“These are my pros, not yours,” she reminded her. “Also under Cons, I have Sex, Moral Questions, and Illegality.”
“Sex?” Jenn asked, astounded. “You have sex as a con? You realize the whole job requirement of an escort is sex, right?”
“Yes, that’s why I have it as a con.”
“Wait a second. Don’t you like sex? You told me you had sex with Trevor.”
“I did. It wasn’t that great.”
“That doesn’t mean it was your fault. It was more likely his.”
“True, but… in my life, sex has never been that big of an attraction.”
“Have you orgasmed?”
Anya frowned, thinking back over her last two partners.
“Wait,” Jenn said, putting her hand on Anya’s wrist. “If you have to think about it, you didn’t. Oh my God, how is that possible?”
“I’ve definitely orgasmed. You gave me a vibrator for Valentine’s Day freshmen year, remember?”
“But you never came with a guy?”
“Not now that I think of it. I mean, I’ve been close. But then the guys just went on forever, and I wanted it to be done.”
“Hm,” Jenn said, nodding and looking at her with a humorous expression.
“What?” she asked, concerned. “Is that another con I should add?”
“Do you hate sex? Or is the sex part just something you don’t find that interesting?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t hate sex.” She thought of the way her muscles tensed when she was sitting in the car with St-Pierre or followed him down the hallway. Sex with him would be… something more than boring.
“Did Trevor and those other guys think you enjoyed it? Cause if you can fake it, that’s a good thing.”
“Oh, they definitely thought I enjoyed it. I told them they were amaaazing,” she said, smirking when she remembered it.
“In that case, move ‘sex’ out of the con column. It doesn’t have to be a pro, but it definitely shouldn’t be a con.”
“Okay, done. I think I’m going to delete moral questions too.”
“You’re okay with the sex for money thing?” Jenn asked.
“Yeah. I look at it like it’s a transaction. Some guy wants to have sex, and I want to pay off my loans. As long as neither of us expects anything else, it should be pretty straight forward.”
“What if it’s a hot, single neurosurgeon? I mean, that’s what attracted you to Trevor before he dropped out.”
“Oh… no. Trevor taught me a big lesson.”
“Are you saying you weren’t thinking double Drs. Dinsmore on a building didn’t have a nice ring to it? With some little kiddies down the road?”
“I admit, my focus strayed just a bit when we met in our study group. But it ran out of steam the more I got to know him. When he dropped out of school this past year, that was it.”
“Because he wouldn’t be a doctor like you?” Jenn asked.
“Because he didn’t value education like me. Or hard work, or focus, or intelligence. But he taught me one thing—to focus on my goal and not have to rely on someone else to make that happen.”
“Sounds like you won’t fall into a love trap then.”
“I doubt many guys who buy sex are looking for love.”
“I meant a trap of your own making, but let’s move on,” Jenn said with a smile, dragging the blanket with her as she stood up. “Do you have any coffee?” she asked.
“There’s instant in the cupboard,” Anya answered, making Jenn groan.
“You probably don’t have cream or sugar either. Maybe Steve has some,” she said with a broad smile.
“Suffer without it. I only have one con left. The legality of it.”
“I would think the agency would handle that and keep your name confidential.” Jenn filled the kettle and started it. “You are considering an agency and not some random dude putting an ad on Craigslist, right?” She gave her a stern look then went back to putting grounds into a mug. “That’s how med students end up dead, let alone in jail.”
“Yes, it’s an agency,” Anya answered. “I wonder what the chances are that I have a client who’s a professor at the school. That would be a disaster.”
“Or it could be the best thing ever. Just think… straight As for extracurricular activities.” Jenn shot a wicked look at her. “Especially if he’s got a weird fetish you don’t mind.”
Anya looked at her with wide eyes.
“I never thought about fetishes,” she murmured, starting a second tab to begin adding questions. She was certain she would call Lorna, but she definitely had a lot of questions to ask her.
“Holy shit!” Jenn shouted, pulling her attention away from the laptop. She saw Jenn was holding the papers she’d left out on the counter. “No wonder you want to hook.”
“I’m not hooking,” she corrected. “I’m… escorting, I guess. Is that a word?”
“Geez, I thought my loans were bad. And according to this, med school is double what pharmacy will be. Ho-lee shit, girl!” Jenn said, and the sympathy in her voice ratcheted up Anya’s stress level.
“That’s what you get when you go to school as a non-resident. And don’t have parents to help out. No offense,” she said. She’d resented that Jenn’s parents had come through with rent and book money during their first year together, but feeling bad about it had just taken her focus off her studies. She’d learned to rechannel any emotion that didn’t get her closer to her doctorate.
“None taken. I know how hard you had it when your grandma died.”
The kettle clicked off and Jenn poured hot water into her mug and stirred. She shuffled back to the futon and sat down, motioning to Anya to lift the laptop so she could drape the blanket over both their legs.
“Is there anything else on your spreadsheet?”
“That was it,” Anya said, saving the file and closing the program. “Now, if you weren’t serious about pounding a few beers back with Slacker Steve—”
“Hey, Slacker Steve was kind of cute, if you like the long-haired type.”
“Ugh, you’re relentless. Although maybe Steve wants to watch your favorite movie,” she said, her lips twitching at the corners when Jenn slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Are you serious?” Jenn mumbled through her fingers, eyes wide.
“There are worse things I could do,” Anya sang, holding out her hand.
“…than go with a boy or two,” Jenn responded, grabbing her hand.
“Even though the neighborhood thinks I’m trashy and no good…” Anya continued, then opened up the Netflix page and spun the laptop around as she clicked on Grease.
“Who will ever understand me like you do?” Jenn wondered, wiggling closer as the credits started.
6
Dimi picked up his phone on the first beep.
Two blocks behind you, on my way, read Hughes’s text.
Great, thanks, he replied.
In less than a minute, he could make out a figure in a jacket and cap heading down the sidewalk. He rolled down his window and waited.
“Here you go, boss,” Hughes said, passing an insulated lunch bag through the window.
“Thanks. Good thinking on the bag,” Dimi said.
“No need to make locals think a paper bag is some big drug hand-off,” Hughes replied with a smirk. “I put a green shake in the thermos. Jones said you like those.”
“I do. Thanks,” he added.
“I dropped off the pass card to Dinsmore too.”
“How’d that go?” Dimi asked as he took a big bite of the turkey wrap.
“As expected. He tried to run once I explained who I was. He’ll probably have a road rash on his face from the face plant he did.”
“Did he get the message?”
“I’m sure he’ll be keeping the card under lock and key from now on, once it sunk in he wasn’t being kicked off the gravy train. I may have made a rash threat or two about his balls if it happened again,” Hughes said, giving a sm
all laugh.
“Good. That’s the level of understanding we need from him. Good work.”
He saluted, and Hughes nodded, turning and walking back the way he’d come.
Nothing like having a private food delivery service.
It had been well over an hour since Jenn had arrived, and at this point, he expected she’d be staying over. He felt good about that, after seeing a few of the people walk by who lived in the area.
He heard the engine before he saw the movement of the car and sank as low against the door as he could.
The Ferrari roared past him from behind and pulled into a small space between two cars near Anya’s house, a loud scraping noise signaling he’d jumped the car onto the curb. A figure got out and slammed the door, running to the back of the house.
Dimi opened the glove box, pulling out his steel-reinforced gloves, and jogged after Trevor.
He made it to the side of the house in under a minute, hearing Trevor’s raised voice, and then another—not Anya’s—attempting to calm him. He pulled on his gloves as he rounded the corner.
A lone square of light shone out of a small window in a door, and he leaned to peer in and get a feel for what the situation was. He recognized Anya immediately, although she looked nothing like she had earlier that day. When Trevor took a menacing step toward her, he didn’t think, just reacted.
Jumping down the cement stairs, he knocked the flimsy door open with his shoulder. The door flew wide, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
Four faces turned to him instantly, everyone frozen. He kept his eyes on them as he swung the door behind him, relieved that it still closed properly.
“Back away from her,” he said to a shocked Trevor. Without waiting, Dimi grabbed him by his neck and moved him away, putting his own body between him and Anya.
He looked at the other three faces, which were covered in a white goo. All had their hair pulled back in ponytails.
“I know you,” he said, looking at Anya. He’d recognize her wheat-colored hair anywhere, and now he had another nice image of her—an hourglass figure, white pajamas clinging to her tiny waist and round hips.
Beside Anya stood a taller blonde woman who wore an oversized sweatshirt and sloppy sweatpants.
“You must be Jenn,” he murmured, and she nodded slowly. “You,” he continued, pointing to the T-shirt the third person wore, “are obviously the ringmaster of this shitshow.”
“I’m Steve,” said the man, his eyes red and unfocused. “It’s the sleepover scene,” he said haltingly, pointing to a laptop on the couch. On the screen, three women in wigs stood on a bed, midsong.
“He’s my neighbor,” Anya explained, drawing his eyes back to her. Everything in her manner said she was calm, another thing he admired.
“Of course he is,” Dimi replied. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Why don’t you all sit down for a minute while I have a word with Trevor.” He addressed all three but kept looking at Anya. She nodded and immediately sat down, followed by the others.
“Now. Trevor,” he said, releasing the man he held but pushing him farther away from the three on the couch. “Why are you here, interrupting the sleepover scene?”
“I, uh, I….” Trevor mumbled, putting a hand to his neck and then dropping it. As Hughes said, he had a square of a scrape on one cheek.
“Never mind answering. I’d just like to add something to what my associate told you earlier,” he said. When Trevor just looked stunned, he pointed to the scrape on his cheek and saw instant understanding and fear fill his eyes. “I’m issuing you a verbal restraining order. You’re to have no more contact with my friends here. Do you understand?”
Trevor looked around the room, and Dimi stepped to the side to block his gaze.
“Do you understand?” he asked again. Trevor nodded. “Trevor, I’m going to need you to say the words. That’s how my restraining orders work.”
“I understand,” Trevor said, shifting his feet and fighting to not hyperventilate.
“Good. That’s good,” Dimi told him and slapped his arm in a friendly but firm way. “Now let’s get you on your way, okay?” He put enough pressure on Trevor’s arm to turn him toward the door.
“Okay,” Trevor mumbled, shuffling to the door.
“Ladies and Steve,” Dimi said as he followed Trevor. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He reached to open the door for Trevor, walking behind him and closing the door on the three amazed expressions.
“Are you okay to drive home?” Dimi asked.
“Yeah,” he responded.
He let Trevor lead him to the Ferrari and stood beside the driver side as he got in. When he closed the door, he spun a finger and Trevor rolled down his window.
“I need to hear one more time that you understand what I said in there.”
“No contact with them. With Anya, Jenn, or… the other guy.”
“Good. Two things I want to emphasize. I’ll know if you have contact, in any way, and it will not go well for you. Not well at all. And lastly, things with your working situation might change. If things change, I’ll come and tell you personally. Is that understood, Trevor?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. You have a good night.” He stepped back from the car and took a position back on the sidewalk, his hands folded in front of him.
Trevor started the car, stalled it trying to back up, then finally pulled out and drove down the street.
Dimi returned to his truck, settling against the door and taking a long drink of his smoothie.
Being seen from a distance was one thing. Intervening and personally involving himself with a consultant was breach of protocol. Worse, Anya wasn’t connected to Cavendish in any way yet. She’d be within her rights to report this to the police. He closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back window.
He never broke protocol. Never. And he never got involved with any of the consultants on a personal level, beyond background checks and credentials. What the fuck?
A tap on the window jerked his head up. Anya. She’d wiped most of the goo off her face, and when he didn’t roll his window down, she made the same twirling motion with her fingers he had to Trevor.
“Yes,” he prompted, cool air spilling into the truck.
“My door closes but the lock doesn’t work,” she said. She didn’t smile, but when she compressed her lips, a deep dimple appeared in one cheek. He looked away.
“I’ll send someone over to fix it.” He picked up his phone to text Hughes. “A hasp and padlock will be fastest tonight. I’ll have a locksmith come over in the morning to install a proper lock and deadbolt.”
“Are you part of the deal?” she asked, rubbing her arms in the cool air. The words sparked something in him, and his eyes shot to her face. Then they flashed down to her chest where her nipples beaded against the fabric of her top. He wrenched his gaze back to her face.
She blinked and stammered, “I mean, is security part of the deal?”
“Yes.”
“Trevor’s not really a threat, but thank you.”
He nodded and finished his text to Hughes.
“You should go back inside,” he said, glancing at her and away, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
“I don’t want to break any rules. I know I’m supposed to wait, but… can you tell Lorna I’m in?” She flashed him a small smile and then turned and jogged back to her basement suite.
7
Anya fiddled with the tag of her teabag as she sat on the hard chair of the café. After last night, she couldn’t go to her regular café, since Trevor worked there. Luckily, this place didn’t mind her getting a cup of hot water and using her own teabag.
Empty yourself and let the universe come into you, the message on the tag read. She wanted to laugh at the “come into you” part. Jenn would appreciate that.
She looked at Lorna’s text again.
This is Lorna. I’ve been told you’re interested in becoming a consultant?
Yes, she
replied.
I’ll meet you in a coffee shop of your choice. Text me the address once you’re sitting down.
She’d texted the address almost an hour ago but had no response. Just the notification that the message had been read.
She got up to get her third hot water refill, standing in line behind an immaculately dressed Indian woman. She wore a navy business suit with a long skirt instead of pants.
She had her hair twisted in a knot and pinned with a delicate silver clip that looked vaguely like an antler. She tried to get a closer look, when the woman turned and stared at her, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
“Sorry, I was looking at your hair pin. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s an antler,” the woman said, “and it’s actually a comb. See?” She pulled it out and showed her then replaced it.
“More hot water?” asked the man behind the counter.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, putting the mug on the counter. The woman hadn’t moved away, just continued to stare.
“You’re Anya,” she guessed.
“Yes.” Anya relaxed and held out her hand. “You must be Lorna.”
“Lorna Jayanthi. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Lorna gave her hand a firm shake.
“Here you go,” said the barista, and she took her mug and faced Lorna.
“I have a table at the back,” she told her, and Lorna held out her arm, telling her to lead the way.
Anya slid into her chair and watched Lorna sit and arrange herself. She slid out of her jacket and hung it on her chair. She put her briefcase on the floor next to her and removed a folder, pen, and a small digital recorder. Then she took a sip of coffee.
“Good Lord, that’s delicious. Although, I think boiled socks would taste good right now,” she murmured.
Anya didn’t know what to say to that, so she just nodded.
“I’ve been traveling for the last two weeks, not in one city for more than two nights. But now, with you, I’m hoping to be in Seattle for a while.”
“Why ‘with me’?” she asked.
Disciplined Page 6