Tiago

by Shayne Ford

  “Okay...” I murmur.

  “I need you to go to the office, and work on this project–– put the presentation together. It shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so.”

  My eyes go to the digital clock sitting on the side table.

  It’s seven o’clock already.

  “All right.”

  “The presentation was scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Chances are you will be on your own. Unless I catch a flight early morning, I’m not going to make it on time, and Clemens doesn’t return from LA till the end of the week.”

  “Okay,” I say, a surge of adrenaline rushing through my veins. “I need to change, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Good. Call me if you need me.”

  Twenty minutes later, I wrap my coat around me and walk out of the building.

  A cab waits for me. I give the driver my work address before I change my mind and tell him to take a small detour.

  It snows steadily as we glide along the wet, well-lit streets.

  “Wait for me here. It won’t take long,” I say as the driver pulls the car not far from the hotel entrance.

  I step out as soon as the vehicle stops.

  My heels click clank across the sidewalk as I hurriedly walk to the entrance.

  Once in, I head straight to the front desk.

  “How may I help you?” the concierge clerk asks.

  The woman, a curvaceous redhead with big eyes and long lashes, smiles at me.

  “Hi. There was, um...”

  I stall for a second, having a hard time to find my words. How am I supposed to say this?

  “Is anyone else working with you this evening?”

  She tosses me a questioning look.

  I grin embarrassedly.

  “I’m trying to locate a friend who stayed in this hotel last week. And I was wondering if I could speak with the man who worked that night.”

  “What day was that?”

  “Last Thursday.”

  She checks something on her computer.

  “Emmanuel?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “He’s off today. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Reluctantly, I move a step closer.

  “Um... The man I met last week... I haven’t seen him in a while and, um... I forgot to ask him about his contact information. Do you have his phone number by any chance? It would help me tremendously.”

  I stop, anxiously waiting.

  The woman arches an eyebrow slowly, suspicion flickering through her gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I’m sure we have it, but we can’t share it. You can run a search online and find all the information that you need.”

  I give the woman a wry smile.

  “Yeah... I thought about that. Unfortunately, I forgot the man’s last name. We lost track of each other for many years until we recently reconnected. So, even his last name would be of great help to me.”

  She studies my eyes for a moment before she moves her gaze to the computer, and sets her fingers on the keyboard.

  “What room?”

  “Room 1011. His name is Christian. We met last Thursday.”

  The light of the screen changes as her fingers move across the keyboard, and her eyes scan the information.

  She purses her lips–– not a good sign.

  “Christian, you said?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “No one with that name was in that room,” she says.

  My heart drops.

  “Oh... I see. Thank you,” I say softly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  My shoulders slump as I turn around when I hear her voice again.

  “Are you sure it was room 1011?”

  I stop and turn.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Her index finger slides to the screen.

  “Someone named Christian booked room 1101, right across the hallway.”

  I freeze, my mind coming to a full stop.

  She searches my eyes.

  “Was it the door on your left or right as you walked away from the elevator?”

  “The door was on the left side.”

  She shrugs.

  “Well. That is 1011. Perhaps the name of the man who booked the other room was only a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, perhaps,” I say baffled. “Thank you again,” I mutter before I spin around and walk across the lobby.

  Sunk in thought, I make the trip back to the cab that waits for me in front of the hotel.

  It’s almost ten o’clock when I finish working on my presentation. I power off my computer and lean back in my seat.

  The floor is quiet, the cubicles sunk in darkness except for my office, and Samantha’s where a few lights spread a soft glow over her desk.

  At night, the firm looks like a hotel lounge. Large windows line the walls, streaming in the nocturnal view of Manhattan.

  My eyes linger on the image for a moment when a soft buzz seizes my attention.

  I straighten in my chair, collect my bag from my desk and start fumbling through its content, looking for my phone.

  I locate it and scoop it out.

  An unknown number lights up my screen. For a second, I’m tempted to let the call go directly to voicemail before I press accept.

  A few moments of silence travel to me, enough to make my pulse race.

  “Eve?”

  Goosebumps spread across my shoulders.

  Slightly nasal, and thick, his voice has a shred of sultriness in it, and a bit of rasp to it as well.

  “Christian?” I ask incredulously.

  A soft laugh echoes at the other end.

  It makes me smile.

  “You thought that I’d never call you,” he says.

  I slump back in my seat.

  “Yes... It crossed my mind.”

  “I told you that I’d do it.”

  “Yes, you did, but that was not the vibe I got from you last Sunday.”

  “How is your ex-boyfriend?”

  “He’s, um... Well, he got the job, and he moves to New York in a couple of weeks or so.”

  “Interesting. He moves here for you,” he says.

  His statement makes me pause for a second.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He wants to rekindle this thing with you. The job is only a pretext.”

  “No man switches jobs to be closer to the woman he broke up with years ago.”

  “Men who recognize their mistakes do.”

  “Is that why you called me?” I ask, a pang of irritation seeping into my voice.

  “No.”

  He pauses for a moment.

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “Work.”

  “So late?”

  “It was an emergency.”

  “Where is your workplace?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see you.”

  His words take me by surprise.

  My mouth opens and closes a few times, no words coming out.

  “Are you serious?” I finally ask.

  “Yup.”

  “Why can’t we meet somewhere else? Some other time,” I say as I take inventory of my slacks and long-sleeved cashmere top.

  I’m not exactly dressed to impress.

  “I want to pick you up and drive you home.”

  My chest tightens with emotion. That is sweet.

  “I can get home on my own,” I say, smiling.

  “I know. But I want to,” he insists. “Besides, I want to see where you work.”

  “Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  Undeterred, he doesn’t show the slightest sign of hesitance. He sounds young and stubborn.

  “How old are you?” I ask after a moment.

  “I think you already know that. You read my profile.”

  “Yes, I did. But people lie about their age all the time.”

  “Why would I?”

  A smile beams in his voice.

  “I don
’t know. Your profile says you’re twenty-six. You sound younger than that.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well. You’re about to find out. I’m on Park Avenue, so which way I go?”

  “Are you in a car already?”

  “What do you think?”

  I give him the address.

  “I can wait for you downstairs,” I say.

  “No need to. I’ll come up to you.”

  With that, he hangs up.

  For a moment, I stare at my phone, smiling. He can be so bossy.

  I snap out of my reverie after a few more seconds, call the security downstairs and inform them that I have a visitor.

  A few moments later, I jump out of my seat and run to the bathroom. The harsh light of the restroom makes my skin look dull, and my hair darker than black ink.

  I dig deep into my purse to find my lipstick. I put a dash of color on my cheeks and lips–– my eyes set on the mirror.

  My hair could use a brush. Instead, I run my fingers through my locks and fluff it up a bit.

  At the bottom of my bag, I also find a colorful scarf. I tie it around my neck and run a critical eye on my reflection.

  Slightly better.

  The tones of turquoise and coral brighten up the monotone combination of dark slacks and cream top.

  I rub my lips together and smear my lipstick with my finger, making sure I spread it evenly.

  Good, I muse, as I inspect my lashes–– I don’t want them clumped together, when the soft ding of the elevator door echoes on the hallway.

  Hurriedly, I close my bag, snatch it from the sink edge, and pivot away.

  I barely have enough time to set everything back on the desk and erase the impression that I was preparing myself for him when I spot his silhouette on the hallway.

  A few steps later, he shows up in the doorway.

  “Christian,” I gasp, emotions tumbling through me like a ball of fire.

  A soft smile curves his lips as he heads to me.

  “Eve.”

  His voice feels like fingers down my spine.

  He swaggers in, his coat open, a pair of dark dress pants fitting teasingly on his hips and legs.

  The low-sitting waistband of his pants sets off his trimmed waist, a white dress shirt stretching smoothly across his hard abs and chest.

  My gaze tips to his designer shoes.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  “Nowhere. I had dinner. And then, I called you.”

  A thousand questions dance on my lips.

  For someone who makes his living escorting women, he sure has a lot of time on his hands.

  “You know...” I start as I lean against my desk and fold my arms across my chest. “I booked another date with you,” I say.

  He looks at me puzzled.

  “Date?”

  “Yes. The next available spot. Sometime in January.”

  His expression remains blank.

  “Okay...” he says, his voice trailing off.

  “You are pretty busy,” I say, trying to sound casual about it, although I’m far from it.

  “Why would you book me again?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

  He no longer smiles.

  Neither am I.

  “Because I didn’t think that I’d see you again after our last encounter, and, um... ”

  His eyes stay trained on me, warming me up with their smoldering fire.

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing,” I say, gesturing dismissively. “We should go,” I mutter as I push off my desk abruptly.

  He closes the space between us, making me stay in place.

  His body heat rolls over me, carrying a scent of aftershave.

  “If you thought that I wouldn’t call you after we met last Sunday, why would you book another date with me?”

  He seems sincerely intrigued.

  I’d be too.

  “I, um...”

  The closer I feel him, the harder it is to find my words.

  Our eyes stay connected as a few moments of silence slip away from us.

  “I know that the circumstances in which we met were far from perfect, but I felt that something happened between us that first night in your hotel room. I wanted to know if what I felt was real.”

  A soft smile tugs at his lips.

  “And that’s exactly why I’m here,” he says, his smile faltering a bit. “For both of us to find out,” he continues, his eyes diving into mine.

  My knees begin to soften.

  “Before we do that, there are things I need to know...” I say softly.

  He quirks an eyebrow.

  “What things?”

  “You said that us seeing each other again wouldn’t be ‘work’ for you,” I say.

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “But...”

  How am I going to say this to him?

  Seeing me might not be ‘work’ for him, but the woman on Sunday evening was, and his full schedule is.

  I stare at him, my lips sewn together.

  It’s too early to talk about it. Ahead of everything. Perhaps nothing will happen after all. Or maybe, we’ll have some fun on the side, and that would be all.

  Isn’t that what he said?

  And now, we’re barely taking the first steps in that direction.

  Four nights ago, we were spending time with other people. Almost a week ago, I was his client.

  So, yes. It’s too early to bring that up.

  And yet...

  There are so many things I need to know about him so that I feel safe with him.

  “Listen...” he says as if he reads my mind.

  Tenderly, he takes my hand and lifts it to his chest.

  He splays my fingers on his pecs just where his heart throbs.

  “There is nothing significant in this life that you can do at once. First, you learn me, and then you know if there is anything in me for you.”

  “What exactly do you have in mind?” I ask, feeling the beats of his heart beneath my hand.

  “Let’s start where we left off.”

  A soft smile brushes his lips as he tears my hand away from his chest and brings it to his lips.

  He places the softest kiss on my knuckles while I watch him mesmerized.

  Who is this man?

  Just as smoothly, he buries my hand in his palm and lowers it to his chest again.

  His eyes don’t leave mine, harboring a faint grin.

  “You know... I went back to that hotel looking for you,” I say.

  A shadow slides over his eyes. His smile dies out.

  He looks at me, reserved and guarded.

  “Seriously?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I was hoping that I could find more about you.”

  The blood draws from his face.

  He looks pale in the dimness of my office.

  “And?” he asks tensely.

  “The woman at the concierge desk couldn’t find you,” I say, gauging his reaction.

  “How come?” he asks, regaining his composure.

  “They said that no one named Christian booked that room.”

  “Hmm.”

  His lips purse, a small smile flickering faintly.

  “Where you surprised?” he asks, broadening his grin.

  “Um... Not really,” I say after a moment of hesitation.

  I mull over for a moment.

  He’s an escort after all.

  “Is Christian even your real name?”

  He tips his chin down, a mysterious smile arching his lips.

  “Would you expect it to be?”

  “No.”

  He raises his eyes but doesn’t say a word.

  “If you don’t want to tell me your real name, it’s fine.”

  “Good,” he says, observing me amused.

  My mouth opens in surprise.

  How can I be so naive and give him a pass on this?

  I look at him, but the opportunit
y is lost.

  His gaze slides down before it swings to my desk.

  “Let’s go now. We’ll chat more over some drinks,” he says, removing the possibility to ask more questions.

  “You said that you’d take me home,” I say smiling.

  “I will. After we make a stop.”

  14

  EVE

  By the time we exit the building, a layer of white glitter covers the ground. It’s the second week of November and the winter has already taken over the streets.

  Holding my hand, he walks me to a nearby underground parking lot.

  “Are you so accommodating with all your clients?”

  “You are not my client,” he says without looking at me.

  I take that as a no, although a pestering thought keeps bugging me.

  “How is life as a male escort?”

  He laughs, yet he evades my eyes.

  “Why are you asking?”

  He tosses me a side glance and a smile.

  I shrug.

  “I don’t know. Curiosity? I always wonder...”

  “Do you want to write a book about it?” he asks jokingly.

  “Why not?” I say, playing his game. “I might... One day.”

  He doesn’t comment.

  “By the way... I have a friend who is a writer,” I say as we take a turn and head to a red sports car.

  He pulls the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the doors.

  “Would you like to be a writer as well?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, caught unprepared.

  I never thought about it. To spend my life alone, chained to a desk.

  Probably not.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I say.

  Our hands go separate ways as we enter his car.

  “Nice ride,” I mutter as I get settled in my seat.

  “It’s not mine.”

  I look at him.

  He slides the key into the ignition and turns the engine on. A rumbling sound vibrates beneath our feet.

  He shoots me a side glance.

  “I rented it. I normally use a car service.”

  My eyebrows lift.

  “For me? You rented it for me?”

  He gives me a boyish smile.

  “I’ve rented it for our convenience.”

  “Are you trying to woo me, Christian?”

  “Do I really need to?” he asks, giving me a flirting smile.

  I grin like a fool.

  “I cannot believe that this is happening,” I say, slapping my thighs with my palms, and sweeping the parking lot with my gaze as I breathe out a chuckle.