Rules of Engagement

by Katrina Liss

  Rules of Engagement

  Katrina Liss

  Rules of Engagement

  Synopsis

  Some Rules Are Made To Be Broken…

  Sweet & innocent wannabe baker girl suddenly finds herself working as an escort.

  How could this even happen?

  It's an act of pure desperation, not something Ella had planned when she dropped out of med school.

  Thrown into the role of playing the fake girlfriend of a young rich guy, she's out of her comfort zone. And not at all happy about the lies she has to tell.

  All workaholic Vic wants to do is keep his interfering mother at bay. He's married to his trading platform and not interested in romance. At least he didn't think he was, until Ella dropped into his limo.

  From the first date they are attracted with only the rules of engagement keeping them from making a big mistake.

  Some rules should never be broken.

  But some are made to be.

  For the greater good.

  Mature scenes and language - 18+ advised.

  Reader tags: What to expect…

  novella, steamy, romance, fast love, alpha guy, OTT, passionate, sexy, HEA.

  In summary:

  **Mr Sexy ’n Successful meets Miss Sweet ’n Innocent and the sparks fly**

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  Download link available at the end of this book.

  Chapter One

  Ella

  My cell vibrates in my tunic pocket.

  I stop wiping down the table I'm cleaning to take a sneaky peek.

  It’s a text from my bank demanding I deposit funds by 2 p.m., or my rent won’t be paid.

  With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I shuffle a few steps to the edge of the cafe area to load the banking app on my cell.

  And there it is, plain as day.

  My very overdrawn bank account.

  No… that can’t be right. How can I be two hundred short?

  I scroll through the items I’ve spent recently, there’s nothing big and obvious going out; nothing but food, fares and utilities.

  I can’t not pay my rent. Not after I was three weeks late last month, and two weeks late the month before and my grumpy landlord has slapped me with a warning already.

  Nothing for it... I’ll have to call my dad.

  No choice.

  Swallowing my pride and begging my dad for a loan is something I really don’t want to do, but I'm kind of up against it.

  In the little cloaks corner where I’m standing with my cell pressed against my cheek, I keep a sharp eye for my boss, Patrick, who rules this place like a prize asshole. At the moment he’s holed up in his office doing book work.

  Hopefully he’ll stay there while I get this sorted.

  Working in this deli-cum-cafe is so far removed from my dream job it’s not funny, but necessary if I’m gonna pay the bills.

  Not that I seem to manage doing that very well. However many hours I put in, minimum wage doesn’t amount to much when stacked up against the cost of living. It’s like shoveling molehills at a mountain. Lots of it remain uncovered.

  The call rings and rings against my ear.

  Then it goes to answerphone.

  Dammit, Dad.

  I call him again, crossing my fingers. Come on, pick up, please?

  “Hey, Dad,” I whisper softly into the phone when he finally answers. I cup my hand around the cell to cut out the din of the cafe’s chatter and clinking of flatware.

  “Everything alright?” he asks.

  Not so much, no...

  When I escaped to New York I'd every intention of finding myself and being successful in life. Instead, reality has knocked me on my ass pretty quick. Striking out on my own has proven lonely and difficult, as has constantly scrimping and scraping, being completely penniless. Being alone in a big city isn’t exactly Nirvana, especially when you've no one special to share it with and you're stony broke all the time.

  Having Scrooge for a boss isn't helping much either.

  But I keep all that to myself.

  “Yeah, okay I guess.” I answer. “How ‘bout you?”

  “Gotta be… I’m a doctor,” he quips.

  “Very funny, Dad.” He’s been using that line forever.

  “Is this call just to check up on me or are you looking for a chat? Only I’m running late.”

  I'm grimacing with what I’m about to ask. I hate that I'm this desperate.

  “Oh. Right. Well, I was just wondering if there was any chance I could borrow some cash—just to see me through this month and—”

  “No, Ella,” he interrupts. “I really am sorry. You made the decision to stand on your own two feet when you dropped out of college. I won’t support you while you’re spinning your wheels. Come home and we can rethink your future together, or you’re going to have to sort this one out on your own.”

  My jaw clenches. I'm pretty sure Dad would have preferred that I stayed in the college program that I was unhappy in. I was practically pushed into it, even though I knew, deep down, medicine wasn’t for me. Going home is not an option for me. I’m not being pressured or bullied by him. And I know he’ll be on my case 24/7 if I’m living under his roof.

  This is one of those moments where I miss my mom so much. She was the moderator. She was patient, sweet and kind. She gave people the space to make their mistakes and wouldn’t dream of throwing them in their face. My heart hurts to remember her beautiful smile. Why did she have to die so young? Fate could be so bloody cruel.

  I try Dad again. One last ditch effort to get through to him.

  “But Dad, you don’t understand. You’re my last resort. It’ll just be a loan, I promise you. Only I’m totally broke and can’t even—”

  “I said no,” he interrupts again. “Look, you know I love you, sweetheart, but you handle this. I’ve gotta go, surgery starts in ten.” And with that, he hangs up.

  I stare at my cell in disappointment. Well, that was harsh and to the point. A dose of tough love, Dad style. But what did I really expect? My father has always been stubborn and single minded in his views.

  I bite the inside of my cheeks and let my forehead fall against the wall with a thud. I don’t even care that it hurts.

  Hells bells. What do I do now? Might have to sell my body...

  A feminine voice giggles behind me. “Take it from me, pillows are better than walls for head banging.”

  I whip around to find familiar green eyes staring intently.

  “Callie!” I wrap the woman in a tight hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting you!”

  “God! I’m so glad to see you.”

  Callie and I have been casual friends for years, ever since our school days, but it’s been about four months since I last saw her. Come to think of it, since I spoke to her too. Whenever I called her to meet up, she was always far too busy and couldn’t make it, and we let things slide. Or rather, she did.

  We pull apart, giggling.

  Boy, she looks a whole lot different than when I last saw her. She’s absolutely stunning. I'm a little envious of her glamor. Her clothes look expensive, her hair is all ombre with chic waves, her nails French manicured. She’s positively glowing. In contrast, I look and feel like a broiled, ham-sandwiched mess. I never even bothered to put on mascara today.

  “But how did you find me?”

  She grins. “I spotted you were working here on LinkedIn. What the hell are you doing, dropping out of med school and screwing up your brilliant career?” She wrinkles her nose with distaste as she eyes the crowded tables and assortment of deli foods behind the counter.

  I smooth back a strand of hai
r that has escaped the bun at the nape of my neck. “Ah, well, all that kinda stuff wasn’t for me in the end.”

  “Okay.” She eyes me curiously but doesn’t push the subject, probably sensing it’s a sore point.

  “Want a honeycomb brownie—I made them last night?” I grab the box full of brownies I made, sitting in the alcove above me. I brought them in for the boss… I was hoping he’d be willing to give them a go, sell them in his wonderful deli, but the bastard fobbed me off with a list of no’s, including health and hygiene. Apparently, I’m not a legit supplier.

  “Oh my God, yes. I love your baking. I’ll just have a little bit though—watching my weight.”

  I look her up and down. She can’t be more than a size four or six. “You really don’t need to.”

  “Believe me, I do. I need to stay trim for my job.” She chooses a teeny piece, plucking it from the tray with manicured fingertips and proceeds to nibble it with a dreamy expression on her face.

  “Nice?”

  “Dear God, I miss chocolate so bad!” she whines, before she fixes me with a piercing stare. “So what’s the plan, then? I assume this is just an emergency stopgap.”

  “Yeah. I'm still not clear about the long term, but I’ve been trying to find another job for months, ‘cos I’m struggling to manage on the pay here. But so far, nothing’s panned out,” I peek over her shoulder, making sure that Patrick hasn’t emerged from his office, which thankfully he hasn’t.

  A big grin lights up her crimson lips. “Well, you’re in luck that I swung by. I think I might have something for you.”

  “Seriously?” I gasp. “That would be a godsend.” Whatever Callie is doing, it’s gotta be better than my line of work. “So what position is it?”

  She ignores my question. “I just need to send the boss a message first; sound her out,” she says, whipping out her cell.

  Her fingers fly across the screen for a few seconds. She looks up at me, smiles, and types a few words more.

  “Come on, tell me, what kind of work is it?” I push.

  Her cell bleeps and she casts a quick glance.

  She holds up a finger.

  “In a tick babe… I need a photo first, smile for me… give me some beautiful.”

  She lifts up her cell and points it at me.

  I oblige with my best smile. My smile is just about all I have to impress with. Thank God I have nice teeth. I’m now wishing I’d spent five minutes longer getting myself ready this morning. And that I’d washed my greasy hair.

  “Another—side profile this time.”

  And so it goes on for a few more shots.

  “What in the world do you need these photos for?”

  “Taking some pics for the boss, that’s all,” she responds breezily. Her cell bleeps again. “Oh, good. Morag’s just a block away. She’s going to drop in for an interview.”

  “What?” I shriek, causing a few customers to glance our way, to my hidey-hole. “She’s gonna interview me? Right now?”

  Callie lowers the phone and gazes at me levelly. “Aha. She runs the escort agency I work for—it’s called Sweet Something.”

  My stomach tightens.

  “Escort agency?” I repeat, frowning. I cannot believe Callie is an escort girl.

  Unfriendly, unflattering thoughts cloud my mind.

  I wouldn’t be a good fit for that kinda scene.

  Callie purses her plump red lips. “Is that a problem?”

  “Yes, it damn well is!” I hiss. “This has got to be a joke. Who put you up to it?”

  “Do I look like I'm joking?” she answers with a glare. “And don't get on your high horse with me... " She leans forward, and I notice a beautiful locket dangling in her ample cleavage. If I’m not mistaken, that is a Tiffany. “It’s a decent job and easy money. The clients are mostly wealthy older guys who are single, usually divorced and lonely, and looking for arm candy for a few nights out. They sometimes buy you presents too, which is sweet. Look...” She picks out her locket and shows it to me. “All in all, it’s simple, sometimes too simple, like, dull.” She fake yawns. “But no kidding, I bet you a single escort job would pay more than you’re making in this dump in a whole week. You meet some lovely old guys. Wear pretty clothes. Go out to nice places. But whatever, if you’d prefer to stay here and sweat your life away with salami and halloumi for company, then—”

  “I’m pretty much desperate to get out actually.”

  “Well, I’m giving you the chance here, babe.”

  I hold her gaze. I know she’s being thoughtful and kind.

  But am I that desperate to consider escorting?

  Chapter Two

  Ella

  The deli door swings open and a middle aged woman with a black bob, razor-sharp pants suit, and striking deep blue eyes enters. She has a serious face, a mouth pressed into a hard line, and a leather document case tucked under her slender arm.

  “Here she is, Morag will fill you in,” Callie whispers to me before calling out to her. “Ms. Jenkins!”

  She looks a bit of a tough cookie. The no-messing type.

  Morag’s taut mouth curves ever so faintly into a smile as she crosses the floor.

  She greets Callie with an air kiss. “How are you, dear? Long time no see...” She sounds Scottish. Or maybe Irish. I’m hopeless with accents.

  “I’m doing great, you?” Callie answers with a beaming smile.

  “I’m fine, thank you, dear,”

  Morag then turns her attention my way.

  Her eyes rake up and down.

  “So you’re Ella York?”

  “I am,” I nod, a little daunted by her and the visual assessment I’m receiving.

  “Do you have a moment to talk?”

  “Of course. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “That’ll be lovely. Espresso no sugar, please.”

  Callie flings a slender arm around my shoulders. “I’m gonna go. Got some shopping to do,” she says. “I’ll leave you both to get acquainted.”

  She and Morag smile at each other and I’m drawn into a warm goodbye hug from Callie.

  “Call me later,” she says, gliding out the door.

  I lead Morag to the one free table on the far side of the cafe.

  I pray Patrick doesn't appear. I might get into trouble for this and I don’t want a scene. The only excuse I have for sitting down with Morag is my lunch break is just about due – if the boss plans on letting me take it, which is unlikely, because we’re pretty busy. I feel guilty watching Tom rush about serving and clearing all on his own. I should be helping. I give him the five minute sign and mouth sorry and he winks. He always has my back. Like I do his. I actually love Tom. In the friendly sense. He’s one of my few friends in New York. Tom and his girlfriend, Pippa. Although it does look like I have Callie back again...

  I order Morag her coffee at the counter and join her back at the table.

  Morag looks me over once more and then gives an approving nod. She clicks her tongue. “Callie was right. You’re just the type of young woman I like to hire. You have that air of sweet innocence which my clients adore.”

  Do they now?

  I am a bit of an innocent in a lot of ways… that comes with being a virgin. It’s hilarious now I think of it. A virgin escort?

  I lean across the table a little, trying to keep our conversation private. “I’m not entirely clear about the escorting set up,” I say very quietly. “Can you run me through it?”

  “I’m sure I can allay any concerns,” she says, thoughtfully. ”So—your clients will only be men who are carefully vetted. By me. They’re all screened so your safety is ensured. I haven’t had a single unsavory incident in the ten years I’ve run Sweet Something, and that should comfort you, yes?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “All you’re required to do is provide company at various events. Under no circumstances, should you or they cross any unprofessional boundaries. You are there to smile and flirt and provide light and witty c
onversation. Nothing taxing at all. A few dances maybe, and a kiss or two on the cheek. But that level of intimacy is where we draw the line.”

  I mull over Morag’s words. So far it does all sound above board.

  And appeals way more than my current line of work.

  Toiling in this place is soul destroying. This could be my escape route. Temporarily.

  Could I handle it? I don’t see why not.

  It sounds easy enough and if there isn’t any pressure on me to do more than cheer up some old guys, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? I could still look for another job while I’m escorting.

  “Right,” I whisper, still barely able to believe that I'm considering being a bloody escort. This is something I won’t be sharing with my dad. Or anyone.

  “I have a list of the specific rules we operate under.” She unzips her case and passes me a sheet of paper headed up RULES OF ENGAGEMENT. “Here you go.”

  I scan down the list quickly. It summarises some of the things she’s already mentioned about boundaries. All the do’s and don’ts are listed in two columns with big green check marks against the do’s and big red crosses against the don’ts. It’s quite a long list but still concise and very informative. This lays things out very clearly.

  “Okay.” I nod. I take a deep breath and plow on, trying not to think too hard about it. “Well, I’m interested. If you think I’m suitable.”

  “Excellente! And of course you are. My intuition is spot on.” Morag’s smile brightens to a dazzling white and her eyes light up. She’s actually beautiful when she smiles. I warm to her a bit more. “I have a spare contract and NDA on me as I like to be prepared when a new recruit pops up unexpectedly. The rate of pay and leave are on the contract. Just to be clear, once you’ve signed, you will not speak with anyone, not even Callie, about your clients. My business relies on utter discretion and keeping the client's relationship with us a complete secret. Only you and I will know who your clients are and it will stay that way. Is that understood?”