Royal Playboy

by Nana Malone

  I sputtered. “I-uh…” My voice trailed as I tried to think of something to say. “I couldn’t.”

  Miriam waved her hand dismissively. “If you say so. But if you want to see it from the inside for your research, I have just the client. My no-dirty-talk talker. And I give my word on your personal safety. Easiest two thousand quid you ever made."

  Two thousand—No! No. I wouldn’t. But still. That was a lot of money. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to research. I’m not a method kind of girl.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Chapter Three

  Imani

  “Tell me the juicy bits about your meeting today. What was it like meeting a streetwalker?" My landlord, Felix, asked with a waggled eyebrow. In truth, Fe was so much more than my landlord. Over the last three years, he’d become my best friend. Hell, sometimes it felt like he was my only friend. Well, him and his boyfriend, Adam. I’d come to rely on them. Maybe too much.

  His house in Kingston upon the Thames was beyond posh. He’d quartered it into four flats and completely renovated each of them into a fabulous contemporary paradise. He’d fitted the units with every modern appliance I could even conceive of, along with hardwood floors and beautiful furnishings. He lived in one and rented one to me. The other two units were rented by guys who worked in finance and I knew he charged me pennies compared to what the other two were paying.

  "Escort," I laughed. "Though, she doesn’t really care what I call her. She's pretty cool, actually."

  "What? Are you about to have her round to supper? Don’t tell me you’re about to actually have another friend. I’ll be jealous.”

  I rolled my eyes. "I'm telling you that if you met her and I didn't tell you what she did for a living, you would assume she was a student. A well-dressed student, but a student just the same. She could be me. More importantly, I could be her. It's hard not to see the similarities. Miriam said that she was a student who needed money and she liked sex, so it was a natural transition."

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my hint that you need some more friends.”

  Fe also worried over me like a mother hen. Always checking if I’d eaten or gotten enough sleep. And his latest thing was that I was too isolated, needed to branch out and go out more. Though I doubted he assumed I’d make friends with an escort.

  He leaned forward on the kitchen stool, as if eager for more details. "So, does she have like a pimp and stuff? I mean, I've seen Secret Diary. But I assume most of that is embellished."

  I gave it some thought. "You know, I'm not sure how much of it is embellished. Miriam was saying that she has a handler who screens all the clients. Clients sign up for an exclusive dating service, whether they need a date for the night for an event or a little more. Sometimes it's a date for a weekend. The client stipulates if sex will be required. Some girls don’t have sex and are just companions."

  "As if." He laughed. "What doddering old geezer would pay for some hot young thing and not expect to have sex?"

  "I dunno. That’s what I'm curious about. She walked me through the whole thing about how the dates are set up, how the girls meet the client beforehand and yea or nay them. It's really elaborate."

  Fe’s eyes widened with interest. "Forget Billie Piper, this is far more interesting."

  "I told you, right? Miriam even suggested I give it a go."

  That broke the spell. “What the fuck?” His brows drew down. “That’s not fucking funny, Imani.”

  I held up my hands. "Hey, I’m a little impulsive, but I’m not stupid, okay? I'm not going to sleep with a stranger for money. If I'm sleeping with a stranger, I'm doing it like every other twenty-one-year-old I know. I’ll meet him in a pub with beer goggles on and let him take me home."

  He grinned. "That’s more like it. Wait, how much did you say she made for just talking to the bloke?”

  “She makes two thousand pounds a night for that guy.”

  “Can somebody please tell me how I can get paid like that?”

  “Fe, you realize she’s still an escort, right? At any time, the guy could decide he wants sex from her.”

  “And from what you said, he’s supposedly well fit. So what’s the problem? Philosophically speaking, of course. I would never let my bestie become a hooker. I’d rather pay you to be my beard than have you shag paunchy, balding men for a few bob.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not that I would want to. But for that much money in one night, I can see the appeal. I mean, this girl could easily have been me. She’s about my age. Pretty. Intelligent. I’m more than a little fascinated by the twists and turns that landed her where she is and me where I am.”

  “Don't cry for her, Argentina. She’s laughing all the way to her mattress. Both literally and as her bank.” He winked.

  I snorted a laugh. “You’re terrible. But you know what? You’re right. That girl has no money problems. From her vintage Gucci dress to her Louboutins, she looked like she was made of the stuff.”

  “Well, apparently her vagina is,” he snickered.

  “You’re terrib—”

  He was saved by my ringing cell phone. When I jogged by him, he swatted at my bottom and I managed to just scoot out of the way. Snatching up my phone, I grinned when I saw it was my sister calling.

  “Hey, Ebony. You’re calling ahead of schedule. So I can only assume—” My sister’s sobbing on the other end of the call interrupted me. “Sweetie, what’s the matter?”

  Through her sobs, I was only able to make out words like late notice, mortgage, and evicted.

  “Eb, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down. Tell me slowly.” At sixteen, my sister could sometimes be melodramatic.

  Over the line, I could hear Ebony’s attempts to pull herself together. “I came home early and checked the mail. There was a red one from the mortgage company, so I went into Dad’s office to put it on his desk where he’d see it. But there were so many letters just like it. I was worried, so I opened it. It says we’re in arrears and if they don’t receive payment on the back mortgage they will have no choice but to foreclose.”

  Blood rushed in my ears as my lungs constricted. That house was the last reminder of our mother. After her death five years ago, our father had been steadily declining, drinking more and more to keep himself functional. “Did you call Dad?”

  She sniffled. “I couldn’t reach him.”

  Fuck. I didn’t need this. “Stay calm, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

  “How? It’s not like you have six grand sitting around.”

  Good point. But I’d think of something. This wasn't Ebony’s mess to clean up. It was mine. I’d gotten a scholarship to RADA, but my father had been adamant that I stay home and attend the State University of New York for college. I’d hated leaving my sister behind, but I’d had to escape. Had to leave that dark, depressing house. Had to find some freedom and signs of life. Look where that landed you.

  I shook off the shadow of gloom and regret. I didn’t have time to wallow. I needed money, and fast. I had some saved, but that was to keep me afloat through the summer while I found an agent and hopefully a job. I wasn’t tapping into that if I could help myself. What would you do for your sister? That answer was simple. Everything. “Look. Just tell Dad to call me, and I’ll get it sorted.”

  “O-okay.”

  By the time I hung up with my sister ten minutes later, I felt desperate and drained.

  Fe shook his head. “I don’t like the gist of the convo I heard.”

  “Family drama. The usual. Just this time, my dumbass father has managed to not pay the mortgage for God knows how many months.”

  “Shite.”

  “Exactly. I hate that he leaves these messes for me and Ebony to clean up. For fuck’s sake, Ebony’s only sixteen.”

  “And how old were you when you had to pull him out of a bar by yourself?”

  I wrinkled my nose. That was the problem with getting close to people, t
hey knew all your shit. “That’s beside the point. I was way more mature. I was already looking after Ebony most of the time. She deserves to hold on to what little childhood she has left.”

  “To be fair, she’s hardly a child. Maybe she can—”

  “Can what? Come up with six thousand dollars?”

  Fe winced. “That’s a lot of dosh.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m going to have to dip into my savings and get an extra job to pay for it.”

  “Or you could take the easy way out and let me pay."

  I shifted uncomfortably. "No, Fe. We've been over this."

  "Yes, we have. And I have more money than I need. And as your gay husband, I want to help.”

  I swiped a wayward lock out of my face. "You help already. I’m practically paying you pennies for rent. You have the best hangover cure known to mankind. And most importantly, you've been my friend. That's all I need."

  I'd never met Felix’s father, who apparently was some kind of lord. He was embarrassed about having an openly gay son, so he paid him to stay away. I didn’t want anything to do with that money. I knew how painful it was for him to have his family reject him. He’d been in a relationship with his boyfriend, Adam, for two years, and he still didn't talk about Adam to his mother. I wanted no part of that rejection they soaked him in.

  There is another way out. One where I didn’t have to count on Fe’s blood money.

  He frowned at me. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  I shook my head and hoped I was a good enough actress to lie to my bestie. “Of course not. I’m not that crazy.” No. I was that desperate.

  As soon as Fe had his back turned, I texted Miriam.

  Imani: So, about that non-dirty-talking client of yours. I’ve changed my mind and would like to go method.

  Miriam’s return text was swift.

  Miriam: I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you.

  Xander

  “Xander, I've been calling you since last night. Has your phone been switched off?"

  Annabel. Damn, I'd meant to call her back, but I’d been too busy at uni. For the next several months, if things went according to plan, then I’d be spending less time teaching, and I needed to prep some things to transition to Abbie. "Sorry, love. Been working. What’s the emergency?"

  "You ask that casually like you didn’t approach me about the London Artistic Trust. I swear it’s like you don’t even want on the board."

  My gut twisted. Oh, I wanted the job. It was a vital piece in the puzzle I’d been working on for the last five years. The trust both supported the arts and sponsored several charities, in particular, charities for at-risk and endangered children who were the victims of abuse. Getting on was the only way I’d get access to files on board members, or rather one in particular.

  I had my investigator, Garett Ball, looking into Alistair’s past and history. I needed access to those files. I was sure I’d find complaints against Alistair from the charities I worked closely with. And the only way to get them was to get on the board. But I had a secondary reason, as well. Only a board member could call for another’s dismissal. The Artistic Trust was the only charity board Alistair sat on. And I’d seen an interview once where Alistair talked about how much he loved it. And if Alistair loved something, then I wanted to strip it away. I’d been waiting for this opportunity for five long years.

  And now it was within my grasp. “I want the bloody job.”

  “Then you need to start making yourself bleeding available.”

  “I’m sorry, Annabel. I’m all yours.”

  “What? Xander Chase is capable of apology?”

  "I’m capable. I’m just not often wrong."

  "Next time, make sure your bloody phone is on. You said this was important to you."

  We might have been the same age, but sometimes she acted like my mother. If she were any other woman, I’d cut her loose. But in this case, she was right. I needed her. Needed onto this board. And she’d pulled every string she could think of to get me this far. A position on the board was typically passed down in families. It was rare that the President, Jean LeClerc, allowed outsiders in. With my family connections, I could have pulled my own strings, but I didn't want my family anywhere near this. The controversy ignited would ruin everything. "Okay, fair enough, so what do you need?"

  "It's more like what do you need. I got a personal call from LeClerc yesterday. He thinks you’re an excellent fit. And they’d like to slot you into a creative director-type of capacity."

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. This was it. The next domino stacking into place. After five years I was finally getting what I wanted. The seeds of challenge started planting themselves, taking hold.

  I kept my voice even. I didn’t want Annabel digging too deep into why I’d wanted this job. “When do I meet with them?”

  "There’s a problem, Xander.”

  My throat constricted. I had the pedigree. But had my past come back to haunt me? There might have been rumors of what happened in my childhood home. Of how Silas McMahon had died. Of what Lex and I had done. But my father had long buried the truth. “What is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  She sighed. "Alistair McMahon."

  Oh, he wasn’t a problem. Or rather he wouldn’t be once I’d dealt with him. No point in destroying a man when he couldn’t stand and watch. "What about him?"

  "Well, he is a problem. Or at the very least has convinced LeClerc that you are a problem. That your past history with women is not what the trust wants associated with its image.”

  I smirked. It’s not like I hadn’t expected Alistair to put up a fight. “I’ll meet with LeClerc. Once he sits down with me, it’ll be hard to argue that I’m not the best fit.”

  “You’re going to need more than your charm, Xander. I’m afraid they are seriously concerned. I don't know what you did to McMahon, but he’s dead set against you and is trying everything he can to make sure they don’t bring you on. Lucky for you, you’re good at what you do. LeClerc intimated that if there was some way to be sure you'd settled down, your past wouldn’t be a question. He wants you to join them at their annual retreat in a couple of weeks in Paris."

  Settled down? Bollocks. "Look, it won't be a problem. Tell them I have a girlfriend."

  Annabel coughed. "Is that true?"

  I almost choked. "Fuck no, but it'll get my foot in the door, right?"

  "Xander, LeClerc may be a geezer, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll see through a ploy like that. Besides, you’ll eventually need to produce one. Preferably, take one to Paris with you. Significant others are allowed and encouraged."

  I was hardly prepared to materialize the perfect girlfriend out of thin air. Especially one who didn’t expect complicated entanglements. “Sod it. I’ll sort it out.”

  She sighed. “I know you won’t listen to me, but maybe this time you should. Go out, find a nice girl. Someone wholesome looking who will play along and who will hang around. At least for a bit. You’ll have to produce her from time to time for it to not seem like a ploy. You don't want to get booted just as soon as you get on.”

  She had a point there. While LeClerc might appreciate my gumption, he wouldn’t like being made a fool of. “Would you relax and let me worry about that? Believe it or not, I occasionally know what I’m doing.” It looked like I would be paying Miriam a visit. I belatedly wondered how she would do with wholesome.

  Chapter Four

  Imani

  There was no way I could do this. I paced the long foyer of the posh Notting Hill flat. Yeah, sure I needed the money. And it was good research, but this was stupid. I knew it was stupid. But here I was, wearing a dress that probably cost more than this term’s tuition with shoes that made my mouth water and my pocketbook ache. I didn’t really have anything appropriate, so Miriam had lent me some clothes.

  There is no sex. There is no sex. I checked the large clock on the far wall. If I was going to run, I'd bet
ter do it in the next ten minutes. I dragged in a deep breath. Relax. Miriam said he never wants to have sex. He only wants to talk.

  I tried to picture myself as an extremely well-paid therapist, just chatting away with a client. What therapists did I know that wore La Perla and Jimmy Choo? While the tiny voice tried to speak up, tried to convince me of my madness, the daredevil inside me tried to be calm. He’s just going to talk. All you have to do is be yourself and find out about him. Sex is not on the menu.

  Besides, I had pepper spray. Actually, make that several cans of pepper spray. I’d left them around the flat in case I got into a situation I couldn’t get out of. Strictly speaking, they weren’t legal in the UK, but desperate times and all that.

  I tried to remember everything Miriam had told me. "Be yourself. Be calm. Let him talk about himself. Don’t talk about yourself. He'll be surprised and perhaps not that thrilled to see a replacement, but if you get him talking, he'll relax.”

  You can do this. You’re brave. This is for Ebony.

  The clock chimed nine. The soft dongs of the bells made my stomach pitch. Now or never. I couldn’t have run even if I wanted to. When I heard the scratching at the lock of the front door, I was powerless to move, completely frozen at my spot near the window seat. Before leaving, Miriam had dimmed the lights of the flat and lit candles to make the hypermodern flat seem more relaxed. It looked awfully romantic to me.

  "Miriam?" A deep, raspy voice called from the front door. The smooth quality of it washed over my flesh, warming me from the inside. "Are you here?"

  That voice. It made my skin tingle. Smoothing a hand down my dress, I sucked in a breath, then released it slowly. As the heavy footfalls approached, I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t get around the sawdust. I shifted to the left in my staggering heels and tried to peer around the pillar. I stumbled slightly, and my dress caught on a hook on the wall. Damn it. The dress probably cost more than my rent. I didn’t need to come up with the mortgage and have to pay Miriam back for ruining her fancy dress. I wiggled and a stitch ripped. Oh shit. I immediately stopped moving. I was going to tear the dress off my body if I moved.