His gaze flicked past the glass doors that separated the terrace from the dining room. Charlotte’s husband, Mitch Ryan, still sat at the dinner table, deep in conversation with Jackson, his twenty-year-old son from his first marriage and Michelle, Jackson’s girlfriend.
Tom frowned into his drink before meeting Charlotte’s eyes. “If you’re not happy, just divorce him. No need to splash a sordid tale on social media.”
“If I initiate divorce proceedings, the prenup leaves me with nothing.”
“I told you not to sign it.”
Charlotte’s crimson lips trembled. “He wouldn’t have married me otherwise.”
“I could have negotiated a better deal for you,” Tom said. Surely his J.D. from Harvard law school had to be good for something other than lending credibility to his career with one of the top law firms in the city.
His sister pressed her lips together. “I didn’t want to rock the boat. He could have just walked away.”
“Not if he loved you.” Tom sighed. “So what now? You think he’s having an affair?”
“I’m sure he is, but none of the private investigators I’ve hired have brought me hard evidence.”
Maybe there isn’t any. Tom assessed his brother-in-law. He had never particularly liked Mitch—too high-handed, as if his millions of dollars in net worth justified the way he behaved. But just because Mitch was an arrogant ass did not automatically make him a philandering arrogant ass.
Charlotte continued, “The best lead I’ve got is an escort.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Mitch has lots going for him. He doesn’t have to stoop to or settle for an escort.”
The muscles in Charlotte’s cheek twitched. “There shouldn’t be anyone else.”
“If she’s an escort, the dirt should be easy to find.”
“But there’s nothing. That’s why I need you to find it.”
“What makes you think I’ll be able to find what your private investigators haven’t been able to?”
“Because they’re poking around like it’s a crime scene. You’re going in like a client.”
His throat closed for a moment. “Like a what?”
“You’re not in a relationship. It’s not like you’ll be cheating on anyone.”
“I may not be in a relationship, but it doesn’t mean I’m desperate for one either. Especially not with a hooker.”
“Escort.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Mandatory sex. You get hookers for sex, escorts for their company. Technically, at least. Underneath the glamour and glitz, they’re all the same.”
“Look, if I’m going to be doing this at all, some sex would be good, you know?”
She swatted his shoulder, the playful gesture at odds with the cracking of her voice. “None of the other leads have panned out. She’s the strongest case I’ve got.” Charlotte stared up at him. “Please.”
“You know I’m not good at this relationship…thing.”
“It’s not a relationship. It’s just a few dates.”
Not good at the “date” thing either. In fact, not good at anything involving women I’m not related to.
“Please.” Charlotte wrung her fingers. “There’s no one else I can ask.”
On the other side of the glass doors, a six-year-old girl dashed across the dining room, stopping at the table long enough to shove a spoonful of pumpkin pie in her month before running back to the living room where she had been ensconced with her electronic tablet.
“Aria’s grown up so fast,” Charlotte said.
He nodded.
“Beautiful, too.”
Like her mother. A muscle ticked in his tense jaw. His daughter was a constant reminder of the woman who had walked out on him and abandoned her three-day-old daughter.
Charlotte laid her hand over Tom’s. “Have you heard from Lynnette lately?”
Tom shook his head. “She called on Aria’s last birthday. They spoke for a few minutes.”
“Is Aria going out to visit her this summer?”
“Lynnette hasn’t asked for Aria, and I’m not going to offer. She’s stopped asking.”
“Lynnette has stopped asking about her daughter?” Charlotte snorted. “I wasn’t aware she ever did.”
“No, not Lynnette. Aria. The last call…I didn’t listen in, but when Aria hung up, she had this look on her face.”
“Hurt?”
“Indifference—like she had been talking to a stranger instead of the woman she has been asking for all her life.”
“She’s six. She can’t do indifference yet.”
“I know, but she won’t talk to me or to her nanny.” Tom raked his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes, it feels like I already have an eye-rolling teenager on my hands.”
“Want me to tackle her? I could take her shopping next weekend, after the madness of Black Friday. She’d like that.”
“Yeah, she would.” Shopping as a performance sport, girls’ fashion, and the latest hair styles—three earth-shattering priorities on Aria’s To Do list—eluded him. Thank God for Charlotte who stepped in to occasionally fill the vast gap in Aria’s life. Family covered for each other. Tom inhaled deeply as he reached over his shoulder to massage a suddenly tight muscle in his neck. “The escort you wanted me to check out—what’s her name?”
The grateful look in Charlotte’s eyes whispered her thanks as she breathed out a quiet sigh. “Her name is Sheridan.”
Did hookers—escorts—work on Black Friday?
Tom stared at his smartphone and grimaced. It was his last chance to do the smart thing and back out of the ridiculous farce his sister had asked of him. Even if the prenuptial agreement left Charlotte with nothing, she would never be homeless or hungry; he would make sure of it.
Yet, financial dependency would be tough situation for his sister who had raised him when their parents had passed away in a car accident. He had been sixteen; Charlotte twenty-one. She had petitioned for the right to foster him and then worked two jobs to put him through high school, college, and law school. When he graduated in the top five percent of his Harvard law school class, Charlotte had been in the front row at the graduation ceremony, clapping and whooping her way into reddened hands and a sore throat.
He would have walked over brimstone for Charlotte—although he would have put on fire-retardant shoes first and then sprinted across the hot coals.
What were a couple of dates with an escort?
Nothing at all.
Even so, his hands were unaccountably sweaty when he called the number Charlotte had given him.
“Glitter Events.” A husky, sexy female voice grated against his already raw nerves. “What is your pleasure today?”
“I…” He realized then that he had been hoping for voicemail. Hanging up would have been his immediate instinct. “I’d like to speak to Sheridan.”
“Sheridan?”
“You’re…not Sheridan?”
The woman on the phone laughed. “No, of course not. I’m her answering service.”
“Oh.” The tangle of nerves untangled—slightly. “I’m Tom Lancaster.”
“I’m Jessica. How can I help you, Tom?”
“I’d like to…see her.”
The woman paused for a beat. “You’re not sure, are you?”
Tom sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughed again. “I’ve been in this business for a long time. Perhaps I can make it easy for you. Sheridan isn’t accepting new clients; in fact, she hasn’t for a while. If you’re interested, I could put you in touch with someone else.”
“Oh.” The tightness around his chest eased. “No, I was just interested in talking to Sheridan. No one else.”
“Really?” Jessica sounded more curious than skeptical. “Just out of curiosity, if you did manage to get in touch with Sheridan, where were you planning to take her?”
“It would depend on what her favorite restaurant is. Do you know?”
“A
s a matter of fact, I do.” Jessica was silent for a moment. “I can’t promise she’ll accept the date, but I’ll run it by her. I’ll send you the paperwork, and while you look it over, you can decide if you still want me to reach out to her. E-mail or snail mail?”
The promised papers arrived in his inbox within minutes. He printed them out and reached for his red pen to mark them up.
He did not have to. The language was tight with no room for misinterpretation. Sheridan’s rates were clearly stated: 50 percent nonrefundable deposit when the reservation was made; the balance due no later than twenty-four hours before the appointment.
No sex.
Unreservedly, no sex in any of its forms.
That point was repeated in so many ways on every single page that it could not have been more explicitly stated if Sheridan had hired a plane to skywrite it across the horizon.
He flipped to the last page. If there were any addendums to define the scope of allowed physical intimacy, he hadn’t received them.
Heck. Tom flung his unused pen onto the stack of papers. If Mitch had signed this contract, he wasn’t getting any.
But only if both parties stuck to the contract.
Mitch was a rule-breaker; he skirted along the narrow and blurry line separating the questionably legal from the flat-out wrong.
The chances of Mitch sticking to a contract like this were less than zero.
Tom sighed. For you, Charlotte. He scribbled his initials on each page and then signed the contract. He sent the scanned copy back to Jessica via e-mail. The original document he slid into an envelope to dispatch with the outgoing mail.
When he called Jessica back, his hands were no longer sweaty, but the tangle of nerves had migrated upward and knotted in the middle of his chest. Even so, his mind blanked for a moment when Jessica asked him when he would like to schedule his date with Sheridan.
She’d accepted?
“Monday,” he blurted. The sooner the better. The more time he spent thinking about it, the more likely he would back out. “How about lunch on Monday?” After he disconnected the call, he penciled his appointment into his planner. Damn. What am I doing?
Down the corridor, a door slammed, and moments later, Aria walked past his office.
“Hey,” Tom called out. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“What’s for lunch?”
“Grilled ham and cheese sandwich.”
Aria scrunched her face.
“Spaghetti and meatballs.”
She stuck out her tongue.
“Beans and rice. I can grill up some chicken or steak—”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
“I said I’m not hungry. I can make my own sandwiches anyway.”
Tom grimaced. He needed to petition the FDA to make PB&J sandwiches a major nutritional food group, and they would be all set.
His daughter stalked away, but paused when he called out her name. “Aria, Aunt Charlotte is going to take you shopping next weekend.”
“She doesn’t know what I like.”
“I could tell her.”
“You don’t know what I like.” She huffed and rolled her eyes before stomping away on sneakered feet and slamming her bedroom door.
Tom pressed his fingers against the headache throbbing in his temple. Most days, I can’t even have a normal conversation with women I am related to. The knot in his chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. The date with Sheridan was going to be absolute hell.
Continue your journey through Love Letters with MALIGNED
Love Letters
ADORED
I ended up dating an escort, but it didn’t happen the way you’d think…
I don’t have the time to find Mr. Right…but when a sexy male escort walks into my volunteer clinic for his annual checkup, I’m tempted into accepting his invitation…without realizing all the emotional baggage that comes with it.
Rowan Forrester might have model-gorgeous looks, but his single-minded attentiveness that boosts my shaky confidence. I know better than to believe his interest is genuine, but his easy sincerity is irresistible.
Too bad this fantasy can’t last. After all, he’s an escort. And when the truth of his past finally catches up with him…with us…it risks destroying our love, and any hope of a future together. What will it take for us to battle this storm together…and still come out all right on the other side?
BETRAYED
I can turn every man’s head…except his.
I command attention on the haute couture catwalks of Milan, Paris, and New York, but whenever I’m face-to-face with Drew Jackson, I feel like a gawky thirteen-year-old again—in love with a superstar who will never see me as anything more than his younger brother’s ex-girlfriend.
I tell myself Drew’s no longer a superstar. A long-ago car accident shattered his knee and destroyed his football career. What is he compared to the celebrities who whirl me through one-night stands or Tyler, the brilliant and witty social media maverick who is determined to win my love?
Drew’s just…Drew. All logic and rationality aside, I want him.
When betrayal knocks me off my supermodel pedestal, it’s a long way to the bottom. Will my tenuous friendship with Drew survive my career, my fame, and the rocky transition to love?
CRUSHED
I need a hero…but not him.
Losing my job wouldn’t have fazed me.
Losing my brother and then my job almost broke me. I’m down to my last hundred dollars and ready to accept help in any shape or form when Cody turns up on my doorstep with a job offer. And not just any job offer.
My dream job.
I can’t accept. I’m not that desperate.
Because I know Cody.
He’s the daredevil black sheep of the esteemed Hart clan, and should never have made it to his twenty-fifth birthday. What he probably hadn’t counted on, though, was his best friend dying instead of him.
His best friend. My brother.
I’m out of options, but nothing on Earth could possibly entice me into the arms of the man who killed my brother.
DESIRED
I want a divorce. And I don’t know why.
“The Plan” we made twenty years ago as naive seventeen-year-olds is on track. Married. House with a white picket fence. Two matching BMWs. Two kids. And Gabriel is on track to becoming a partner in his law firm.
How can one have everything and still need something more…something different? How do I tell the man I married that he’s practically a stranger to me now?
“The Plan” is about to go completely off track. Far worse, I’m not sure if it’s his fault…or mine.
ENSNARED
They were named for the archangels. They should have come with warning labels.
The two Falconer boys, Raphael and Michael, were named for the archangels. I know they are anything but. At twenty-two, I married Raphael, the first Falconer boy. By twenty-five, I was divorced. I traded my wedding ring for two near-fatal bullet wounds—and it was the best damned trade of my life.
Now it’s time to go back to the place where it began, where Michael, the second Falconer boy, waits; his life on pause ever since I married his brother.
He’s convinced I’m there to destroy his life.
He’s not wrong….
FLAWED
I’m out of dreams. He’s full of them.
I wanted to be an actress. I got as far as waiting on tables while waiting for the call backs that never came. Disillusioned and burned-out, I head out on a lavish, all-expense-paid vacation before facing up to the fact that life has dealt me a big flat zero.
And then I meet him, and our mutual attraction is immediate and scorching. Jake Hunter is a professional beach volleyball player with gold in his sights. Olympic gold.
And perhaps another kind of gold. He thinks I’m something I’m not.
Rich.
No amount of attraction is going to survive those
false impressions and clashing expectations. I’m not going to make it out of this summer fling with my heart intact.
And neither will he.
GRACED
I've outgrown him, but I haven’t forgotten him...
My ambitions have always been bigger than the town of Havre de Grace, but when my father has a heart attack, I return home to find the town little changed—
—except that Connor Bradley, the high school nerd, is now the town’s doctor, a Grade-A hunk, and a widower with two young children.
He doesn’t have time for distractions, not while juggling single parenthood and his clinic on five hours of sleep a night. I’m the girl he remembers as the high school flirt who left Havre de Grace for the bright lights of the city. I’m a dangerous distraction he doesn’t want and can’t afford.
When Connor’s plans for his first Christmas without his wife are derailed, I know I can step in and save the day for his adorable children.
But do I want to?
I’ve come so far, and I don’t know if I can go back…not even for him.
HAUNTED
Not all gifts are treasured. Only one can be kept...
I’ve given up on love, but Christmas unexpectedly ignites my bleak and solitary life with three men who represent my past, my present, and my future.
Peter Warren, my high school and college sweetheart, who shattered my heart but rules my dreams…
James Kerrigan, the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School and my boss…
Lured: A Love Letters Novel Page 12
