by Shayne Ford
Convinced that the answer won’t come any time soon, I start watching a movie.
Thirty minutes later, my phone chimes with a text message that includes a phone number that I need to call.
Oh, mysterious.
I love that.
I pause the movie and call the number. A female voice greets me at the other end.
“Miss Malone?”
“Yes.”
“This is Vanessa, the client liaison coordinator at VIP Men’s Club.”
Hmm... Sounds important.
“Okay. Hi.”
“You’re in luck. The man you have requested has an opening next week.”
“Okay...” I mumble again, a bit surprised. “I didn’t expect it to be so soon, to be honest.”
“Usually it’s not. There’s a waiting list for Christian. In fact...” she says and then pauses again as if she’s checking something on her schedule. “The next available date is in December, in case this week doesn’t work for you.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. The other men’s schedules are pretty booked as well. Just so you know.”
“Sounds, um... good?” I say, laughing nervously. “What day are we talking about?”
“This coming Thursday at nine o’clock. I have you down for two hours.”
“All right, um... Perfect,” I mutter, shaking at the thought that I’d meet him so soon.
I remain silent for a moment, a bit overwhelmed.
“So?”
“Yes. It’s working for me.”
“Good. You won’t be sorry,” she says a smile beaming in her voice. “I need your financial information.”
“Sure. Give me a moment.”
I spring out of my seat and dash to the hallway. From my purse, I fish out a card I stashed away for special occasions.
“All right. I have everything here,” I say. “But before we go ahead with this, I have a question,” I say.
“Sure. Ask me anything you want to know.”
“Where do I, um... spend these two hours with him?”
“He’ll wait for you in a hotel room. The exact location will be sent to you the night before. It’s a five-star hotel with excellent service. The room will be prepared for the rendezvous. At the point of connection, you may choose a different venue to spend your time with him. It’s up to you.”
My heart rate surges.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“This is it for now.”
“Good. Let me input your information.”
8
EVE
It’s a cold, wet evening, the kind of night you want to spend at home with a big bowl of popcorn on your lap, a movie to watch or perhaps a friend on the phone, but to me, tonight is the big night.
I’ve been preparing for this evening for the last four days as if I am the one rendering the service.
From workout sessions, a visit to the spa and a full bikini wax that I’m not going to repeat anytime soon, to an unplanned shopping spree that added a few lingerie sets, a couple of sexy dresses and matching shoes to my wardrobe, I’ve done everything I could to get myself ready.
I have no idea why I’m so nervous.
Regardless of how good or bad this man is, I still have full control over the situation.
Keeping an eye on the time, I finish the final preparations before I take one last look in the mirror.
The garnet dress looks good on me. Sexy. It features a smooth asymmetrical cut that lifts the skirt on one side, up on my thigh, the same side shoulder bare.
The soft fabric molds on my chest, nips at my waist and hugs my thighs. Matching heels make me look taller.
My shiny long hair falls freely on my shoulders and my back.
I brush my eyebrows with my index fingers, making sure that the arching is right, and then I check my lips.
Everything looks great.
I hope he meets my expectations too.
I was assured that he is charming and good looking and that I wouldn’t be disappointed when I’d meet him in real life.
I could walk out if I needed to, but according to Vanessa, no one has done it before.
That’s hardly reassuring for someone like me, but I decided to go with it, although it feels like a blind date on steroids.
Anyway, I’m not going to think about it. Not until I meet the man.
I call a cab, and twenty minutes later, I climb into the car in front of my building. I give the driver the address before I lean back in my seat and start typing a message.
I promised Rain that I’d give her an update since she wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t bail out at the last minute.
She sends me a thumbs up back.
Smiling, I slip my phone into my purse and move my eyes to the window.
The rain chased the people away. Cab zoom up and down the streets–– they always do, but most people are now at home, in a restaurant or a movie theater or at a show.
The cab careens from one street to another, taking me to one of the flagship hotels of New York.
For a few moments, we stop at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green.
Something flutters in my chest as I glue my eyes to the flickering lights outside. I sense tension and emotion as if I’m about to meet my fate.
It’s stupid–– I know, and yet that’s how I feel.
It makes me smile–– a rare occurrence when it comes to meeting men, but then I let it flow through me, enjoying it.
The car begins to roll.
“You can stop over there,” I say, spotting the line of vehicles in front of the hotel.
“Are you sure?” the man asks, shifting in his seat and looking at me. “It’s still raining.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, handing him the fare.
Five minutes later, I walk into the hotel.
Shoulders square and head high, I walk across the lobby and stop in front of the concierge.
The man behind the desk greets me with a smile.
“Good evening. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for a friend.”
Grinning, the man shifts his eyes to the screen and plants his hands on the keyboard.
“Yes?”
I give him the first name–– the only name that I have, nervously waiting for his reaction.
I expect something–– I don’t know exactly what.
Perhaps to gaze at me suspiciously and tell me that there isn’t such a man in this hotel.
He doesn’t bat a lash.
“Yes,” he says. “Your friend should be in the room, waiting for you. A dinner for two was set up in the room as well,” he says reassuringly with the friendliest voice possible.
“Your friend wants you to have this, Miss,” he says as he smoothly retrieves a beautifully wrapped red rose from under the desk.
“Oh,” I gasp, my cheeks warming up with a blush. “Thank you.”
Smiling, the clerk nods before he points in the direction of the elevators.
“Once you step off the elevator on the eleventh floor, you take a right, and walk down the corridor until you reach the last door. The room number is 1101.”
I thank him again before I spin around and walk to the bank of elevators.
A group of people joins me just as the doors pull open and we all walk in. We all press buttons on the panel. My floor number lights up too.
Soon, the doors pull closed and the car slides up.
Moments later, the elevator begins making stops. As we travel up, fewer and fewer guests remain inside the car.
I almost miss my floor when I dash out of the elevator along with a couple that takes a turn and walks away from me.
The doors pull closed behind me while I stand alone in the middle of a beautifully decorated corridor.
The lights of the city pulse outside. I glance around.
Plants with luscious leaves adorn the corners, soft lights casting a faint glow over the floor.
My heart begins to hammer
as I start to walk.
Following the instructions, I take a turn, and keep strolling past quiet doors, my pulse throbbing in my neck.
I can’t believe I’m so nervous.
As I take the last few steps, I remind myself that I have complete control over the situation, and I can take this meeting whichever way I want.
The more I think about it, the more I calm down.
My gaze slides down to the red rose, a smile pushing to my lips.
This is a nice, romantic gesture, I muse.
Still grinning.
Still soaking in the beautiful flower.
I finally near the end of the corridor when I raise my eyes. This should be easy, I say to myself feeling more confident now that I find myself next to the door in question.
I swivel my head. Left and right.
Wait a minute?
What number did the clerk say?
Two identical doors line the end of the corridor. On my right, there is Room 1101. On my left, Room 1011.
Shit.
I swing my gaze between the two doors.
Did he say 1101? Or 1011?
Quietly, I growl in frustration.
He said the last door. Which one of them was he referring to?
I could call the concierge and ask him again, but something stops me.
It would make me look stupid.
Besides, I can try either of these doors. If it’s not the man who is supposed to meet me, I’ll excuse myself and go with the second option.
How hard can it be?
This is a good plan.
I wish I didn’t mess up the numbers though, but now that I have a solution to my problem, I feel much better.
I take off my coat and fold it on my arm before I clear my throat, square my shoulders and knock on one of the doors.
Room 1101. On the right.
I wait. No answer.
I try again. Silence is all I hear. I press my ear against the door. I get more calmness.
Swiftly, I spin around.
This must be it, then.
Room 1011. On the left.
I repeat the steps. No answer. I’m not losing my faith, though. I’m sure this is the room. I knock on the door again.
Smiling.
I get a fluttering feeling in my stomach as I grapple with anticipation, yet more silence comes my way.
Something prompts me to lean closer and listen. A sound of instrumental music seeps through the door.
This is the room. I knock again, and I insist.
The seconds tick by.
And then, I quickly change my mind, convinced that it’s not meant to be.
I start to pivot away when I hear a male voice.
“Just a second.”
My heart explodes in my chest, the spike of adrenaline making my skin burn and my fingers tremble. I struggle to keep my composure.
Tensely, I arch my back and thrust my chest forward, ready to meet the man I have heard so many things about.
The door cracks open, the silhouette of a man filling the entryway.
I don’t know how it happens, but we sort of drag our gazes from the floor up at the same time.
I take in a pair of luxury designer shoes, sharp looking black suit pants, a sleek belt, and an open slim fit white dress shirt that gives me a full view of his chiseled abs.
I count several speed bumps beneath his velvety skin as I seize his six-pack before my eyes move up and reach the tight curves of his rock hard pecs. By now, my grin widens, eager anticipation sweeping through me.
I trail my gaze up from his sculpted collarbones after I spend some time studying the intricate tattoo spreading on one side of his chest.
My eyes slide up onto his ropy neck, and sexy jawline, and then to his slightly parted lips, and high cheekbones.
A moment later, my gaze meets the stranger’s eyes.
By now, my blood dashes through my veins at a different speed, my whole body churning heat.
For a second, I don’t quite process the image of the man who stands in front of me, my mind still wrapped in this amazing revelation.
He is way more than I imagined.
He is spellbinding.
And then, from every corner of my mind come voices blaring, prompting me to snap out of my daze and take a better look at him.
A gasp bursts out from my lips as I take a step back, in complete shock.
“No.”
My grin has long slid off my lips, my eyebrows pushing up, my eyes widening in surprise.
He doesn’t seem to be impressed with my reaction as he leisurely runs his gaze on me again, slowly taking in my red heels and dress, the contour of my thighs, my waistline and the swell of my chest and then my lips and nose and eyes.
The crooked grin tilting his lips as he meticulously studies my body and my face a testament that he is used to this reaction coming from his female visitors.
His dark green eyes lock mine as I take another small step back.
“No way,” I murmur, struggling with more surprise.
A smooth, sly grin threads through his gaze, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Now I know why women rave about him.
The man is the whole package, and he has ‘presence’ oozing from his pores. His stare makes me hot in places I’m ashamed to confess about.
My nipples poke at him, and that’s not all. I sense pleasure coursing through my blood, and he hasn’t even touched me.
Slowly, he runs the edge of his teeth across his bottom lip while I gawk at him, completely lost.
He knows precisely how much he affects him.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t slide his hand up the doorframe, giving me an even better look of his chiseled body.
My eyes slide down onto his torso like two scoops of melted ice cream, stopping smack on his fly.
I bounce my gaze up.
For a moment, I watch the smooth shift of his pecs beneath his bronzed skin before I train my eyes on his face.
All my reserves–– everything that held me back all these years, and sabotaged my love life, gets thrown out of the window in a second.
A sultry gaze, and a smoldering smile... A sculpted body. That’s all it takes to lose my brain.
Life gets stupid like that.
All my primal instincts revived, I look at the stranger as if I lost every ounce of self-restraint.
There is only one problem, I realize as I study him intently–– especially the beauty mark sitting near the point where his jawline makes a sexy angle.
He looks exactly like James Sexton.
Once this thought forms in my head, torment swirls inside me. He smiles as if he knows that chaos brews in me.
It can’t be, a quiet voice says in my head.
I was never attracted to James that way. Was I?
And that’s when the gates of hell burst open, and self-doubt and shame link their hands and start dancing in my head, creating havoc.
What if it was buried in my subconscious? Was it?
I can’t believe I doubt myself, just because this man resembles James so much.
It’s a strange coincidence. That much, I know. But just because they look alike doesn’t mean that I had the hots for James Sexton.
But my mind can’t stop ruminating.
What if I was attracted to him, and I chose to push that feeling to the side. Basically, ignore it.
No, a voice argues firmly in my head.
I was never attracted to James, and yet... now... My entire body pulses and churns heat for this man who looks just like him. Unfazed by my silence, the man in front of me gives me another once over.
I really fit his taste, it seems as he clicks his tongue satisfied.
He’s young. Younger than he looks. That’s what his cheeky smile and playful eyes say to me. The way he grips the doorframe and tenses his muscles, the way he tosses an amused glance at the flower in my hand.
Naughtiness reads in his eyes, his gaze full of promises that make my pan
ties wet.
He’s good.
He purses his lips, his grin dispersing over his sculpted cheekbones as he runs his fingers through his shiny dark hair.
His eyes dip again.
“I thought you were blonde,” he says, throwing me for a loop.
I look at him intrigued. Surprised.
I don’t remember mentioning my physical characteristics when I filled out that form.
He quickly reads my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, straightening and sliding the door wide open for me.
With a gesture, he invites me in.
I remain frozen in the hallway.
“Are you coming or not?” he asks with a smooth voice.
His tone is inviting, impossible to resist, although his words are harsh.
A soft smile sparkles in his eyes as if something in my expression, or demeanor, gives away my shyness.
I like that feeling. The fact that he reads me right. The fact that he knows exactly where I am and how I feel.
The moment of silence prolongs while I have a hard time to take the first steps toward him, yet he waits patiently, indulging in my girlish timidness.
“Thank you for the flower,” I say, my eyes getting lost in his.
We both forget about our words for a moment as our eyes speak to each other.
Somehow, I caught his attention–– I have no idea how, but he studies me intrigued.
“The flower...?” he asks, looking at me puzzled.
“Yes.”
I lift my hand to show him the rose, reluctantly shattering the magic of the moment.
I wish I could soak in another smile of his, and his expression, the way it looked when he was taken with me a moment ago.
He purses his lips as if his mind grapples with a riddle. Panic grows in me.
Something doesn’t feel right.
The corners of my lips slant down, no longer holding my grin.
“Christian, right?” I ask with a shaky voice, eager to confirm that he is the man I booked.
Tense, I wait for his answer, anxious to suppress my doubts and push my fuzziness away.
And then he smiles again–– a seductive, enveloping, hot grin that makes my skin burn and my heart tick faster.
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his eyes smoothly going down.
I let out a sigh of relief, the soft sound drawing his gaze up.
“Good,” I say. “I was afraid that I got the wrong door,” I add, suddenly chatty.