Client No. 6

by Cassandra Dee

  Okay, that didn’t go well, but I’m not a quitter. Especially not so soon in the game. So I open another new browser, and this time I type MALE ESCORT SOUTH CAROLINA. This time, there are relatively few results, and one at the top catches my eye. It’s called Southern Charm written in elegant script font, with a picture of exactly the type of guy I’m looking for. He’s tall with dashing, dark brown hair and a charming grin. Plus, he’s dressed Charleston-style with a pair of red pants and a windowpane check shirt. I know it sounds cheesy, but that’s what guys down South wear.

  So hesitantly, I click the button to enter, and immediately, my screen loads with a bunch of thumbnail icons, all of them with pictures of handsome men on them. Hmm, there’s Charley with the curly brown hair and impish smile. Then there’s Shep, who has straight blonde hair and is handsome in an Abercrombie and Fitch kind of way. But my cursor’s magnetically drawn towards a handsome man in the lower left corner who doesn’t look like your usual South Carolina guy. This one has a dangerous look in his eyes, and he’s not smiling. Instead, the camera captures the hard angle of his jaw, along with a smoldering sense of determination.

  Of course, I click, and his profile pops onto the screen:

  TYLER.

  33, single.

  Enjoys golf, skiing, and margaritas under the sunset-filled sky. Available immediately.

  Even I can tell this profile was written by someone else. What alpha male says stuff like “sunset-filled sky”? I know it’s not him. But taking a deep breath, I click on the button that says “Book Me Now,” and the air whooshes out of my chest because evidently, it costs two thousand dollars a night for Tyler’s services. What in the world? I was thinking something along the lines of two hundred dollars, or maybe five hundred maximum. After all, I’m an editorial assistant in New York City and it’s expensive to live here. Sure, I work for a famous magazine, but the publishing industry is under siege right now from a number of different angles. So while my lifestyle looks glamorous from the outside, in fact I’m living in an apartment the size of the shoebox.

  Longingly, I stare at Tyler’s profile picture again. My mouse clicks through a couple more photos of the man, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. There’s one of him standing next to a big, black motorcycle. What would it feel like to have that monster rumbling beneath my legs as I press my breasts against his back, the two of us zooming down winding roads? There’s also one of him stroking what I think is a llama at Macchu Picchu. Even the llama loves him, nuzzling his hand. He’s that charismatic.

  So I sit back in my chair to think. How much am I willing to pay to put it to the mean girls at my high school reunion? Tyler’s definitely out of my budget, but maybe if I scrimp and save, I could manage it. It would mean eating beans out of a can for the next six months, but two thousand dollars isn’t impossible.

  And with a deep breath, I decide to do it. After all, these girls made my life living hell for years. It’s worth every penny to show up at the event with a handsome man on my arm. They’d fall over each other in envy, sputtering with their eyes going green.

  So before I can change my mind, I dial the number listed on the site.

  “Hello,” comes a chirpy woman’s voice. “This is Southern Charm.”

  Perfect. I summon my most queenly voice and say, “Yes, I’m calling for Tyler please.”

  The woman giggles.

  “Hun, that’s not how things work. Tyler doesn’t answer the phone, I do. But if you’d like to book him, I can make an appointment.”

  I gulp. Oh, of course. Duh. This isn’t like calling up your best friend at home.

  “Um, yes,” I mumble, thoroughly chastised. “Sorry, I haven’t done this before. Would Tyler be available next Saturday at 8 p.m.?”

  “Hmm, let’s see,” says the girl. I can hear the tip-tapping of keys on the other end. “Yes, in fact he is,” she says brightly. “What type of event?”

  I gulp again.

  “High school reunion,” is my reply. Oh god. I’m such a cliché. I bet hundreds of women call every week for exactly the same reason. And of course, the woman doesn’t seem surprised at all to hear I’m looking for a date for my high school reunion.

  “Okay, we’ll let him know,” she says in a friendly manner. “Where will it be? Will it be black tie or casual?”

  “At the Grand in Downtown Charleston,” I say. “They’re having it in the ballroom, and the dress code is something called ‘dressy casual.’”

  “Oh perfect,” says the girl, typing away. “I’ll be sure to tell him. All of our gentlemen have clothes for every occasion, so you don’t need to worry,” she reassures me. “Now can I get your credit card number to hold the reservation?”

  But before we move on, I blurt out a question.

  “Um, would it be okay for us to meet beforehand?” I ask hastily. “I know that it’s two thousand dollars for Tyler’s services, but I was wondering if that included any add-ons? Because it’s my high school reunion and I want him to be my boyfriend, so it’ll be really awkward if we meet for the first time that night.”

  Again, the woman doesn’t sound startled at all.

  “Of course this is something that you can request for an additional fee,” she says. “Let me see. How about a one-hour conversation with Tyler at a coffee shop before your Saturday rendezvous? That’ll be an additional five hundred dollars.”

  I grimace. Only five hundred dollars? I was hoping along the lines of fifty bucks. But Southern Charm has me in a clinch, and they know it. So reluctantly, I agree and give her my credit card number to seal the deal.

  “Well that’s it Ms. Lake!” she says chirpily. “Thank you so much for your booking. I assure you, Tyler is a professional and you’ll enjoy his company. Please let us know if there’s anything more I can help you with.”

  “Um, no,” I mumble. “Thank you very much.”

  And with that, I hang up, the cell phone dropping lifelessly to the table. Because did I really just do that? Did I just book a male escort to accompany me to my high school reunion? This is a bad idea for sure. We only have one session to meet and practice before the curtain comes up. So what happens if he’s terrible? What if he’s barely sentient, and unable to string two sentences together?

  But it’s too late because Southern Charm has probably already put the charge on my card. So unless I want to show up and be labeled “unhappily single NYC woman,” then the handsome male is my only choice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jennie

  This is absolutely ludicrous. I’m in Charleston, about to step into Urth Café. And no, it’s not a misspelling. It’s Earth spelled with a “U” because Charleston now has a hip downtown district filled with vegan eats and hippie charm, while maintaining its stately, aristocratic bearing simultaneously. So much has changed in the ten years since I’ve been gone … but so much is the same as well.

  Because the cobblestone streets still gleam, almost impossible to navigate in high heels. Plus, the sidewalks are a bright white even though by all accounts, they should be gray. Finally, the heat is insane. The air is strangely still and silent, humid on my bare shoulders.

  I’ve worn a cute sundress to meet Tyler. Ever the worrywart, I’m afraid that someone I know might see us. So if they swan over, I have to smile and introduce him as my boyfriend without missing a hitch. It does no good to wear something dingy and stained, even though technically, it shouldn’t matter. After all, I’m paying five hundred dollars for this meeting, and don’t girlfriends go out with boyfriends undone and unmade-up? Not in the South they don’t. Here, ladies put on full faces of make-up to go to the grocery store, hair perfectly coiffed no matter the occasion.

  So I take a deep breath and step inside. Indian music greets my ears and I can see I’m the only person who’s vanilla. Everyone else has dreds, piercings, tattoos, and an otherwise somewhat grungy air. It’s weird. Maybe I’m the one who’s not normal.

  I step to the counter with a hesitant smile.

  “
Just a coffee please,” I say. “Black.”

  A low voice sounds behind me.

  “You sure you don’t want some sugar and milk with that? Black coffee down South is really bitter. I think you’re better off with something to sweeten it up.”

  I spin around and gasp. Because it’s not the man from the pictures. It’s Jason Morgan, who used to play quarterback from the high school football team. What in the world is he doing here? And why is he talking to me? All of my insecurities from high school come rushing back.

  “Um hi,” I stammer like a fool. “Sure, sugar please.”

  “Seven fifty,” says the bored barista.

  “Seven fifty?” I gasp. “But this is just a cup of coffee!”

  “Single source beans,” the barista drawls, already looking off into the distance. “Straight from Guatemala, plus we roast them ourselves. So seven fifty it is.”

  But before I can move, Jason whips out his wallet and places a ten on the counter.

  “For the lady,” he rumbles. “This better be a good cup of coffee.”

  I turn towards him surprised, but the big man merely grins before lightly grasping my elbow and escorting me to a nearby table.

  “Oh um, I’m meeting someone,” I say awkwardly. “It’s nice seeing you again but my friend should be here shortly. He’s my b-boyfriend.”

  I curse myself. God, why did I have to stammer on the word boyfriend? I sound so nervous and fake, like even I can’t believe I have a boyfriend.

  But Jason grins without bothering to get up. In fact, the man leans backwards in his chair, getting comfortable. He’s so handsome in a white button down shirt and casual jeans, the denim highlighting those long, powerful legs. I’m brought back to a time when I’d stare at him from afar as he strode down the hallways, shooting grins and high fiving people while I basically disappeared into my locker.

  But those days are gone now, and in fact, I was in Charleston to make a point. So I sit up straight, looking directly into those sky-blue eyes.

  “Yes, in fact my boyfriend Tyler should be here any minute now,” are the important words. “So if you’ll excuse me.”

  He grins again, those white teeth flashing.

  “It’s been a long time, Jennie,” he drawls. “And I don’t mind meeting your boyfriend. Did you guys both come from NYC? After all, word’s gotten around that you’re in the Big Apple now, and I’m dying to meet this guy from the big city.”

  I choke because in fact, I hadn’t quite gotten the details worked out. I was supposed to meet Tyler and we’d figure out together whether he was from NYC or from Charleston. Or even better, if he was from some far-flung town that no one had ever heard of so that they couldn’t fact check our statements.

  So Jason’s questions took me by surprise. Thinking fast, I blurted the only thing that made sense.

  “He’s from around here,” I stammered. “Well, not exactly. Savannah.”

  “Savannah?” Jason asked, one eyebrow quirking. “That’s not exactly around here. Savannah’s all the way in Georgia, Jennie. Why would you say he’s one of us?”

  Oh shit.

  “I didn’t say he’s one of us,” is my quick reply. “I just meant Tyler’s from the South. Now that I live in New York, the South kind of melts into one big pot, if you get what I mean.”

  Jason shakes his head seriously, but I can see a playful light in those eyes.

  “Damn Yankees,” he says. “I can’t believe we all blend in together to folks who live up North. Wish we’d won the war,” he says ruefully.

  I sigh then.

  “Listen Jason, you have to go,” I say with exasperation now. “My boyfriend’s coming, and I need to save a spot for him. So do you mind? We can catch up at the reunion this weekend. It’s lovely to see you.”

  Jason shakes his head again, his chest erupting with laughter.

  “That high school reunion thing?” he asks. “Actually, I wasn’t planning on going.”

  “You weren’t?” I ask, dumbfounded. “But you were the big man on campus, the one that all the girls wanted to date.”

  I clap a hand over my mouth.

  “Oh wait, I shouldn’t have said that,” I apologize, cheeks going red. “Sorry.”

  He grins again lazily, but there’s a spark in his eye this time.

  “Well, I’ve been speaking in circles,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on going until I got your invitation. Then, I knew I had to go. For contractual reasons, you know.”

  My eyes narrow. What in the world is he talking about? I just want to get this guy out of here ASAP, and now he’s talking contracts? What’s happening?”

  “Jason,” I say firmly. “It’s nice to see you again. In fact, I’m surprised you recognized me because we didn’t really interact in high school. But it’s been a pleasure, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m waiting for someone,” I say, looking at him pointedly.

  This time, Jason’s expression turns serious. There’s an air of tension in his big form although I can’t exactly pinpoint what gives him that air. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders have stiffened slightly or the way a muscle twitches in his strong jaw.

  “Well,” he says, voice suddenly silky. “I’d hoped for a warmer introduction, but I guess we just have to make do with what we’ve got, hmmm? Jennie, I’m Tyler. I’m the man you hired.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “Wh-what?” is my stammer. “How can that be? You’re not the man in the pictures!”

  Jason’s grin turns wry.

  “How many escorts do you think actually put their real pictures up on the web? It’d be right there for anyone to see, including your co-workers, your friends, and your enemies, not to mention Mom and Dad.”

  I gasped again.

  “But this can’t be right,” came my rushed words. “How could they sell me something and then substitute different goods?”

  A light comes into Jason’s eyes.

  “I can see you’re very business-like,” he says, “since evidently hiring an escort is like ordering a Big Mac at your favorite store. But again, no one uses their real picture on the website. Trust me, nobody. Not the girls, not the guys, not the madams. It’s just not good business practice.”

  “So who was that guy?” I ask plaintively. “And what am I going to do?” is my helpless wail. My voice is getting louder by the second as dreams of a triumphant high school reunion come crashing down.

  Jason is patient.

  “The guy is a model, that’s all. His photos were probably bought from a photographer and they signed away all the rights not knowing what they were going to be for. But this is what Southern Charm does. This is what all escort sites do. They buy stock photos that look somewhat like their employees, and then deploy them to maximum effect.”

  I can barely hear now that my plans for a grand entrance have been ruined. But I manage to look at Jason again and I can see that his words have the ring of truth. Although he isn’t the guy in the photos, he looks somewhat like him. They have the same charcoal-black hair and piercing blue eyes. In fact, I’d say that Jason’s eyes are a more intense blue, as compared to the dark navy of the model.

  But still, how is this going to work? My plan was to waltz into the hotel ballroom on the arm of the hottest guy from miles around. We were going to make-believe that he was my boyfriend from some farflung town in Alaska, and then after two hours, we’d part.

  But now, that dream’s been completely blown out of the water. Because everyone in Charleston knows who Jason Morgan is. He’s the former high school quarterback who had all the girls swooning over his every word. He led our team to a State Championship as was accepted at the College of Charleston with a full-ride due to his athletic abilities combined with a bucketful of smarts as well. So how am I going to pull this off? Frankly, I’ve been left with nothing, and I’m thinking about calling Southern Charm and giving them a piece of my mind.

  But as I fumble in my bag for my cell phone, a big hand clasps my wrist, strong and
warm. Shocks run up my arm and I turn startled eyes to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” I respond, outraged. “This is a travesty! I was supposed to get that guy to come with me to reunion, and now I’ve got … got … you!”

  Jason grins although there’s a flicker of danger in that blue gaze.

  “I’m sorry to hear your opinion of me is so low,” he rumbles. “Because I was kinda looking forward to seeing their faces when we walked in together.”

  I gasp.

  “You want to go through with this? Are you crazy? No one’s going to believe it. Me, fat and dumpy Jennie Lake, with Jason Morgan, high school stud? They’d call us out on the lies in no time!”

  Jason cocks his head, his gaze sliding slowly down my body. I should feel offended but instead a sizzle runs down my spine, every cell suddenly alert.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re fat,” he drawls lazily. “More like pleasantly round.”

  My chin snaps shut.

  “That’s it,” I huff. “I’m definitely calling Southern Charm to complain.” And before he can do anything, I dial the center and lo and behold, it must be the same operator from before.

  “Hello,” I say with anger in my voice. “This is Jennie Lake. I was supposed to meet with Tyler from your site, but instead you’ve sent this … this man!” I say between clenched teeth.

  “Oh yes, how are you Ms. Lake?” says the chirpy woman. “I see you’ve met Jason. He’s one of our best,” she assures me. “What seems to be the problem?”

  What in the world? Isn’t it obvious?

  “This isn’t the man I ordered,” is my stiff reply. “That’s a huge problem and I need a refund ASAP.” All thoughts of a triumphant entrance are in shambles now. If I can just get my money back form this dating service, I’ll consider it a win and slink back to New York with my tail between my legs.

  But the woman clucks her tongue regretfully.

  “I’m sorry, the payment has already gone through in full, and we don’t offer refunds. Is there something else I can do? Is there some way I can make this situation better for you?”