They listed things like height, age, ethnicity, likes and dislikes, even talents. Owen told himself he was not hung up on Harrison just because he filtered the selection to men over forty.
There was even a note at the top of the page listing a bonus cost for “anything goes,” and wow was it steep, but considering that what Owen wanted was far from the norm, for someone to hold him skin against skin without anything more sordid taking place, maybe he fell under that category. He had the money, and he needed something he could control just this once.
Dialing the number, he felt his heart in his throat but refused to chicken out.
“Nick of Time Escort Service. How may I help you?”
Chapter Three
DICK would have been proud. Cal was taking on a new client. At least for the night. He doubted it would turn into anything ongoing, but when the request came through, he hadn’t been able to deny his curiosity and agreed to one evening’s work.
“Owen Quinn? The one the mayor’s been talking about who’s going to turn the city’s criminal activity on its head?”
“That’s the one,” Lara had said over the phone. She always called if a request was pressing and from someone not currently on the agency’s roster.
“He check out?”
“Squeaky clean. Medical records from only a couple weeks ago, probably for the move. Maybe even ordered by the mayor. Or maybe he wanted a fresh start from Middleton. That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?”
“Don’t change the subject. What else does his profile say?”
“I forwarded you the request. Have a look. He wants you for tonight, as soon as possible. I know you don’t do last minute, but I figured it might give you a laugh. He didn’t even select backups.”
Cal sat at his computer and pulled up the email, which included a link to the request form. It listed similar items to what the escorts put on their profiles, along with the medical report and a photo—which caused Cal to snort.
“That’s the picture he sent?”
Lara could barely contain her snickering. “He didn’t have a recent photo, so he took a selfie.”
It wasn’t terrible, but the image was too close to be flattering. Cal could mostly only make out a dopey smile, black-framed glasses, and a floof of brunet hair. Owen looked even younger than his profile suggested.
Owen Quinn was a twenty-five-year-old data scientist from Middleton, about Cal’s height, with a clean bill of health. Likes included lounge music and show tunes, sci-fi movies, and quiet evenings in—right up Cal’s alley—while dislikes only stated clubbing and crowds.
Then came the note at the bottom—anything goes. Bit of a misnomer, since escorts always had the prerogative to say no, but with the extra fee involved, it was a rare occurrence that what was requested was so outlandish they’d refuse. Usually it fell more under embarrassing for the client to voice aloud than dangerous or depraved. Still, Cal was intrigued.
“Tell him yes. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Seriously?”
The profile was so innocuous for someone to request “anything goes,” and that photo, while ridiculous, made him wonder what the real thing might look like. Besides, Cal had an empty slot to fill, and his instincts were rarely wrong.
“One of three things will happen when I arrive,” he said, leaning back in his chair to stare at the profile. “One, he’ll prove to be an insufferable, entitled brat, who made it rich young and wants to splurge his first Friday night in the city. Two, this is all an elaborate prank by some of his friends, and he’ll have no idea why I’m showing up at his door. Or three… he’ll surprise me.
“If it’s the first option, I reserve the right to leave if he can’t be dealt with, if it’s the second, I’ll hardly be fazed and be on my way, but if it’s the third—” He grinned as a flutter of excitement stirred in his belly. “—who knows what the evening might bring.”
“Ever the gambling man, Calvin?” Lara said.
“Thirty minutes,” he repeated and hung up as soon as she acknowledged him.
Those thirty minutes were gone now, with two to spare as Cal headed up the elevator in one of the nicest high-rise apartment buildings in Atlas City. It was possible he’d gone overboard with his attire for the evening, but regardless of how things turned out, he wanted to make Owen’s jaw drop when he opened the door.
Cal had chosen his nicest three-piece suit in blue, white shirt, navy-and-silver paisley tie, vest double-breasted but jacket single, with a heather-gray wool coat and checkered blue-and-gray scarf to complement the ensemble. He even had the tease of a red handkerchief in his top jacket pocket for color.
Right on time, Cal approached the penthouse apartment door and knocked twice. He heard the sound of scrambling feet on the other side, but instead of a lurch of the door opening, there was a pause, like the occupant was second-guessing himself before he slowly opened the door.
Cal’s first sight of Owen Quinn was already a pleasant surprise. The selfie hadn’t done him justice, because there were dimples in that pale skin and sparking hazel eyes behind the glasses. He wore his hair stylishly enough, but he was less successful in the fashion department, given the button-up sweater over his collared shirt. It matched fine, blocked off in four distinct colors of gray, red, burgundy, and black, but it wouldn’t be gracing any magazine covers. The skinny jeans fit well, though, and he was—hmm—only wearing socks.
“H-hi!” Owen stammered with a quick blush spreading over his cheeks in rosy scarlet. Not an insufferable, entitled brat, then. “You’re from the… I-I mean, y-you’re the….” He paused for breath. “Calvin, right?”
“Cal,” Cal corrected, though a few contacts insisted on using his full name. “Cal Mercer. And you’re Owen Quinn.” It wasn’t a question anymore; this was definitely Cal’s “evenings in, sci-fi loving” client for the night.
“That’s me,” Owen said, scratching the back of his head like he never spent even a moment out of motion. Cal would have pegged him for a virgin being this jumpy if he hadn’t put “a few months ago” for his last sexual activity.
Owen was preoccupied enough with taking in Cal’s appearance that he didn’t say anything else right away or step aside to let him in. The jaw-dropping portion of the evening was a resounding success.
“Well, Owen, seeing as how you aren’t wearing shoes, I assume we’re not going out, so… shall I come in?”
“Oh! Of course!” Now, finally, Owen made room for Cal to move past him into the apartment. “And no, we’re not going out. I’d rather stay in, if that’s okay?”
If that’s okay. “I think you misunderstand how this works.” Cal refrained from betraying his own jaw-drop when he got a look at the apartment, with windows all along one wall that put his own view of Atlas City to shame and an eclectic but personable taste level in decorating that he found instantly charming. The space had to be twice the square feet of his own apartment. “Whatever you want is okay. You set the stage, and I perform to your specifications. Sound fun?” Finishing a cursory survey of the apartment, Cal snapped his attention back to Owen.
“Y-yeah,” he exhaled as he closed the door. “Sorry, I know I seem like a nervous wreck, I’m just out of practice with… human interaction, apparently.” He laughed at himself and scratched the back of his head again, before jerking forward like he’d forgotten something important. “Let me take your coat.”
“Thank you,” Cal said, allowing Owen to relieve him of his jacket, scarf included, and hang it on a coatrack by the door. Adorable and polite. Cal was won over by his decision to come here more every minute. “And you can relax. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s my job to make you feel at ease. Now, what will we be up to this evening if we’re… staying in?” He gave Owen his most seductive glance, a flick of his eyes downward and back up to Owen’s face with a crook to his smile.
Owen almost tripped over the bottom half of the coatrack, and Cal had to wonder how far down that slender neck the s
carlet went. “I-I kinda wanted to start with dinner?” he squeaked, then cleared his throat and made a hasty retreat toward the kitchen.
The skinny jeans fit very well.
“I finally stocked up on groceries and was craving something home-cooked,” he said while Cal followed him to the long island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. “Since the week was so busy, and I kept eating on the go. I’m not good at too many dishes, but this one of my mom’s is perfect. If you haven’t eaten yet?” He looked back at Cal with sudden worry.
Cal had eaten. He always ate a little before seeing a client, as he never knew whether a meal would be included, but he’d kept to a light snack just in case. “I can eat. Smells lovely.” It did. Tomato based, maybe a little cheesy, spicy.
Creasing his dimples further with his smile, Owen gave the pan on the stove a stir and turned off the burners. He had plates ready with salad portioned out, waiting to be joined by the main course. Behind Cal, to the left of the entryway, was a quaint dining table with different colored chairs. Two glasses and a bottle of wine waited for them as well.
“It’s this goulash, casserole thing,” Owen said as he dished up a helping for both of them. “Goes really well with wine, and I got a few bottles as going-away presents, and some welcome gifts from Nye Industries and….” His brow creased as he walked toward the table, carrying both plates. “I think this one is from Walker Tech? I haven’t found the time to meet with their CEO yet. It’s been crazy. Oh.” He spun toward Cal after setting the table. “I’m—”
“I know who you are, Owen. I read the papers.” Cal took a seat in the blue chair, leaving Owen to sit at his left in the red. “Must be exciting.”
“It is!” Owen started to pour them each a glass of the no-doubt highly expensive pinot noir. “Terrifying, but exciting. Everyone’s made me feel really at home so far.”
“Yet you’re spending your Friday night alone?” Cal had never been good at holding back his inquisitiveness. It’s what kept him one step ahead of other people.
“I wanted something low-key. Quiet.” Owen closed his eyes and breathed in as if to better hear the music playing that Cal had almost missed—Sinatra. So far, Owen hadn’t told any lies on his profile, and his lashes fluttered prettily against his cheeks when he opened his eyes. “Sorry, I’m trying to relax. I’m just bad with change, and there’s been a lot of change in my life the past few months.”
“More than moving?” Cal asked, thinking it rather serendipitous that Owen was looking for balance while Cal was looking to shake things up, yet both might find what they wanted in the same place.
A shadow darkened Owen’s expression. “Yeah…,” he said quietly—a nerve to be avoided, it seemed.
Cal would have to pay closer attention. Not that he’d never had someone call upon his services to help them get over something difficult—divorce, being fired, hitting a milestone birthday while still single. Everyone had their hang-ups and reasons for wanting an escort instead of a blind date, but Owen remained an enigma as far as what he wanted and what “anything goes” might mean.
Taking his first bite of the meal in front of him, Cal couldn’t wait to find out more.
“THIS is delicious,” Cal said, surprise in his eyes that made Owen think he meant it instead of just being kind. It was tough to know how to read the man since he might be especially proficient with acting to always give a client what they wanted. Maybe Owen couldn’t trust anything he said or how he reacted, but he had a feeling Cal wasn’t the type to ever do something he didn’t want.
He was also far hotter in person than any pictures portrayed. Early forties, even with a dusting of gray in his closely cropped hair, but his face made him look five if not ten years younger. His features were flawlessly carved, blue eyes hypnotic next to tan skin. And the suit—it was like having dinner with a movie star.
Sure, Cal’s photos on the agency’s website had been similar, showing him off in smart outfits and strong poses, but to have chosen him in a catalog one moment and have him here now barely an hour later was surreal. There hadn’t been any contest among the other escorts in Cal’s age range once Owen found his profile. For one, they had similar interests, and Cal didn’t look anything like Harrison. He looked like the sort of prince charming fantasy man Owen would have dreamed up as a teenager.
“Th-thanks,” he stammered again, struggling to remind himself that there was no pressure tonight. He didn’t have to impress Cal, and nothing would happen that he didn’t want. “It was always my favorite dish my mom used to make.”
“She doesn’t make it anymore?”
Owen coughed on his first bite and took a sip of wine to clear his throat. “Uhh… no.” Why did he have to walk into that conversation within the first five minutes? He stared down at his plate. “After my parents… passed away, it was the only meal I could remember well enough to replicate. It took me years to get it right. My adopted dad and sister were really supportive guinea pigs, though.” He glanced up with a shy smile.
If Cal was bothered to learn Owen was an orphan, he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry, I keep mentioning things that upset you.”
“No, it’s fine.” Owen twirled his fork for another bite. “My parents have been on my brain a lot lately because of the job. I came up with the models to better predict criminal activity because of how they died. Robbery gone wrong. I was ten, almost eleven. I was playing in the backyard when it happened. Didn’t even notice anything was wrong until I got hungry and went inside for dinner.
“The thing is, there had been a rash of break-ins near our neighborhood. If someone had been paying closer attention to the data, they might have had more officers around, which could have dissuaded the thieves and…. Well—” Owen bowed his head again, self-conscious of how intense he could get on the subject. “—there’s no way to know, but I like to think that what I’m doing now might prevent what happened to me from happening to someone else.”
“That’s very noble,” Cal said, smiling with an authenticity that was separate from his more seductive glances, which made Owen even tinglier when their eyes met.
“Feels selfish sometimes.”
“You’re allowed to be selfish. Opportunities at Nye Industries and Walker Tech must be… profitable.” Cal raised the glass of wine before taking a drink.
“They do amazing things. I’m hoping to contract work with both companies. But they compete in certain areas, so it could get tricky. It’ll have to be noncompeting departments, and I’ll have to be really careful about information I share. Assuming neither side tries to make me sign some crazy nondisclosure or says they won’t let me work with the other. I don’t think they’re like that, though, since they partner for charity work sometimes.” Owen took another bite, another swig of wine, telling himself to stop being so chatty. He tended to ramble when he was nervous—or all the time really. “What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” Cal recaptured his smirk.
“Your profile told me basic things, but what didn’t it say? Or is that inappropriate?” Owen had no idea what the precedent was being with an escort. “Am I not supposed to ask anything personal?”
The good humor in Cal’s eyes kept Owen’s nerves from ramping up again. “What do you want to know?”
“Family?”
“Mostly just me and my sister. She’s in Middleton.”
“Mine too.” Owen sat forward as he grabbed at the familiar thread. “My sister and her husband run this bar in Uptown, Impulse. Alyssa loves knowing everyone’s secrets and being able to give advice, you know like that bartender who always has the answers to life’s questions? I say she just likes to gossip.” He chuckled.
“I’ll have to see if my sister’s ever been there,” Cal said. “Claire works at the community center with the youth programs.”
“That’s cool.” And so normal, not that Owen had a right to make assumptions just because Cal was an escort. “It’s obvious why I came to Atlas City. W
hat about you?”
“Needed a change.” Cal shrugged. “Been here for years now.”
“Maybe you can give me some pointers.”
“Like where to find a good tailor?”
Owen laughed. Cal must have noticed how much he’d been staring at his suit. “Please. I need to get some work clothes for next week before they realize I only have three blazers that are practically identical. My wardrobe’s a disaster.”
“I got that impression.” Cal nodded at Owen’s sweater.
“Is this not good?” He’d spent more time picking out what to wear than cooking. Though compared to Cal, he did look drab. “Shoot, I really like this sweater….”
“It’s fine. Maybe more suited for a man a decade or two older than me.”
Another laugh escaped Owen’s lips. Cal’s teasing soothed him rather than coming across as mean-spirited. “No wonder Alyssa calls it my Mr. Rogers sweater.” After undoing the buttons, he shrugged it off and laid it over the back of his chair, leaving behind his simple black button-down.
“Much better,” Cal said. “Maybe if you decide you’d like to see me again, I can take you shopping.”
“Really?” Owen felt his face heat up at the thought. “That would be amazing.”
“For now, I can give you some recommendations. You’d look nice in something more—” He did that eye-glance down Owen’s body that made him feel as if steam was pouring from his ears like a cartoon character. “—fitted.”
Hastily shoving another bite of goulash into his mouth, Owen tried to avoid how terrible he was at taking compliments. Harrison had only praised him when he wanted something.
The faint music in the background changed to Ella Fitzgerald singing “Someone to Watch Over Me,” one of Owen’s mother’s favorites, and he watched Cal close his eyes with the pleasure of listening.
“Your taste in music makes up for the sweater,” he said, all charm through his mild ribbing. “Part of what convinced me to accept you tonight.”
A Model Escort Page 4
