by Velvet Veers
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Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2003 by Debi McMartin COPYRIGHTNOTICE Vickie Wakely
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Companionship Inc., Book III:
DOUBLE-DARE CLAIRE
by
VELVET VEERS
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ISBN 1-59279-083-6
Amber Quill Press, LLC
www.amberquill.com
Also By Velvet Veers
~Companionship Inc.~
Book I: Cinder-un-rella
Book II: Hearts Afire
Book III: Double-Dare Claire
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~Virtual Reality Inc.~
Book I: Project Temptation
Book II: Stake Out
Book III: Virtual Hearts Club
CHAPTER 1
Claire O'Malley's long, red nimbus of curls fell over her bare shoulders. Twining her long slender legs around the pedestal of the table, stretching her neck back and eyes closed, she released a guttural moan. “Ahhhh ... Ahhhh ... Ahhhh ... Oh, yes ... yes ... Oh, my God, yes! Yes! Now—yes."
A sexy, masculine voice whispered in her ear, “Come on, Claire, do it for me, baby. Take it and run with it—bring it on, you glorious Irish princess. Give it all you've got and more!"
With those encouraging words, she let it all go, losing any inhibition or modesty. Her body stiffened as she grabbed the sides of the chair, stomped her feet and screamed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Then she slumped into her chair, limp as a wet noodle.
Wolf-whistles mingled with a standing ovation. “Claire, what an awesome performance!"
"I think that was a better fake orgasm than even Meg Ryan did in the café scene on When Harry Met Sally," cheered one member of the party. Everyone at the table agreed and clapped.
Claire stood up and took a bow, then winked. “What makes you think it was fake?"
The group laughed again. Paul, sitting next to her, ordered Claire's favorite drink, a frozen Margarita with a double lime and extra salt.
Claire sighed, plopping back down in her seat. She said slyly, “Well, I have had a lot of practice through the years. You know—faking it."
"Everyone raise your glasses high. A toast to Claire for winning a bet, yet again, and for a first-rate, front page cover story, or should I say ‘undercover story.'” Ronald Lighter raised his glass and the twelve glasses at the table clinked in unison.
Claire laughed exuberantly while her fellow co-workers beat a drum-roll on the table and demanded, “Speech. Speech."
Standing up, Claire addressed them, “It wasn't much really. Just bringing down a corrupt city council. No big deal.” She gave them a big toothy smile and continued, “Thank you so much for your support and my season ticket to the Stars hockey team."
Throwing a few lasso hoops in the air, she yelled. “Whoop! Whoop! Go, Stars!” She slouched back down in her seat and kissed her ticket.
"That ticket cost us a pretty penny, so I think it's only fair that you buy the next round, Claire O'Malley,” Sandy exclaimed.
"You do, do you? Well, okay.” Claire motioned the waitress to the table. “The drinks are on me, and I'm running a tab. You guys order what you want. I'll have Sex on the Beach."
"Or anywhere else for that matter,” quipped Jim, one of her co-workers at the Dallas Press.
They all laughed and started spouting off their drink orders.
Claire glanced at the door of the Cadillac Bar and Grill, a trendy, multi-colored, little Mexican restaurant where the young urban professionals congregated like magnets. A striking couple followed the hostess making their way through the crowd. Recognizing her old friend whom she hadn't seen in ages, Claire jumped up as they passed her table.
"Frances Taylor, it's been too long!"
Frances gave her a hug, “I can't believe it, Claire. I haven't seen you in forever! How have you been?"
"Great, how about you? Looks like you're doing pretty good to me.” Claire motioned to Frances's dinner companion, a tall, good-looking man, who stood waiting at the designated table with the hostess. “He is delicious, darling. Husband?"
"No, just an evening gig."
Frances threw her head back and laughed when Claire gave her a puzzled look. “I'm working as an escort for Companionship, Inc. He's my client until midnight tonight. Then he turns into a pumpkin."
"Oh,” was all Claire could manage, her imagination running wild.
As if reading Claire's mind, Frances added. “Companionship, Inc. is an upscale escort service. They are very stringent about their ‘no sex, no contact’ regulations. The pay is superb and you can't beat the hours."
Claire reddened, “Oh, I didn't think ... hey, maybe I need to apply. Are they hiring?"
Frances beamed, “Yes, as a matter of fact, they are. Go in Monday and fill out an application and I'll give you a personal recommendation."
"Thanks, Frances. Good to see you. Enjoy your dinner—and date."
Frances waved, “I'll look forward to seeing you around Claire."
Claire watched as Frances joined her date, contemplating the possibility she could garner some much-needed cash by working a few nights a week. Not that she didn't do pretty good in the salary department but with the cost of living in Dallas and being a shop-a-holic one could never have enough money. But she'd check out the company first before making a definite decision.
"A dollar for your thoughts, Claire,” said Ronald.
"Wow. Price has gone up,” jibed Claire, taking a drink of her Sex on the Beach.
"Inflation."
"Actually, I was thinking about that escort service. Have you heard of Companionship, Inc.?"
"Yes. A lot of guys I know have used it. It does have a sterling reputation. Professional."
The furrows in her brow deepened. “I just don't buy it. Something smells fishy."
"Another one of your hunches, Claire?” Jim asked.
"I just don't think that any escort service could be squeaky clean. You know putting two people of the opposite sex together like that ... probably lonely, needy, and downright horny. It adds up to total spontaneous combustion. I might just check this place out."
"What makes you think they're lonely? There are all kinds of legitimate reasons someone would hire an escort. Maybe they're in town for business, don't know anyone and need a companion for an event. Maybe they're just bored and need the stimulation of new company, but don't have the time and energy to go out and meet people."
Claire rubbed her chin. “That's true. But I guess the reporter bloodhound in me smells a story. I have to check it out.
Sandy jumped in. “Besides that, how is the company going to enforce the no-sex rule. Will they put cameras in the bedroom?"
"You're right,” Claire agreed. “What if I did a little immersion journalism? Then I could find out if they're legit."
Sandy's eyes grew wide. “You mean actually go to work for Companionship, Inc. as an escort?"
Claire took another sip of her drink, stirring it with her straw. “Why not? I can always use the extra cash anyway. Kill two birds with one stone."
Jim elbowed Ronald. “I smell another bet coming on."
Claire leaned in, elbows on the table, readying for another challen
ge. “Bet on what exactly?"
Ronald kicked his chair against the wall. “That Companionship, Inc. is legitimate and enforces the no-sex rule. Somehow."
"And how would I go about proving that?” Claire asked, leaning in closer.
Ronald looked at her for a long time, then propped up his chair and leaned into the table, nose-to-nose with Claire. “How about ... I bet five-hundred dollars that you can't seduce your first client into having sex with you?"
"I can't do that.” She flung herself in the seat and threw her hands in the air as if warding off the very idea.
"Sure you can. Why not?"
Claire looked around the table at her co-workers and saw them all nodding approval. “Wouldn't that be like prostitution?"
Jim spoke up. “Now, Claire, we all know that as reporters, the very nature of our profession requires we use certain ... err ... unconventional methods to get the story—for the greater good of mankind. Bottom line is the story."
Ron spoke up, egging her on. “We'll even throw in a matching season ticket for the Stars games as a bonus."
Claire sat silently, contemplating her choices.
"Claire, I'll even double-dare you. Five-hundred dollars to the coffer,” Sandy interjected.
That did it. She could never turn down a double-dare bet. She slammed her hand on the table. “All right, I'll do it. You know I don't like going to a game by myself."
Loud applause and more wolf-whistles pierced through the restaurant. Now Claire had to do the job.
CHAPTER 2
Standing in front of her closet Claire talked to herself, attempting to assuage her anxiety. “What do escorts wear for a job interview anyway? Do I dress like I'm going on a date, work or maybe a cocktail party?"
Claire laughed out loud. Cocktail party. She wondered how the name cocktail came to describe a drink. Cock and tail—sounded suspiciously Freudian to her.
The first impression was crucial and she had to get this job to win the double-dare bet. She'd never lost a double-dare yet, and she didn't plan on losing this one.
She selected a suit with a short, clingy dress and a tailored jacket that emphasized her hips. A pair of black, strappy heels that showed off her “Born to be Wild” toenail polish rounded out her attire. Her red corkscrew curls had an untamed, windy look—like she'd been driving around in a convertible all day—a red convertible. She liked her look. It reflected her personality—wild, untamable, even incorrigible at times.
Ready now, she grabbed the direction maps she'd printed from the internet to find Companionship, Inc. Dashing toward the car, she clicked the button on her keypad, and her bright red BMW convertible beeped cheerfully, as if greeting Claire. The Beemer was an extravagant material indulgence she knew, and it exacted a toll on her thin checking account. But the pleasure it gave her was well worth the price. She'd left the top up, as the typical Dallas weather had changed in five minutes from sunny and beautiful to cloudy and cold, not unusual for spring in the southwest.
Aphrodite, the name she'd blessed her car with, passed everyone on the road as Claire navigated through the rush hour traffic, changing lanes on a dime. She screeched to a halt at the American Towers parking garage in record time. Damn, she had her timing down to a fine art. The spacious entrance sported three sets of elevators designated for different floors. As Claire stepped in and punched the button, she walked to the back and gripped the rails, readying herself for the ride.
A businessman stepped into the elevator before the doors closed, nodding as if approving her appearance and pressed the button for his designated floor. They both watched the elevator floor signs in silence while the elevator shot up in record speed, making her ears ache. She yawned to pop them open while sneaking a peak at the man beside her. Nothing. No reaction whatsoever to the rocketing elevator. He looked as if he were in a trance, hands on his briefcase in front of him.
She yawned again and spoke to the man. “Doesn't this hurt your ears?"
He smiled, warming to her comment. “It did the first year I worked here, but after five, I guess my ears have finally acclimated to the sudden altitude change."
She stepped out of the elevator on floor fifty-five and saw the black-and-gold sign for Companionship, Inc. She pushed open the glass door and sucked in a deep cleansing breath, ready for the interview with the owner, Stephen Sawyer.
One hour later, Claire walked back out that glass door, her step light and springy. In front of the elevators she did a Rocky winner dance. She'd landed the job!
As she stepped on the elevator, she pondered what Stephen had told her about company rules. No sex between customer and client was sacrosanct. No dating the client outside the contracted time with them. She wondered if Sawyer gave the same speech to all the clients. Or how long it would take him to ask her just this one little favor—for the company's sake, of course. “Oh, by the way Claire, I've got a very special client coming in from out of town tonight who will pay you extra for being especially nice to him.” She could hear it now.
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Claire arrived at the Dallas Press in thirty minutes flat, a real feat considering the snarled downtown traffic. Walking into the pit, her co-workers began whistling and yelling, “Yea, baby.” She gave them a little twirl so they could see the whole picture. When they calmed down a notch she said, “I got the job.” The place went back up a decimal level with the hoots and hollers.
The chief editor, Sam Dalton, came out of his office to see what the commotion was all about. His eyebrows raised and his mouth fell open. He straightened his jacket, cleared his throat, and said, “Claire, I'd like to see you in my office."
Uh-oh. Claire hadn't considered the repercussions of her little soirée with her boss. Too late now. She hoped it wasn't too late to undo the damage. She knew Sam had always liked her—maybe a little more than he should—but though she knew he harbored an intense attraction to her, he'd never stepped over the line, propositioned her or asked her out.
The rest of the reporter pack immediately silenced and busied themselves with work.
Oh no, here it comes, she thought. I'll just have to impress on him the importance of the article.
He sat down behind his desk with a heavy thud, lit two cigarettes then handed her one. He inhaled, then blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling.
"So what's with the get-up, Claire?"
Claire crossed her legs, revealing shapely tanned gams—the best shape they'd ever been in from all the rollerblading she'd been doing over the past year. She finally answered, “I decided this place needed a little class."
"Ummm ... huh.” He tapped ashes into the tray. “So much for the Irish humor. Now let's get to the real deal.” He leaned forward, staring her down.
Claire sucked on her cigarette and held it in for dramatic effect, then blew the smoke toward the ceiling in little rings. “I'm on a new assignment, Sam."
"Yeah, I know. We discussed it last week, remember? What does that have to do with the way you're dressed? Do you have a date with the fishing commissioner?"
"No. This is a different kind of assignment. Let me explain. I'm working for the escort service Companionship, Inc. as a self-assigned immersion reporter. Have you ever heard of the company?"
"Yeah, so?"
"My goal is to get the dirt on them. Blow away their claims that they're a squeaky clean, high class escort service and that the clients do have sex with the escorts."
Sam leaned back in his chair, taking another long drag on his cigarette. “And how will you be doing that exactly?"
"You're sitting across from the newest employee of Companionship, Inc. They signed me on today.” She leaned in toward him and smashed out the cigarette.
Smoking had become a ritual between her and Sam. Claire had kicked the habit years ago, but Sam had never even tried. Now she just smoked with him when she was called into the inner sanctum, and whenever she drank alcohol. Somehow smoking and drinking went together like baseball and hot dogs—an American tradit
ion. Besides that, it took the edge off the sexual tension between the two of them.
Claire had to admit she enjoyed it—the zing of chemistry between the two of them, and she especially enjoyed knowing she turned Sam on the minute she walked into the room. She was attracted to Sam, too, but it was one of those possibilities that could either be really, really good or blow up like a volcano. She wasn't willing to bet her career on that chance, and liked things like they were.
Whenever she needed a good fantasy, she'd call Sam. They'd get more edgy on the phone. Not exactly phone sex—but a good, rich, friendship conversation that went beyond friendship into “what if.” More frequently than not, she found herself extremely turned on.
Then at the office the next day, they'd both act like nothing had ever happened—because it hadn't. But both liked to pretend it had. It kept them charged.
Sam's voice brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I don't know, Claire, if this is such a good idea."
Claire turned on the allure. “Have I failed you yet, Sam, my man?"
"No, but..."
Claire had him and they both knew it. “It's a win-win situation, Sammy. If Companionship, Inc. is in fact a front for a prostitution ring, I bust it wide—a story neither one of us can afford to miss."
"And if they're legit?” Sam asked.
Claire shrugged her shoulders and cast her eyes down. “Then I make a few extra, much-needed bucks."
Sam stared at her long and hard, as if appraising the situation and scrutinizing her motives.
Claire tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I'll even take you out to dinner."
Sam stubbed his cigarette out and eyed her dubiously. “Well, this is a first. What happened to your ‘work and play don't mix’ position?"
"Who says dinner can't be work?” she said, curving her lips up in a flirtatious manner.
He wrinkled his brow as if in consternation, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his seeming disapproval. She could read the man like a book, and play him like a harpsichord.
Acting completely out of character, she walked over to him and kissed his still-creased forehead. He stared at her, a stunned expression on his face. Obviously, a kiss from Claire, albeit an innocent one, was the last thing in the world he'd expected.
