The Escort

by Laura Marie Altom

  Owen and Natalie looked just as cozy.

  Damn Nathan for leaving.

  If he were here, I’d do him all over again. Only I guess technically, he mostly did me—not that I was complaining. The guy was shockingly well hung. I closed my eyes and for an instant, still felt him inside. He’s a good guy—far too good to be wasting himself pining for Ella. I didn’t know much about him, other than that as far as friends go, he was loyal to a fault.

  Maybe I should give him a call sometime?

  We didn’t have much in common, but who needed anything but great sex?

  My gold lamé cocktail clutch buzzed, meaning my cell was ringing. For a second, I got excited. Nathan? But then I remembered he’d left before we could even exchange numbers—assuming he would even have wanted to.

  I glanced at the Caller ID. Mom.

  I gulped the remainder of my bubbly, then declined the call. My heart had already suffered enough for one night. I couldn’t take any more.

  Chapter 3

  Nathan

  “What’d you do this weekend?” Lena asked Monday afternoon near the end of my shift. At twenty-five, the candy-apple-redheaded checker was a divorced single mom who’d left her husband for another woman. Since her wife had then cheated, Lena never missed a chance to proclaim she only screwed dick.

  “Sleep.” Once I’d finished stocking, Mel, my manager, had put me on sack duty.

  FML.

  At least I hadn’t pulled cart duty. It was pouring outside, and for July, too damned cold.

  Lena was okay, but she was a talker, and I’d just as soon keep to myself.

  “Look at that…” She nodded to the newest edition of People. Liam and Ella graced the cover. Even though I knew Ella had sold the wedding’s photo rights to the magazine with the intent of all profits going toward her battered women’s charity, that didn’t mean I had to enjoy staring at the damn thing for the rest of my eight-hour shift. “Can you even imagine what her life must be like? I read the story on my break, and Dave Matthews sang at the reception. He’s cool and all, but if I had that kind of money, I’d want Kanye or Rihanna.”

  “Yeah.” Thank God, a customer wheeled her cart to our line’s conveyor.

  She was a regular—a serious looker. I guessed her to be in her mid-thirties. In subtle ways, she reminded me of Carol—always wearing swanky lady suits and mile-high heels with red soles. Carol wore her hair up. Our customer wore her long blond hair down and razor straight. The store catered to a mostly affluent crowd, but aside from buying premium liquor, they ate just as shitty as the rest of us. Uma Rosemont—I knew her name from multiple times eyeballing her Black Amex—had a thing for Häagen-Dazs Rum Raisin and Cool Ranch Doritos. Oh—and Fancy Feast cat food for an apparent feline friend. She bought lots of other stuff, too, but those three were on heavy rotation.

  “How are you?” Lena scanned the usual Doritos, followed by grapes and bananas.

  “I’m well, thank you. And you?” Carol had smelled like orange blossoms, but Uma smelled of roses. The scent was overpowering—like a walking flower-scented air freshener.

  “Okay, I guess. My little girl’s running a fever, so I had to keep her home from daycare. The manager wouldn’t give me the day off, so I had to ask my mom to watch Alissa.” She scanned a half-dozen more items. “Mom usually doesn’t mind, but she had some church meeting today and got pissy about missing it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Uma took her fancy wallet from its matching fancy purse. “That’s got to be rough.”

  I liked that about Uma—the way she seemed genuinely nice every time she came in.

  She glanced my way and smiled.

  I returned the favor.

  Uma asked me, “Do you have kids?”

  I laughed. “Nah. Most days, I can barely take care of myself.”

  Uma laughed. “I know the feeling.”

  Lena shot me a dirty look. “I wouldn’t trade my little Alissa for anything. She’s awesome, but my ex is a dick.”

  Uma glanced my way and raised her eyebrows.

  When our gazes met, I couldn’t be sure, but thought we’d shared a moment.

  She winked, confirming my suspicion.

  While she swiped her Food Mart VIP Shopper card, and then paid in cash, I tucked the exchange in my mental back pocket.

  When she left, and I started my inevitable turn at dragging dripping carts in from the lot, I couldn’t get Uma from my mind. I wasn’t into her, but I was curious. What kind of guy would a woman like her want?

  Driving rain smacked sense into me.

  The guy she’d want was Liam—just like every other woman on the fucking planet.

  I raised my black hoodie against the assault, hunkering while steering the carts inside.

  The fact that Uma was so similar in her look to Carol returned me to Saturday night. I shouldn’t have run away like a little punk. I’m a grown-ass man, and I should have stuck around to congratulate my friend. I should have done right by Carol, and held her hand through what had to have been an endless night of toasting and syrupy romance.

  “Hey!”

  I turned to find Uma pulling alongside me in a gold-toned Mercedes.

  “Want to meet later for coffee?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I mean, I guess.”

  “Way to make a woman feel special.” She feigned a pout. “We’ll have to work on that. Until then…” She winked. “The Beanery on Elm. Six?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I nodded. “That’ll work.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “You’re rough around the edges, but I like you, Nathan.” She nodded to my white plastic Food Mart name tag. “See you later, alligator.”

  Okay, that was strange, but not all that out of the ordinary. I occasionally got hit on by desperate housewives. Not to be cocky, but more than a few women have told me I’m decent in the looks department. Sadly, the vast majority of those women were on the prowl for nothing more than light flirtation—a taboo encounter to get their juices flowing. But every so often, a chick came along who lived life more dangerously than the rest. I suspected Uma fell into that category, but honestly, after being with Carol, I wouldn’t mind exploring her a bit more.

  Which made no sense, considering I didn’t even have her number.

  The rain fell harder, so I hustled to finish my job—not that it mattered. I was already soaked.

  “You look like a drowned meth head,” Lena noted when I rejoined her at her checkout lane. “Got any to share?”

  “What?” I didn’t think it was possible to hate this job more, but at that moment, I did. If rent hadn’t been due in a few days, I’d have walked out. ’Cause yeah, Lena, I’d totally been riding the meth train out in the fucking freezing-cold rain.

  —

  That night, I reached the coffee shop early.

  Something about Uma had me on edge, and I wanted the power position facing the door. Women like her didn’t exactly flock to guys like me. I still had trouble believing what went down with Carol, but that—at least on a base level—I understood. We not only shared history, but mutual pain. Uma and I, however, had nothing in common save for our shared appreciation for Cool Ranch Doritos.

  She entered, and all eyes in the crowded space turned to her. Her height and long, pale hair commanded attention. She seemed to revel in it, tossing her hair over her shoulders while making her way across the brick floor in white leather boots, pants and jacket. I was awed, but not turned on—not the way I’d been with Carol. Carol had a softness I suspected she’d prefer no one see. I’d learned purely by accident, having witnessed her tears. If Uma cried, tiny thumbtacks would pop from her tear ducts.

  “Thank you for meeting with me.” Uma drew out the chair opposite mine and sat with a regal elegance that made her look as if she were mounting a side-saddled horse.

  “Sure.” I nodded to the waiter, waving him over.

  She ordered a Tanzanian Peaberry coffee—black. Once the waiter left, she said, “You’re probably wonderi
ng why you’re here.”

  I stretched my legs out and didn’t try hiding my smirk. “At the moment, I might only have a high school education, but it didn’t take a doctorate for me to guess you’re on the prowl.”

  She laughed. “Is that what you think? That I’m wet for you?”

  “If you aren’t, then why are we wasting our time?”

  “Patience, pet. Whatever happened to the fine art of getting to know someone before taking off our clothes?”

  “Look.” I drew my legs in and leaned forward, pressing my forearms against the small round table. “I’ve had some things come up lately, and I’m really not in the market for a one-night stand.”

  “Good.” I’d hoped my crudeness would send her packing, but to the contrary, she faintly smiled. “Neither am I.” She reached into her purse, withdrawing a thick ivory-toned business card she handed to me. “Before this gets any more awkward, let me be straight.”

  The card read in gold, shimmering script: Guilty Pleasures. Beneath that was a phone number. I flipped it over, but the back was blank.

  Uma stood. “I might have misread the situation, but earlier, I got the impression you’re not exactly thrilled with your job.”

  “No shit.”

  “I could be looking to fill a position, but won’t tolerate crudeness.”

  “If I’d known this was a job interview, maybe I wouldn’t have felt a need to be crude.”

  “Touché.”

  The waiter returned with Uma’s coffee, which she took. “Thank you.” To me, she said, “If you ever feel like having a civilized discussion about what could be a lucrative future, give me a call.”

  Gaze narrowed, I asked, “What do you even do? Run some seedy strip club?”

  She yanked the card from my hand, then left, taking her damned pricey coffee with her and leaving me with the bill.

  Well, hell…

  I finished off my own brew.

  Screw her, and whatever whacked game she was playing. I already had a perfectly good job. I loved stocking groceries.

  Right. And eight long years from now, when I finally finished Internet college and started looking for a new position, I’d be lucky to end up in grocery store management. What I needed was a fast-track gig. Just how much money was Uma talking when she’d mentioned her deal could be lucrative?

  Fuck. What had I just passed up?

  I dropped a twenty on the table, then chased after her.

  Too bad for my wallet, she was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Carol

  “So? How was it?” Nearly three weeks had passed since the wedding, and on a sunny August Tuesday, I’d finally managed to catch Ella in Liam’s corner office without Liam. I should have been with him at the board meeting, but feigned a headache—not too tough, considering last night’s marathon debate with my mom. Marriage had already made Liam soft, and he’d ordered me to take a nap. “We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

  Ella’s expression turned dreamy. “It was Bora Bora. I mean, come on? How could it be anything other than perfection?”

  “I’m glad,” I said. And I guess, even though I hadn’t exactly been on my best behavior at their wedding, in retrospect, I was happy for her and Liam. Why the sudden turnaround? Nathan. I hadn’t been able to forget our encounter—for lack of a better word. I’d never been with anyone so rough, yet in tune with my needs. When I closed my eyes, I swear I still felt him inside. I’d wanted to call him a half-dozen times, but short of assigning one of Liam’s PIs to the hunt, the guy was a ghost. I knew he works at the Sausalito Food Mart, and I got really drunk and horny last weekend and had a driver take me there to find him, only to discover he was off. My next stop had been the apartment he and Ella once shared, but when he didn’t answer the door, I’d sobered enough to remember I didn’t do needy.

  “We stayed in one of those over-water bungalows that, in spots, had a see-through floor. It was surreal. I pinched myself a few times daily just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Liam¸ the baby, the wedding—I can’t remember ever having felt so blessed.”

  “I’m glad.” We shared a hug. “After what you went through, you and Liam deserve a few decades of tranquility.”

  “Tell me about it.” She cupped her hands over her still flat belly. “I’m stuck here waiting for Liam to get out of his meeting—he insists on taking me to my doctor appointment. How come you’re not with him?”

  “Actually…” I forced a deep breath. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, but thought this should be one of those in-person conversations.”

  “Uh-oh. Should I be worried?” A cloud marred Ella’s formerly serene features.

  Maybe? “No, no. I’m sure everything’s fine. But have you, by chance, heard from Nathan?”

  “Nathan?” Ella furrowed her brows. “I talked to him a few days ago, and he was good. I didn’t know you two were friends?”

  “We’re not—well, I mean, we are, but only casually. We talked at the wedding, and I thought it would be nice to—”

  Ella’s smile returned. “You’re totally crushing on my sweet Nathan.”

  “No, I’m not.” Was I that obvious? Damn.

  “Why didn’t I think of this? You two would be perfect together—well, you’re more polished than he is, but his sense of humor is awesome, and I know he needs a haircut, but underneath all that hair, he’s awfully cute. Why don’t the two of you come for Darcy’s birthday? The house is a wreck, but we’re setting up a mini carnival in the backyard. You and Nathan could—”

  “Time out, Billionaire Matchmaker.” I made a T with my hands. “If you’d just give me his cell number, I can take it from there.”

  “Are you sure? I’d love to—”

  “Thanks. Really. I’m not sure if you’ve met me, but I’m not the shrinking violet type.” At least not on the outside. But under that confident façade was a layer of insecurity.

  “Okay…” Retrieving her cell from her purse, Ella looked disappointed that I’d passed on her matchmaking offer. “Promise to at least keep me in the loop? You both mean the world to me, and raging pregnancy hormones make me want everyone to be blissfully in love.”

  “Hate to burst your bliss bubble, but…” I winked after adding Nathan’s number to my contacts. His screen name? HUNG Nathan. “What we shared wouldn’t so much be love, but your garden-variety lust.”

  Was it wrong that I got a little thrill out of Ella’s gaping mouth and raised eyebrows?

  —

  I spent the rest of the day suspended in that awkward, terrifying place I hadn’t been in since high school—debating if I should call the boy who made me all flushed and nervous and incapable of accomplishing anything other than reliving our first kiss. I remembered the way it had taken Nathan a beat to catch on, but when he had, there’d been no questioning who sat behind the wheel. I’d enjoyed the hell out of that—the sensation that with him, I didn’t have to be strong.

  It irked me that he hadn’t made the first move to call, but that was okay.

  As long as he made the next move in the bedroom, I’d have no worries.

  Only, I did have worries.

  Not only about the mess unfolding back in my hometown, but fearing Nathan hadn’t tracked me down because he had no interest in a repeat performance. For such a long time I’d adopted the hardened bitch persona that I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass it was to acknowledge my feelings.

  What if Nathan thought the ice queen was truly me?

  But then wasn’t she?

  Hadn’t I fought and scraped to finally rise above my past only to never look back? To never again acknowledge the disaster I used to be? Why now? Why him? Why hadn’t I accomplished anything on my lengthy to-do list all day other than finally getting Nathan’s phone number, then doodling hearts and flowers and curlicues in the margins of my trusty yellow legal pad?

  Disgusted with my newly emerged girly side, I grabbed my stupid phone from where it had taunted me beneath my desktop bonsai and hit the s
peed dial for Nathan’s number.

  My pulse hammered.

  My palms sweat.

  A recording answered. Hey, you know what to do.

  My hopeful spirit fell like the former fat kid in me had during the three-legged race at Girl Scout camp. I swear, I even tasted dirt and grass. And then I had the weirdest craving for a Twinkie—or maybe fifteen.

  Why had I called?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I usually loved my position in the soaring glass atrium that housed Zoogle’s executive level. I adored the waterfall’s rush and the koi and palms and gardens that I’d talked Liam into changing with the seasons. My desk had been custom made from a South African skiff that had an actual great white shark bite in the hull. I liked to think of myself as being a lovely lady shark, protecting Liam from all who dared enter his private harbor. But now, out in the open, I felt as if all the industrious souls passing by knew my dirty little secret—that I’d put the first moves on a boy and been rejected.

  Only that wasn’t entirely true, considering that technically, the first time I’d approached Nathan, I’d scored in a major way.

  It was only four, and I never left the office till at least six, but all of a sudden I needed fresh air—and except for beaches, I hate nature! At least, real nature. The indoor, manicured form was fine.

  I took my new Birkin alligator tote from my bottom desk drawer, closed my laptop and shoved it inside. I’d just wrapped my cold, clammy, trembling hand around my phone when it rang.

  I dropped it.

  Then covered my mouth in horror to see the contact info I’d entered as a joke pop up in bold letters on my screen—HUNG Nathan.

  My cheeks superheated.

  I did a quick scan of my area to make sure no one was watching this pathetic scene. I was a straight-up mess. Should I answer? Maybe it was the issue with my mom that had me feeling vulnerable and insecure. Maybe the fact that I hadn’t been truly satisfied with a man since Liam. But mostly, it was because Nathan had been my rescuer from the event I’d dreaded ever since Liam had officially ended our contract. Oh—I’d pretended he would one day want me, but deep down, I’d known that would never happen. And so I’d steeled myself to mask rejection’s sting. Only with Nathan had I opened myself to the possibility of sharing a normal relationship—not the one-sided variety I usually indulged in. The kind where I tried to be interested, only to inevitably politely extricate myself due to boredom.