“Don’t worry,” I continue. “I get it. But you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t judge. Actually, I think escorting is a great way to pay for college…or life. I don’t see anything wrong with it. So you don’t need to feel shy around me.”
“It’s not that,” she whispers. “It’s just that…I didn’t know she knew.”
I exhale. “She knew, okay? It’s no big deal. Really. I just want to get Ms. White’s address from you so I can be on my way. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow.”
“If you’re supposed to meet, why don’t you already have her address?” She eyes me.
Shit. She’s caught me. I sigh. “Okay, the truth is that I’m not supposed to meet her. But I want to. I’m interested in being hired.”
“She usually needs a referral.”
“So refer me.”
She blinks. “Why should I? I don’t even know you.”
“Do it for my cousin. You owe it to her. It’s the least you can do.” I don’t mean this to come out sounding like a threat, but the minute the words leave my lips, I realize that they do. Isabella stares at me with round eyes, and then she glances around her frantically. We’re the only two left in the graveyard.
“I didn’t mean it to come out that way,” I say, and reach out to touch her. She flinches and practically leaps back. Sheesh, this girl is more skittish than a feral alley cat.
“I’m sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “It’s just that things have been stressful for me lately. I was the original target for your cousin’s murder, and I’ve been having hard times with my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend.” Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m usually stronger than this, but lately things have been piling up. My college degree is in the shithole, and I don’t have much of a future to speak of.”
“I know that feeling,” I say. I meet her eyes. In this instant, there’s a moment of understanding between us.
“It’s about survival,” she says, as if reading my thoughts.
I nod. “Yes. Survival. There’s no shame in doing what we have to do to get by. Especially when we don’t have a leg up like other people do.”
She stares at me for a long beat of silence, and then opens her purse. She swiftly writes something down and then hands a scrap of paper to me. I look down at the note.
“It’s Ms. White’s information,” she says. “And I also put my number on there. In case you…you know, need a friend to talk to while you’re here. The city can feel big and overwhelming when you’re here alone.”
“Thanks,” I say, touched in spite of myself by her gesture. A friend. That sounds nice. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to a female my own age, or just hung out. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend.
She gives me a faint smile, and then squares her shoulders, as if finding her own strength again. I can tell she’s usually a kick-ass kind of girl, but funerals and distant cousins of corpses who show up exposing your secrets can knock the wind out of a girl. Yep, I definitely caught poor Isabella off guard, but I can see she’s getting her bearings again. I can’t help but like her. She’s like me. She’s a survivor. We recognize each other.
She turns to leave, and then stops and looks back. “I should warn you about Ms. White, though.” She meets my eyes. “She’s scary.”
“What kind of scary?”
She exhales slowly, giving me an ominous look. “You’ll see.”
three
I use the last of my cash to take a cab straight to Ms. White’s office. I ride the elevator up to her floor, take a deep breath, and go over in my mind what I’m going to say to her. Up until now, I’d pictured myself just waltzing in, dropping Emma’s name (and now Isabella’s) and asking that she hire me. But now, especially in light of Isabella’s warning, I’m beginning to have doubts. Ms. White sounds like an intense, shrewd businesswoman. And shrewd businesswomen do good business. How do I know if I’ll even be a commodity she’ll be interested in? My confidence suddenly leaves me like air being sucked out of a balloon.
I look down at my scuffed pumps, and then smooth my rayon dress. I probably look like a country bumpkin. What was I thinking? Okay, I’ve been told that I’m beautiful, like a blonde Monica Lewinsky with curves in all the right places, luminous skin, and a smile that lights up the room. Then again, I was told these things by guys drunk out of their skulls who were trying to get in my pants, but still. I wouldn’t attract so many guys if I didn’t have something going on. Right?
But do I have what it takes to be a high-end call girl? And in New York, the most competitive city on the planet? This is the land of models and actresses and beauties from all over the world. The best of the best. The word “competition” was invented here.
Ms. White is probably going to take one look at me, laugh, and send me home on the next Greyhound bus. I’ll be lucky if I can get her to buy me a one-way ticket.
I take another deep breath. Okay, I’m just going to have to wow her with enough sexiness and confidence to make her change her mind. That’s all there is to it.
The elevator door opens, and soon the receptionist leads me down to Ms. White’s office. The door swings open, and she stands there, looking like a skinny pit bull. She’s rail-thin but as imposing as if she’s a three hundred-pound linebacker. She’s wearing head-to-toe black and black eyeliner, giving her a severe look. With a name like Ms. White, would I have expected anything less? She stares at me with narrowed eyes.
“So you’re Isabella’s referral, huh?” She beckons me in. The door closes behind us, and then she assesses me from head to toe as a horse breeder might. I expected as much. After all, I’m the product she must sell. I mentally kick myself for not wearing something sexier.
“Not bad,” she says, scrutinizing me. “We’ve had a recent high demand for the curvier types.” She meets my eyes. “Kim Kardashian has put your body type on the map. Up until recently, I’ve been encouraging my curvier girls to lose weight. But not now. Of course, most men still prefer rail-thin women with silicone breasts, but there is a growing pool of wealthy men who only want the fleshier types.”
Fleshier types? I frown at her choice of words. That’s not a description that makes a girl feel confident about herself, that’s for sure. It feels like a backhanded compliment. “Fleshy” is definitely not an adjective I would enjoy hearing about myself under normal circumstances, but this is Ms. White we’re talking about. Isabella had implied she was not a very nice person and has a sharp tongue. Besides, New Yorkers are known to be blunt.
I give Ms. White a bright smile. “I’m glad there are men who prefer a healthy woman.”
She glares at me. “I didn’t say anything about healthy,” she snaps. “It’s pretty clear you’ve never met a Ring Ding you didn’t like. If you’re going to work for me, I’m going to require strict adherence to a well-balanced diet and exercise, in spite of your, shall we say, ample curves. Lots of salads and fresh fruits. We don’t want any women who look decent on the outside but are putrefying on the inside. Our clients expect clean, healthy, wholesome girls, both inside and out.”
I press my lips together. “I can assure you, I’m not putrefying on the inside.” Irritation laces its way up inside my breast. This woman is something else! “I’m very healthy. I eat well. I like salads and kale. I take good care of myself.”
“That remains to be seen.” Her gaze flicks over my attire. “Your dress needs to go. I want you to change into something more appropriate so I can get the full picture of your assets and liabilities before we go any further. I need to see your body in both lingerie and in a dress.” She gestures to a rack of clothes. “These are from the last photo shoot. The black dress is your size. But first, I want to see you in lingerie. You’ll find a black merry widow ensemble on the hanger next to the dress. Put it on. The bra might be a bit small, but it should give me a good idea of what you look like.” She gives me a sly look. “After all, what I see is what your clients will see.”
I skedaddle over to the clothes. A f
ew minutes later, I’m standing almost completely naked in front of this woman as she walks around me, inspecting my body. She doesn’t say anything, just leans in and tugs at the corset here and there, and then tightening it so I can barely breathe. I don’t know if she’s doing it to be sadistic or if she’s trying to cut my belly down to half a size. Either way, my tits are practically falling out. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re squeezed into lingerie that’s a size too small and laced tighter than an ice skate. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look sexy, curvy, voluptuous. Goddess-like.
Ms. White looks me up and down without expression, and then gestures to the black dress. “Put it on.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Before Ms. White has a chance to answer, the secretary opens the door and pokes her head in. “Mr. Black is here.” A handsome man stands behind her, a man so gorgeous that he takes my breath away. Literally. I can barely breathe, and I’m lightheaded. And it’s not just my tightly laced corset, either. I swear it. It’s this guy, whose dark good looks resemble that of a model in a men’s magazine, and whose tall, well-built frame fills the doorway. Intelligent, piercing green eyes, thick dark hair, unshaved scruff that gives him an undeniable sexiness…and an undeniable charisma that emanates off him the moment he moves past the secretary and steps into the room. He nods at Ms. White and grins, and then his eyes travel over to me, causing my mouth to go dry. It’s as if he owns the room…or his place in the world. Or maybe it’s me he wants to own, just from the way his gaze lingers on me in a predatory way. Either way, there’s something so sexy about him that I’m unable to do anything but just stare at him, transfixed. I’ve never been in the presence of such a man before.
Holy hell, if this is the kind of guy who lives in New York, then I’m in heaven. This guy, with his jet-black hair and intense green eyes, puts every one of my previous one-night stands to shame. And heck, those were the top dogs in my town. Now even the hottest guys I’ve been with look like Beavis and Butthead in comparison.
The guy looks over my lingerie and grins. Our eyes lock, and, despite my outward confidence, I feel a slow flush travel up my neck toward my face. His eyes deliberately travel over my breasts, down to my thighs and legs, and then slowly back up to my eyes again. It’s as if he’s undressing me in this very room. Not that I have much on in the first place.
In an instant, Ms. White is at the door. “Goddamn it, Sophia,” she snaps at the secretary. “I’ve told you repeatedly that you need to wait for my answer after you knock. You don’t just come barging in here! This is the last straw. You’re fired. Get out.”
The secretary whimpers, and then turns and flees. Mr. Black is still standing by the doorway, a bemused look on his face. “Tsk, tsk, Ms. White. You can’t keep firing your help or there won’t be any secretaries left in New York to hire.”
She shakes her head at him, frowning. “And why, exactly, are you here, Mr. Black? You know you need an appointment to see me.”
Mr. Black saunters past her and takes a seat at her desk. “Forgive me. I thought I had a standing appointment to see you whenever I wanted.” His eyes slide over to me. “So who’s this? A new girl, I presume?”
She ignores his question. She crosses her arms and glares at him. “You don’t have a standing appointment with me, Liam, and you know it. You can’t just barge in here whenever you want, masking your rude behavior with that false charm of yours. I know you have an ego the size of Manhattan, but you can’t just take what you want when you want it. At least not from me.” Her eyes flick over to me. “Abigail, go put some clothes on.”
“Sure,” I say. I boldly meet Liam’s eyes. He’s staring at me with that same predatory look that sends a thrill down my spine. God, he’s good-looking. Too good-looking. And he knows it, too. But it’s not just his outer physical appeal that is making me tingle like this. It’s the way he carries himself, an essence. He oozes sexiness and charisma, and he looks like a man who knows his own power. He looks like a man to be reckoned with.
He makes me nervous, but in a good way. But I’ll be damned if I let him know.
I saunter over to the dressing room, and then look back and meet his eyes, matching his bold stare. I run a tongue slowly over my lips, still holding his gaze. If I’m going to become an escort, I might as well play the part. I might as well entice him.
His eyes widen slightly as he stares at me. He holds my gaze, a slow smile creeping over his face. There’s something about him that says he’s not used to having someone stare him down like this. He’s probably used to sweet little things melting at his feet. But not me. Maybe he’s finally met his match.
I swiftly duck behind the makeshift dressing room and pull on the black dress. It slides easily over my hips. The fabric feels luxurious, expensive. I can hear Ms. White and Liam murmuring on the other side of the partition. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I hear my name. In the small mirror, I take a quick look at myself. The dress hugs my curves beautifully. Wow, if this is what expensive clothing can do for a girl, sign me up. But it’s not just the way the dress so perfectly fits my body that makes me look so beautiful. It’s everything else. There’s a glow in my eyes, and my cheeks are flushed pink. My hair is a bit wild, long and fluffy and untamed (a flat ironing is in order) but it gives me a sexual look that I have a feeling will appeal to Mr. Black.
I snicker to myself, more loudly than I intend.
“What’s so funny, Abigail?” I hear Ms. White bark. “We can hear you in there. What the hell are you laughing about?”
I exit the dressing room. “Ms. White. Mr. Black. Get it?”
They stare at me.
I blunder on. “Don’t you think it’s funny? Ironic? What if I told you my last name is Gray?”
Ms. White’s eyes widen. “Is it?”
“No.” I giggle nervously. “But what if it was?” Crap, I’m making a fool of myself. I can tell by the way they’re looking at me, especially Ms. White. She definitely looks annoyed, if her flared nostrils and sneering lips are any indication.
“Sorry,” I say. “Just trying to make a joke.”
Mr. Black looks amused. Ms. White gives an exasperated snort, and then turns to him. “She’s lucky you came in when you did. I was getting ready to send her back to wherever she came from, on the first bus out of New York.”
My heart sinks. Exactly what I feared. Damn, I thought I’d nailed the interview. She wouldn’t have asked me to try on the clothes otherwise, right?
Wrong.
I obviously haven’t passed her test. Suddenly, insecurity floods through me again. I look down at my scuffed shoes, embarrassment overwhelming me.
Then, it fully dawns on me what Ms. White had just said.
She’d said she was going to send me back until Mr. Black came in. That must mean…
I look up to see Liam Black staring at me. So is Ms. White.
They both are wearing cat-got-the-canary smiles.
“So, Abigail,” Ms. White says slowly. “Are you ready and willing to sign with my agency? You just booked your first client.”
four
As I get ready for my date with Liam Black, my heart flutters with nervous anticipation. I can’t believe I just booked my first escort job at a high-end agency within a few hours of being in New York! Talk about luck. Even luckier is the fact that Ms. White advanced me enough money off my date tonight to set me up in one of the nicest hotels in Manhattan. It’s a requirement, she’d said, as escorts need to entertain clients in the class and style they’re accustomed to. I’ve never been in any place this nice in my life.
I’m staying in a suite at Le Luxe, which is exactly the kind of name you’d expect for a hotel like this. Everything is decorated in rich creams and browns, with stainless-steel modern fixtures in the bathroom and elegant paintings on the walls. And the bed…oh my. The bed! It looks like a lover’s paradise, with its thick silk comforter and matching pillows. There’s even a mirror above the bed. I didn’t
know that was a regular staple in New York suites, but I guess it is in some. This particular penthouse suite is called, “Lover’s Lair,” which makes sense.
I’m sitting at the vanity table, applying makeup from the gift bag of samples that Ms. White gave me. The makeup is nothing like the cheap drugstore cosmetics I’m used to. This stuff feels like satin on my skin, and the result is even better. Let’s just say Mr. Liam Black is going to like my transformation. I finish applying a beautiful wine lipstick, a final swipe of Chanel lengthening mascara, and then give myself a final once-over.
My makeup is done to perfection, giving me a sultry look, and I’ve got on the sexy black dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. I’m wearing gold earrings that match the gold bracelet Ms. White gave me to wear. She said the bracelet acts as a security measure in case something goes wrong. All I have to do is crush the bead, and a security signal will be sent. I’m not worried, though. Nothing about Liam Black made me nervous, at least not like that.
I assess the rest of my appearance. I’ve blow-dried my long blonde hair so it hangs like a shiny curtain. It’s my crowning glory, something that always makes men stop and give me a second look. I haven’t been able to afford a haircut in a year, so it nearly reaches my waist. It’s thick and a deep gold color, and it’s all natural. Before I left Ms. White’s office earlier, she’d grabbed a hunk of my hair and examined it. Then she’d told me it’s not often she gets a “virgin,” hair color or otherwise, and to never dye or cut my hair as long as I’m with her agency.
Fine with me. Haircuts are expensive. Trims I can do myself. And hell, at least one part of me is still a virgin!
Romantic Secrets Page 2
