Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1)

by Nina Strych

  “I don’t have pictures of them all, but yes, that’s a good range. Tall, dark, and handsome, I guess.”

  Instead of giving the photos back, Barbara put them face down on the table next to her chair. Then she leaned forward a little and said, “Amy, most therapists like to think they have a greater insight into their clients than they do themselves. Our value to the client lies in that we can get a sort of objective view of a client’s life and behaviors. That, in turn, helps to reveal behaviors or attitudes that are confused within the context of interpersonal relationships. When a person is in the thick of it, they’re too invested in the situation to see it clearly sometimes. In this case—in your case—I don’t think that’s true.”

  Amy’s face fell, her heart close behind. Was Barbara about to tell her she couldn’t be helped?

  Instead, she said, “In this case, I think you know your problem. And that friend you’ve talked about…Marion, was it?…has told you on many occasions as well. You need to relax. It’s very simple in theory, difficult in practice.”

  Shaking her head, Amy said, “I don’t even know what that means. I mean, I do, but I don’t understand how to get there from here.”

  Barbara saw her glancing at the clock on her phone and said, “For a start, try not to be so focused on every single parameter of your life. Like that clock. I’ve got no other appointments today and I think we have a lot to go over, so that clock doesn’t matter. We’ve already established that you don’t have a time limit today, yet you’re checking it as if you do. Can you leave that alone?”

  Tucking it away, Amy said, “Of course I can.”

  Barbara smiled and said, “Right. Well, I’m just going to give it to you straight, so to speak. My advice is a bit unconventional, but in this case, needed. Your doctor’s email was encouraging. You’re completely normal in terms of your physical development. There’s no hooding or anything, which is rare, but does happen and can occasionally interfere with pleasure. So, that’s out of the way.

  “Next, you’ve said you have no problem reaching orgasm by yourself, right?” At Amy’s red-faced nod, she continued, “And your comments on your dreams indicate that you’re more than capable of experiencing it while your mind is with another person.”

  “Best ever,” Amy broke in, smiling. It was too. There was one dream in particular she really wished would happen again.

  Barbara smiled again, this time bigger, showing teeth. “So, in trying to isolate what might allow you that sort of openness while awake—which might help you to maintain relationships without pulling away because you’re tired of faking it—I’m going to suggest a rather unorthodox solution.”

  Please don’t tell me to run off to a commune and have sex with dirty people, Amy thought.

  “I’m going to recommend a stranger, someone you don’t need to impress, someone who isn’t in a position to hurt you emotionally. A sort of temporary relationship in which you hold all the cards. Specifically, I’m recommending a relationship with absolutely no demands of any kind that begins and ends completely at your discretion.”

  Is she telling me to pick up a random guy to have sex with? That had been done…several times…and it hadn’t worked any better than a relationship. Her frown must have spoken volumes, because Barbara said, “I’m not talking one-night stands. I’m suggesting we talk about hiring a professional. We did already touch on this topic to some extent.”

  Amy didn’t think Barbara was giving her the whole scoop. Clearly, they were circling around the whole sex therapist idea, but there was something else going on. It was best to just get it over with and ask the question. “Sex therapist. Okay, I’ve heard you on that, but what aren’t you saying?”

  Barbara almost looked uncomfortable. Not entirely, but that absolute confidence wasn’t there either. Amy couldn’t wait to hear what would flap the unflappable Barbara.

  “Well,” she began, then sipped her own water. “I can get you in with a male sex surrogate I think might be a good fit in New York. Likewise I have good professional contacts with surrogates in either southern or northern California. I just can’t do that here. North Carolina isn’t exactly a hotbed of progressive therapy. There aren’t very many and the one I might recommend is fully booked.”

  “And?” Amy asked.

  “There’s another solution, but I can’t officially recommend it. Nor can I arrange it. All I can do is give you this.”

  With that, she handed over a business card from her table. Amy turned it over and saw the glossy writing, the overly flourished script, the ridiculous business name. Her mouth dropped open and she said, “A prostitute?”

  Barbara raised an eyebrow at her choice of words and said, “An escort. A longer term sort of arrangement rather than a single appointment. I might suggest a week away. Someplace warm, where there are no pressures and nothing familiar. An adventure of sorts. It would be expensive, but no more than it would be to engage a sex surrogate for a longer period.”

  “With a male prostitute.”

  “With a paid companion. If you mention that you’ve been sent by Lisa, they’ll arrange for someone I think will be a very good fit.”

  “Lisa? Who’s Lisa?” Amy asked, aghast that someone besides Barbara might know of her problem.

  Barbara merely lifted her eyebrows. Ah, well, that was a wrinkle Amy hadn’t expected.

  “You really think so? That this might work?” Amy asked, gripping the card in her fist.

  “I think you want to have a relationship, that you want a close and loving relationship. Specifically, the kind of relationship involving a level of intimacy that includes sex. To have that you need the trust and openness that goes with it. I think that unless you can find yourself sexually, let yourself go and be happy with the things your body is capable of giving to you—and a partner—that isn’t going to happen. You need to let go. I don’t know if this will work, but it might. It just might.”

  “But a prostitute?” At Barbara’s look, she amended her words to, “A paid companion.”

  “Don’t go into this with the idea that you have to have sex, because that’s part of the problem. You don’t have to. You’re paying for his time and that’s all, unless you—and only you—really feel like you’re ready for more. And if you do, let him show you the way. Don’t rush it. Just let go and let things proceed at the pace they need to.”

  Amy thought for a moment about what Barbara said, then remembered her last relationship. It was one that should have worked on paper. He had been great, a nice guy with a good future. He’d also really liked her. There was no question that it had been Amy who pulled away. Her growing resentment and the deep well of fakery she’d dug for herself had been a big part of that. How could she tell him after three months that she’d been faking it the whole time and…oh, by the way…could they start over?

  Yeah, no. Better to break up.

  But this, could she actually do it? She didn’t know yet, but there was one thing she absolutely knew. She couldn’t tell Marion or else she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. Her best friend would probably dial for her and duct tape the phone to her head.

  Three

  “I can’t do this,” Amy said, blocking the suitcase so that Marion couldn’t stick anything more into it. Marion reached around her and tossed yet another pair of far-too-fancy panties into the case.

  “Oh my god! I can’t wear those. I’ll look like an idiot. Do you not see these thighs?”

  Marion snorted and grabbed Amy by the upper arms. “You are beautiful. You are lush like a woman should be. You have to forget all that other stuff. The ads, the commercials, the freaking binging and purging bitches who claim they’re born that way. Fuck them. They are wrong. You are right and you look right.” She let go of one of her arms, then quickly reached around and squeezed Amy’s butt. “Baby, I would totally do you if I were into women.”

  Darting out of the way before Amy could push her, they giggled at her outrageous behavior. It was in fun, but Amy
could tell that Marion meant the important parts. She wasn’t a size four anymore. Her metabolism had slowed and her workload had gone up. She’d been spending her days and nights tethered to a lab or the funding circuit instead of a beach towel or volleyball. But it was what it was and she either had to get over it or this whole experiment wasn’t going to work anyway.

  “Right. Load up the ridiculously uncomfortable undies. But put some cotton in there because I’m not walking around with that stuff riding up my ass the whole time.”

  Marion clapped and scooped the entire contents of the ‘I’m never wearing these again’ drawer into the suitcase. When Amy pulled out a pair of jeans so old they were almost in fashion again, Marion yanked them out of her hands and asked, “What are you doing? You have to wear nice clothes. Sexy clothes. You’re going to have S-E-X.”

  Amy snatched them back and said, “I have my logic. And I may not have sex. Don’t pressure me.”

  Crossing her arms, Marion asked, “May we be let in on this logic that involves old jeans?”

  “Fine. Yes. I’m already paying a crap ton of money for this, especially if we include the airfare and the resort and all that. Right?”

  Marion nodded, clearly not getting the point yet.

  “I don’t want him thinking I’m some money bags. If he does, then he might do whatever it is they do to get a sugar-mama. If he thinks I’ve shot my load—so to speak—on paying for him and all that, maybe he’ll just view it as a straight up business arrangement. So, all my regular clothes. Nothing new.”

  Marion nodded, then went to the closet and poked through the slender offerings. Amy had been on a shoestring with the company for so long that she didn’t own anything that didn’t come from a discount store or wasn’t bought on deep discount after the seasons changed. It wasn’t an inspiring closet.

  But, it also wasn’t hopeless. She plucked out a black sheath dress and grabbed the only really sexy shoes Amy owned. She wore them for fundraising and investor dinners. The outfit definitely grabbed attention. “Then bring this at least. You can feed him nice once, can’t you?”

  Amy eyed the dress for a moment, thinking. It was a beautiful piece, bought really cheap at an end of year sale at the outlet. Simple, yet curve hugging and cut exactly right. It left one shoulder bare, but didn’t show even a hint of cleavage. It was the kind of dress that hinted at many wonders beneath it, but didn’t advertise them.

  “Yes, that,” she said, and tucked a pair of white capri pants into the suitcase. She reached for the dress, but Marion snatched it back and fished out the tag.

  “This is a size ten. Perfect. Can I borrow it when you come back?” She dangled the dress out of arm’s reach until Amy relented, then added, “Great! Don’t bring it back with cum stains because that would be crass.”

  “You’re the most disgusting person I know.”

  “And you love me,” Marion said, bringing the promised cotton panties over.

  “That I do.”

  Once done, they lugged the suitcases into the living room of Amy’s tiny apartment and sipped wine, both of them imagining the week to come. Amy figured their imaginings were markedly different.

  “So, he’s super-hot?” Marion asked…again.

  “Yes, extremely. Actually, I didn’t think they made them like that without some sort of genetic manipulation first. He looks like the offspring of Brad Pitt and Chris Helmsworth, only with dark hair.”

  Marion raised her eyes to the ceiling, probably trying to decide what that might look like. She asked, “Okay, which one carried the baby?”

  “What?”

  “Hey, that matters, you know. I can’t picture him without all the data.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Amy said, downing the last bit of her wine.

  “You never told me what he said when you guys made your arrangement. I mean, what did he say about your whole problem?”

  Amy thought back to the meeting. It had been the worst meeting of her life and she’d had some doozies. It was worse than the one with an ex-boyfriend when he’d had the gall to bring his new girlfriend. The leggy blonde had even carried Amy’s box of stuff from his apartment and put it into her arms. Super awkward.

  This was worse.

  But he had been nice. Very. And it was all just another thing to him, no embarrassment or funny looks. He’d merely smiled and said, “There are a lot of very busy people in the world. It’s more common than you think.”

  When he’d shaken her hand and smiled, a deep dimple in one cheek appeared and his lips slid up more on that side. That crooked smile made his level-ten sexiness ride right up and off the charts with a whoosh. It also appeared that his dimple might have a direct line to her nether regions. When it appeared, she felt a tightness and warmth that made her wriggle on her seat. She hoped he hadn’t noticed that.

  But it was a good sign.

  “He was really polite. He just said he would be happy to work with me.”

  Marion rolled her eyes and then looked at the clock on the cable TV box. “Crap, you’ve got a flight in eight hours. You need to hit the sack. I’ll make sure you get up.”

  Amy was pretty sure she would never fall asleep, right up until the moment she did.

  *****

  If the cup of coffee Marion waved in front of her face hadn’t smelled divine and hadn’t been that perfect color that only comes from adding real cream, Amy would have rolled over and gone back to sleep. But it was, so she woke up and took the cup.

  “You’ve got a half hour. Then I’m rolling you into the car naked if I have to.”

  Her grin was cruel, but very Marion. Amy scooched off the bed, while desperately trying to get some of the hot coffee down her throat and into her bloodstream.

  “You’re a merciless bitch,” she mumbled and headed off to the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, she reappeared with her bed hair hidden by a scrunchie-tied ponytail and wearing a loose fitting pair of beach pants. She felt like it was a good disguise, nothing that said she was looking for a good time.

  Marion shoved her sandals at her, then half of a bagel liberally spread with cream cheese. “Sorry, I ate the other half. Eat. Tick tock!”

  Riding in a car with Marion was an exercise in how hard Amy could press her feet into the floorboard and not poke through the car. Though Marion refrained from giving explicit advice on what to have her “boy toy” do to her, she wasn’t above mentioning a wide array of things that she loved to have done. At some point—though Amy wasn’t sure exactly how long it took for her to get to that point—she put her hands over her ears and started humming nursery rhymes.

  At the airport, she hustled up to the security point, Marion hot on her heels. The line was long—as usual—so Marion hung with her, even though she shouldn’t have. When Amy reached the point where the cables strung between the lines meant they should be ready and stay in line, she pushed Marion back and said, “No. This is as far as you go. I’m leaving now.”

  Marion stepped out, neatly cutting between a couple wearing honeymoon t-shirts, then waved and shouted, “I love you! You’d better come back satisfied! And I don’t mean donuts!”

  Amy could have died right then. She could feel her face turning bright red and the appalled looks from those around her focusing directly on her. She waved goodbye and watched as Marion flounced off, her skirt wiggling in tune with the beat of her hips.

  There was nothing to do now except hope someone else shouted something equally horrifying. She shuffled forward as soon as space opened up, distancing herself from the site of the disturbance.

  For the first time in her life, she turned left at the entrance to the plane rather than right. It seemed surreal to sit her bum in a seat so large she could actually choose which side to lean against. By the time they were airborne and the other first class passengers were doing what they were clearly accustomed to doing, Amy was fast asleep, her champagne untouched in front of her.

  The attendant woke her gently, a professional
smile on her face. “We’re here,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Amy wiped the unfortunate line of drool off her chin and looked around blearily. “That was fast.”

  “Not really, you were sleeping well. First vacation in a while?”

  Amy smiled and took the napkin offered to her, wiping off the drool she’d transferred to her hands. “You have no idea.”

  “Well, enjoy it then. I’ll bet you’ve earned it.” With that, she turned to the next person in need a wake-up and Amy watched her go. She was slender in a way that usually made Amy want to go on a water-plus-water diet, but this time all she thought was how much standing the poor woman had to do each day on a plane.

  With a deep breath and a hope that she wouldn’t ruin this weird, but potentially awesome week, she disembarked into the St. John’s airport.

  Four

  She was unpacked. She was showered. She was dressed in something that looked at least marginally like what everyone else was wearing—if clearly not designer label. And finally, she was waiting.

  The resort was everything the internet had promised her. The pictures hadn’t lied, which was a first for her. The room at the resort wasn’t even a room, but a separate little house that opened directly onto the beach. She’d splurged mightily on this resort, but the truth was that everything on the island was booked. She’d gotten this expensive suite because of a cancelled honeymoon. She felt bad, but also grabbed the opportunity.

  For her companion, she’d managed a room, but again that was luck. She hoped it was as nice as her suite. She knew he’d checked in, and now she knew his real name too. He’d had to use his real name for the flight. Michael Grant. Such a nice normal name. His profile said his name was Blake, which had made her giggle when he’d said it to her with a straight face at their initial meeting.

  When she saw him winding his way through the tables on the patio, her belly fluttered and she squeezed her thighs together under the table. I’m so going to bone him, she thought, then felt the heat in her ears just from thinking it. Eyes surreptitiously—and sometimes not so surreptitiously—watched him walk. He was definitely worth watching. Definitely.