fun that you’ll go on an actual date with him once you tell him the truth. He won't be able to resist you, now that he's girlfriendless.”
“Always the optimist,” I said with a sigh. “He’d have to have repented from his cheating ways before that would happen.”
“Look, your life is good, now,” she said and nodded. “Try to enjoy it for a change. You've holed yourself up in this apartment for almost two years surrounded by books. The bad stuff is behind you.”
The bad stuff…
Candace understood. She knew everything about Blaine, having gone through it with me. It was nice having someone who knew my deepest darkest secrets and didn't care.
She gave me the look – a look designed to chide me for being so pessimistic about everything. I had more than enough reason to be that way, but I was trying hard to overcome my nature. Be more like CandyC.
Candy Cane — my nickname for her.
“I’ll try but I doubt tonight will be fun. The best I can hope to get out of it is the food and champagne. With my luck, it’ll be boring and a flop.”
“Stop!” she said and shook my shoulders. “Go with a positive attitude at least. Think of this night as your good deed for the year that will build up some good Karma for you. You deserve it, of all people.”
I forced a smile at her and glanced at my butt in the mirror. “Does this dress make me look fat?”
I caught her giving me the look again. “Baby got back, so flaunt it,” she said and smacked me in the butt.
“Hopefully, there won’t be any dancing or baby’ll get sore butt when I fall in these heels,” I said with a laugh, finally relaxing a bit. I grabbed my coat and bag and air kissed Candy’s cheek before leaving the apartment.
Chapter 4
Luke
* * *
Usually, I could barely stand the thought of spending another night in the company of my adoptive parents and their crew of Manhattan elites and would politely give my regrets, but this was our annual family dinner with our business partners and so I had to go. The only thing that made me look forward to the night was enacting my little plan for teaching my cheating brother-in-law Eric a lesson.
Of course, he was there, standing like a peacock in his three-thousand-dollar suit – bought with the Marshall family's money of course – a drink in his hand, my sister at his side looking up at him with a mix of adoration and awe. A beauty, with long brown hair and a face that graced many gossip magazine covers, Dana was better than him. She had one hand on her very pregnant belly, and the other clasped tightly in Eric's hand, listening raptly as he expounded on his latest exploits over in Abu Dhabi.
The bastard…
I used to like Eric. I thought he'd be good for my sister when she started talking about him and then when they started dating. Little did I know…
Now, I was no prude and I had no plans on getting married myself, but I did believe in monogamy. If you made the vows, keep them. That was at a minimum what I expected from any husband of my sister, and any brother-in-law, and especially any top executive in my family's corporation.
My anger at him burned in me as I stood and made small talk, forcing a smile I didn’t feel while I listened to him boast about his latest conquests half way across the globe in our Middle East office. By all rights, he should have been fired as soon as I learned about his cheating but I couldn't.
I couldn't break my sister's heart. She finally had what she thought she could never have – a baby. She had a rare disorder that made her almost incapable of becoming pregnant without extreme measures and a lot of money. Luckily, our family had that, but it took months and months of effort. When she announced that she was pregnant, I was shocked because they had almost given up and were planning to adopt. Now, she'd have her own child and I hoped she'd be happy but then I found out Eric had been fucking cheating on her?
What – couldn’t he use his hand in the last few weeks of Dana's pregnancy for fuck sake?
I seethed while Eric bleated on and missed his question entirely.
"What?" I said, glancing up from my watch, checking to see what time it was, anxious for Lexi to arrive so we could get the show on the road.
"I asked you what you're working on now?"
"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry. I'm expecting my date any minute and was just checking to see what time it was."
"Who?" Dana asked, genuinely curious. "Is it someone I know?"
I hadn't had a date since I ended things with Felicia and so I knew Dana would be insanely curious.
"You'll meet her soon enough," I said and smiled. "She's someone I met at Columbia. You'll love her."
"I'm surprised you invited her," Dana said, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to the side. "You know, with Mother here and Felicia as well…"
"I'm brave," I said with a laugh, knowing exactly what she meant. "I want to discourage Mother as much as I can. And although Felicia’s a lovely woman, she’s just not my type."
"That's an understatement," Dana said, smiling.
We were twins, Dana and I. We were sympatico on most things, and our dispositions very similar. One thing we agreed on was that our adoptive mother, Dragon Lady as we called her, was far too much of a busybody for either of our tastes. And of course, our adoptive father was a first-class letch…
My adoptive mother was insistent I hook my wagon to Felicia Blake, the daughter of the billionaire financier who was one of my real father's best friends from his Harvard days. I had no plans to do so, despite my adoptive mother's best efforts. Felicia was nice, but just not my type. We dated for a while but it didn't work out.
"Tell us who the lucky girl is," Eric said, wagging his eyebrows at me. "You haven't brought anyone to family events since you and Felicia split. Everyone's starting to gossip about you giving up and going to the other team."
"Eric," Dana said, poking him angrily.
"Well, it's true. When you fall off a horse, you're supposed to get right back up on the saddle or you'll never ride again. Isn't that true?"
He was referring to my failed engagement.
I had, at one time, believed in love, but that was last year. I was no longer into the whole marriage scene or the whole engagement scene, despite my adoptive mother's best intentions.
"I'll get back into the saddle again on my own schedule," I said, through gritted teeth, trying to control my anger.
"You will and you'll be snapped up in no time," Dana said and smiled at me affectionately. "After all, you're a single man with a soon-to-be personal fortune," she said, taking a sip from her soda.
"And not in need of a wife," I replied, knowing the Pride and Prejudice opening line very well, having been through an English lit class with Dana, who was wild about Jane Austen. "At least, not this single man with a soon-to-be personal fortune."
"How is the deal going, anyway?" Eric asked. "Have you closed it yet?"
I shook my head. "Still in negotiations," I replied and checked my watch once more.
My real mother would be proud about my success with Chatter and it wasn't the first time that day I'd thought about her. It was her family's money — my inheritance — along with my own savings, that helped get Chatter its start. I wished she was alive to see the deal finally signed.
"Let's hope it goes through," he replied and swirled his drink. "Then, you'll be your own man."
"I've always been my own man, Eric," I said with a wry smile, although I would have preferred to punch him in the grin. "Now, I'll have my own money."
"When are you guys leaving?" Dana asked, rubbing her belly.
"Soon as the ink's dry and the build is done."
“It sounds wonderful. Maybe someday, I can do that. But not for a few years," Dana said and smiled.
"Not for a few years," I replied. "You're going to be busy parents for the next few years, I expect. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my date."
"You go ahead," Dana said and leaned in. "Bring your date over and introduce us."
I gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I plan on it," I said with a smile.
Then, I left the two of them at the bar and went upstairs to the terrace where I would meet Lexi and get her to sign the NDA my lawyer had drawn up. The last thing I wanted was for an escort to start blabbing around town that I, L
ucas Marshall, son of the Marshall Family, and soon-to-be former CEO of a billion-dollar tech startup, used an escort service.
I couldn't wait for Lexi to show up so I could rub Eric's smug self-satisfied and cheating face in it.
Chapter 5
Alexa
* * *
The taxi took me to Cipriani’s on Wall Street – the famous Club 55. Not that I knew what Club 55 was until I googled it earlier in the day. It was way out of my league.
Mr. Big Shot 69 was way out of my league.
I'd spent most of my life traveling with my dad to bases around the USA, living in base housing, and communing with the other military kids. We were firmly lower middle class. Before he retired and took a job teaching flying at a local flight school near Portland, my father drove an old Ford Country Squire station wagon and we pulled a trailer behind us when we went on vacation. He drank beer, liked to barbecue steaks over coals and wore a Timex.
So, I wasn't used to expensive men. I was only attending Columbia on scholarship and could never have afforded it on my own or based on my father's income or pension.
I paid the cabbie and then got out, standing in front, taking in the building with its impressive façade. Even the entry was gilded, shiny brass fixtures and glass. I didn’t belong there but had to admit it was fun to get the chance to go inside.
I took in a deep breath and opened the door, clutching my bag and wondering what kind of evening I’d have.
The interior of Cipriani’s ballroom was amazing. It was a huge venue with several large rooms used for meetings and receptions, as well as a restaurant and several bars. I had no idea where the terrace was, and in fact, had no idea that there were so many separate rooms, but the place was big. It looked like something you’d see in Italy. I went to the main bar in the ballroom and stood there, wondering where the terrace was. The venue was dim with sparkling lights that made the vaulted ceilings look like something out of Rome or Florence.