Sticks & Stones

by Rachael Brownell

  Eying me over the top of his laptop, Paul replies, “If I didn’t think you could handle this job, I wouldn’t have offered it to you. Plus, I have a special assignment I need you for. After that, if you still don’t think you want to do it, I’ll accept this pitiful resignation you’re trying to give me.”

  “Special assignment, huh?” I ask, intrigued.

  He’s challenging me, and he knows I can’t turn down a challenge, I’ve never been able to. After all, that’s how our friendship started. If he hadn’t been drunk and talking shit, I never would have talked to him at all. Beer pong was my game, he needed to know that, and he found out the hard way that night. Not that he remembers. Or at least he claims he doesn’t remember. That led to more drunken nights of beer pong battles, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  “Yeah. Remember me telling you about the hot chick that sold me this place?” he asks, returning his attention to his laptop.

  “Ivy or something, right?” It’s hard to keep them straight. He has a different girl every week, it seems.

  “Ireland.”

  “Yeah. Remind me again why you didn’t go for her?” She was hot. All leg if my memory serves me right.

  “She was trying too hard. It took all the fun out of it. I like the chase, you know?” His cocky smile tells me exactly how much he likes to chase women. He always has.

  “Anyway. What about her?”

  “Her boss needs an escort.”

  “And…” I know there’s a catch. There has to be.

  “Here’s the deal. She needs someone to pretend to be her fiancé and escort her to her high school reunion.”

  Sounds too easy. There has to be more to the story than that.

  “So, all I have to do is spend an evening with her? What’s the big deal about that?”

  “It’s out of town. You would need to travel with her, spend the weekend.” Avoiding eye contact as he says it, Paul must realize how stupid he sounds. I just tried to quit and now he wants me to go on vacation with some chick I’ve never met.

  “What? Why would I agree to this?” I ask, my irritation obvious.

  “You know that bank account of yours that’s getting smaller by the day? This job would give it a big boost.”

  “It’s not about the money, Paul. No offense, but I barely like this job. I’m not sure I can spend an entire weekend with someone.” Anger radiates off me. He knows how much I need money right now. I won’t be able to survive much longer if I don’t find a decent-paying job. This was going to be temporary from the start. It pays great, but there’s nothing decent about it in my mind.

  The printer behind him kicks to life. Paul grabs the papers as they’re spit out and shoves them into a folder before handing it to me.

  “Just, humor me. Take a look and tell me what you think. There’s an informal meet and greet scheduled next week already. If you decide you don’t want the job, I’ll find someone else to fill it.”

  Standing, I grip the folder tighter than necessary, rip it out of Paul's hand, and leave without another word.

  I storm down to the parking lot and throw the folder onto my passenger seat. Why is he tempting me with this? It can’t be all about the money.

  All the answers are in the folder currently riding shotgun, taunting me the entire drive back to my tiny apartment.

  Grabbing the mail as I make my way up the stairs, I flip through bill after bill, Paul's words echoing through my mind. I really could use the money. My saving account is dwindling fast. Even after I make my deposit in the morning, there won’t be much, if anything, left judging by the bills in my hand.

  Tossing the folder and bills on the table, I make my way around the apartment, turning on all the lights, as I head to rinse off the scent of my client. She made a habit of touching me. Everywhere. A lot. Holding my hand. Putting her arm through mine. Her perfume is still lingering on my shirt, a constant reminder of what my life is like at the moment.

  Grabbing a cold beer out of the fridge after my shower, I take a seat on the couch and turn on the TV. Taking a long draw from the bottle, I wait for something to happen. The screen flicks blue and I look to the cable box. It’s on. The TV is on. Oh shit!

  Rummaging through the mail, I pull the cable bill from the bottom of the pile. Sliding my finger under the flap, I hope it’s not what I think it is. When I finally unfold the paper to reveal the verdict, I’m disappointed. The undeniable truth about my situation is staring me in the face. Looking down at the table, so is the answer.

  I snag the folder, shut down the TV and all the lights. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I open the folder and spread its contents out on the bed. Her application reads like a contract. Everything is formal. Her wording is carefully chosen. I’m getting the impression that she’s either really pretentious or about as enthusiastic about this as I am.

  Her contact information is sitting in front of me. For some reason, I feel like I should call her. Maybe if we talk about this, I’ll feel better. Not a chance. Nothing could make me feel better about doing this.

  Damn it. I just agreed to do it. Not that I have much of a choice. Sure, I can pay my cable bill now, but what will they shut off next? It’s just a matter of time if I don’t accept this job.

  I read through a few more papers, then I find the one I’ve been looking for from the start. The pay scale. I get to decide, but to keep things fairly reasonable, Paul lets us work off a sliding scale.

  For the event tonight, I could have charged up to fifteen hundred dollars. The minimum I could charge was a grand. I wasn’t sure what I was in for and thought fifteen hundred would be a bit much to sit through a boring dinner. I was wrong. It wasn’t nearly enough for as much as that woman touched me.

  For this, I could charge…

  I have to flip back a few pages to figure out her name. Reese Kennedy.

  That sounds familiar. Scanning her personal info again I realize why. She’s a real estate hotshot in Denver. She’s made a big name for herself. Why the hell does she need me? I’m sure there are men that would go out with her for free. Why not go that route?

  Unless she’s ugly.

  Doing a search on my phone, I find a few pictures of her. My assumptions were wrong. She’s beautiful. Not in the way a woman can trick you into thinking she’s beautiful either. She has a classic beauty. You can’t fake that.

  She must be a bitch, then. That has to be it. There has to be something wrong with this woman that she needs this service. For fuck’s sake, it’s only a high school reunion.

  I probably won’t attend mine next year, but that’s me. There’s no one I want to see. I left that life behind me when I came out here for college. Truth be told, I could go back. My father would hire me on as an ad executive in a heartbeat. He’s been begging me to come home for years. One day–maybe–once he retires and hands the firm over to me, but not a moment sooner.

  We’re too much alike. If it weren’t for my mother, we probably would have killed each other when I was younger.

  Until then, I’m stuck being an escort to some of the most elite women in the Denver area. Even if I hate it. Even if it’s my only option, I’d rather be here, doing this, than work for my father. I’ll get a new job eventually. It’s not like I’m blacklisted or anything. I just need to wait until the dust settles and everyone forgets what happened.

  It still amazes me that what happened was such a big deal. Knowing now what the outcome would be, I wish I would have made better choices. Everyone says that when they look back on things. If I only knew… Well, knowing me, I probably would have made the same choices, just tried harder not to get caught. Especially by her father, my boss. That was a bad day.

  Charity knew what she was doing, though. She didn’t even flinch when her father walked in. She kept riding me like it was her job, even after I stopped responding to her. What really did it though, I’m fairly certain, was the smile she gave her father over her shoulder.

  I’ve seen it before. My high school g
irlfriend used to smile like that all the time. I called it her bitch grin after we broke up. It always appeared in the moments she was most proud of herself immediately after she was a bitch to someone. That relationship didn’t last long. At the same time, it felt like it lasted an eternity.

  Charity had that same bitch grin on her face while she dressed herself. All her father’s attention was focused on me. His anger was radiating off of him in waves as he screamed obscenities at me, firing me in his final breath. I cleared out my office that night.

  Being a hot shot in Denver, I thought I would be able to get another job easily. That wasn’t the case. Charity’s father made sure no one would hire me. That was his way of punishing me for sleeping with his daughter. Either that or he was trying to get me to leave the area.

  Well, I’m still here. And, up until a few weeks ago, I was still seeing Charity. When I found out I was nothing more to her than an occasional fuck, I said good riddance. I wasn’t interested in being at her beck and call. I’m looking for something more than that. I want what my parents have.

  True love.

  Something that lasts more than five minutes or five months.

  I want a wife, kids, a house, and a dog.

  Everything.

  These days that seems like too much to ask. In my new line of work, it’s something I shouldn’t be looking for either. That could cause me more trouble than I need. Plus, it’s laid out in black and white, in every contract, that sex is not an option.

  A lot of these women have husbands and families. They only need me for the company party their husband doesn’t want to attend. I’m only of service if I’ll go to the opera with them. I’m a for-hire escort. I take them where they want to go, spend time with them, make them feel good about themselves, and then return them to their perfect lives.

  One day, I’ll find what I’m looking for. And when I do, it’ll be worth the wait. She’ll be worth every second of every day I spent waiting for her. At least, I hope so.

  Chapter Three

  Reese

  All eyes are on me when I walk through the front door. Being the boss, people normally make themselves look busy when I arrive to work. Today, they’re all staring at me. Is my hair out of place? Did I pop a button on my blouse? Why in the world am I the center of attention this afternoon?

  Ireland. Damn her! What did she tell them?

  “Ms. Kennedy, your messages,” Anna says as I walk past the reception desk with my eyes focused straight ahead.

  “Thank you,” I reply, pausing only long enough to snag the small stack of papers from her. “I’ll be in my office preparing for the Burke closing. Please buzz me when they arrive.”

  “Of course. Anything else?” she asks sweetly.

  “No, thank you, Anna. Wait,” I say, stopping abruptly and turning on my heels. “Can you send Ireland to see me?”

  “She’s out to lunch with a client right now. I will as soon as she returns.”

  I close and lock my door behind me once I’m safely in my office. Leaning back against it, I let out a deep breath. I’m overthinking this. Ireland would never tell anyone what was going on. She knows better. She knows me well enough to know how upset I would be, how ashamed and embarrassed.

  Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I drop my bag on top of my file cabinet and plop down into my chair. I have a billion things to get accomplished today, starting with the stack of messages Anna handed me.

  Phone call after phone call, client after client, I take care of business. Closings are scheduled. Showings are moved around. Open houses are on the calendar. After ordering office supplies and new signage, I pop open my laptop to check my emails, update the staff calendar, and send it out.

  I try my best to be a fair boss. It’s harder than it sounds. Making sure everyone gets the time off they ask for, the time they need with their families, is a challenge every time. Being one of the only single people in the office, I pick up most of the slack. It’s my business, my livelihood, after all.

  It takes me close to an hour to update the calendar and slide things around. I’m going to need to talk to a few people personally before I send it out to the entire team. There were a few things I wasn’t able to accommodate, things I would normally cover myself, but I’m not able to.

  This damn reunion is screwing up my life. In more ways than one. It’s making everything more stressful. That wasn’t supposed to be how this went. I was supposed to go to the reunion, prove to the bullies that I wasn’t the same person they knew, maybe rub some of my success in their face, and come back home.

  It’s turning into an entire production.

  My phone rings, interrupting my moment of self-pity.

  “Yes.”

  “The Burkes are here. Should I show them to the conference room?” Anna asks.

  Shit! I still haven't put their paperwork together. Looking up at the clock above my door, I see they’re a few minutes early. I need to get it together.

  “Yes. Please make sure they’re comfortable. I should be there in a few minutes.”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve run behind on a closing appointment. Anna and I have worked out a code. If I ask her to make sure they’re comfortable, she knows I’m going to be late. Thankfully, she’s great at what she does. She’s the first person they see when they walk in, the first person they talk to, and on some occasions, the one who gets to connect with them on a more personal level.

  She’ll take good care of them while I finalize their paperwork. All I need is the email from the buyer’s agent.

  Click.

  Click.

  Scroll.

  Where is it?

  As I scroll through my inbox, looking for the email I need, one catches my eye. It’s from DUCS. Guiding the mouse over the link, I force myself to wait. There are more important things to attend to right now. This will only be a distraction if I open it. A huge frickin’ distraction.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into the conference room to find Anna and the Burkes laughing hysterically. I smile to myself, knowing that Anna saved my ass. Again. I owe her a raise. A big, fat raise. She’s more than just a receptionist. More than just my assistant. She’s a valuable member of this team. I hope she realizes that.

  Closing doesn’t take long. Once the paperwork is read and signed, I fax a copy over to the seller’s agent and hand the keys over to the Burkes. They were a pleasure to work with. Newlyweds, embarking on their first journey together. Clayton was transferred to Denver a few months ago, and I’m happy I was able to help them find the perfect home for them. Ashley had a long list of things she wanted, which made our search challenging, but in the end, I found a house with everything she wanted. Including a view that rivals mine.

  Looking at the clock, I have enough time to grab something to eat before I have to head over to meet a couple for a showing tonight. It’s the third time they’ve looked at the house. I’m hoping the wife has finally made her decision. I was certain she was going to give the go-ahead last time. She was even planning on where to put her furniture. When I got the call late last week that they wanted to look at it one more time, I was surprised.

  Sneaking back into my office to shut everything down, I remember the email. Do I want to deal with that now? Not really, but it’ll be haunting me the rest of the night if I don’t. It’ll be all I think about while the wife wanders from room to room, asking me the same questions over and over again.

  Dear Ms. Kennedy,

  Thank you for submitting your application to D.U.C.S. We are pleased to let you know that you have been accepted into our program. Please make sure you read the contract attached to this email in its entirety.

  If you decide that you are still interested in our services, please sign and return the contract. If you are no longer interested, no further action is required.

  Sincerely,

  Paul North

  P.S. I understand that you are working with a small window of time. Your application was expedite
d because of this, and a meeting has already been scheduled for you with your escort on Thursday, September 30, 2015 @ 3:00 pm, Java House Café.

  Great! If this guy turns out to be a complete tool, I’ll never be able to step foot back in that place. I know most of the baristas, or rather, they know me. My mocha cap is always waiting for me when I make it to the front of the line. All I have to do is pay and be on my way. They make life easy, especially at six o’clock in the morning.

  It’s not worth it. I’ll just cancel my trip. My parents will be disappointed, but I can’t do this. I’m giving up too much and gaining very little in the process. Call me selfish, but I love my life. Even the little parts of it like my favorite coffee shop. I don’t want to give anything up just to prove to a bunch of assholes that they didn’t destroy me after all.

  “Will you please stop second-guessing this,” Ireland says. When I look up, I find her standing in my doorway looking disheveled.

  “Where have you been? Anna said you went to lunch with a client. That was hours ago.”

  “I got held up at lunch,” she replies softly, looking down at her shoes.

  “Liar.” I’m the only one that can call her out on the spot. She’s normally better at hiding things from me than this. It must be more than a little white lie with how evasive she’s being right now.

  “No, really. I did. We ate, then we walked, then we looked at his property, and now I’m back here,” she states firmly, finally making eye contact for a brief moment before looking away in shame again.

  “His property? Who did you have lunch with?”

  “Paul,” she says, sheepishly. I notice the flush of pink in her cheeks as she stares at her shoes again, trying to hide her smile.

  “Was it really a working lunch?”

  “In a way. He is interested in buying another piece of commercial property. We just never got around to looking at anything today.”