When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  “Yep, funds cleared yesterday. Paid in full, exactly as the payment slip she emailed said.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pull up Anton’s number on my phone and press the call button.

  It’s just about to go to voicemail when he answers.

  “Hey, Anton. Rome here.”

  “Hey, man.”

  “What’s up? Rox said you were looking for me.”

  There’s a long pause on the phone, and my stomach roils. This isn’t going to be good.

  “Um…Rome, I’ve got a problem. I busted up my knee shooting some hoops with the guys, and I’m on crutches, knee in a brace for at least the next week.”

  A week!

  “Fuck, Anton! When did you do this?”

  Again, another pause…Anton is trying to figure out whether to tell me the truth or lie to soften the blow, I figure.

  “Ah, last night.”

  “I thought you had a date last night?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, then how the hell did you manage to bang up your knee shooting hoops?”

  “I banged up my knee a couple of hours before I was due to meet her. I toughed it out and got through. It was only a two-hour date. Just a fish-bowl dinner to make an ex-husband jealous.” Internally, we refer to a date that entails the client showing us off, as a fish-bowl date. The whole purpose is for them to use us to make some sort of statement. Basically, we are there to be handsome, attentive, and to make someone else jealous. Generally, it’s a cinch to pull off.

  “Everything go okay?”

  “She seemed to be happy with the outcome. Wants to book me for later in the month. Although, I think that one will be more of a full-service date, if she gets her nerve up. Probably an overnighter.”

  A full-service date includes sex with the client, although we never refer to it as sex. That’s why we use the term “full service.” I run a company which is one hundred percent escorts only. Sex is up to the client and the individual gentleman. They are all consenting adults, after all. Full service could easily be a date with all the luxurious trimmings if we are ever asked.

  Back to the problem at hand.

  “So, are you telling me you’re out for the client from Australia?”

  There’s a long pause. “I could really use the coin, but the doctor said I have to stay off it for at least a week. I’m hoping no ligament damage or it will be longer.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter. How can I sort this out? It’s a two-week assignment for Christ’s sake.

  “Sorry, Rome.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that,” I replied with sarcasm dripping. Anton is a good guy. He’s been with me almost from the start, and he’s normally one hundred percent reliable. We can bust each other’s balls a little.

  “Any chance you can reschedule her for a week later?”

  “Just a second.” I put my phone on the desk and move over to the counter running down the side of the room. I’ve got a horrible feeling she’s already on a plane, but I need to check. Our system is set up so each gentleman has their own file box with a schedule, travel documents, and anything else they’ll need for their dates.

  In most cases, we look after all the bookings and travel arrangements for our staff and these sort of assignments. The clients pay extra for us to organize. Most women feel uncomfortable picking up the bill when there’s a man at the table when they’re on a “date.” Just a little thing like that can take them out of the moment, the experience.

  It’s also for security purposes, and we make a cut on bookings from the travel brokers. The gentlemen all use assumed names to protect their own privacy—we take privacy very seriously. It isn’t easy to book airlines tickets and other accommodation requirements without appropriate identification. That’s why if we do it, the problem goes away. I also insist on handling the logistics because this is the best way to prevent things from getting screwed up and for ensuring venues for dates went well and are appropriate.

  Occasionally, when we have a long-term client, we relax our rules, but not when it’s a virgin client. Inside joke, for a first-time client of ours.

  I pull out the paperwork for this assignment and plop down in my plush leather chair. One look at the coversheet and all my fears are confirmed. Shit!

  “Nope, Anton. Her plane lands in four hours, and you’re expected to pick her up in a brand new shiny Mustang. Guess that’s not happening.”

  “Umm, can’t actually drive, Rome.”

  My brain clicks into overdrive…I need to solve this problem. I ignore Anton on the phone for a few seconds, and I glance at the client notes section. Mmm, seems she’s the cautious type, not a lot of experience with men. Is looking for a travel companion. Forty years old—widow.

  I know the type well.

  Looks like she had a couple of Facetime sessions with Anton as well. Not our normal deal, but it isn’t out of the question when the client is paying a big chunk for our services; travel expenses are on top of the scheduled fee, of course. The lady has a right to know who she’s buying for a couple of weeks, particularly when she’s coming from the other side of the world.

  “What’s she like, Anton? How do you think she’d take a substitute?” I’m wracking my brain for quick options.

  “She seems like a really nice lady. Down to earth, but not exactly comfortable with this whole setup. I get the impression this whole trip is a very big deal for her. She told me at least three times, she really wants to travel but doesn’t want to do it alone.”

  I glance over at the massive scheduling board above the counter. “I can probably free up Rhett, Coby, or Saxon. Who do you think she’d go for?” The guys are good at figuring out who a woman will work with. It’s their job, and they’re the epitome of educated and professional. I demand it. Plus, I won’t hire them if they aren’t.

  Anton is silent on the other end for a few seconds, which worries me. “Umm Rome, it’s the age thing. All these guys are late twenties. She specifically told me she picked me because I was older. I don’t think she’d be comfortable.”

  “Fuck!” I curse in frustration.

  “She’s not very worldly. Lived in the outback or something for years. I’m imagining Crocodile Dundee for some reason. This is her first trip overseas. I really think you need one of the older guys. Ideally, not less than thirty-five.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. It just gets better and better.

  I can easily reassign one of the three guys I mentioned before. However, from what Anton tells me, and I trust his opinion, it would be a mistake.

  I won’t risk the reputation of my company on an unhappy client. It will only mean a refund and a freebie anyway. Better to get it right from the get-go, particularly for such a long assignment.

  I’m the only gentleman remotely available who fits the bill. We’re booked solid with a couple of conventions in town. Older guys are hard to get on the roster and really popular with the business ladies. Good thing I’ve been keeping up my gym sessions, eating right, and looking after my thirty-eight-year-old self. I’m at the age where I’m old enough to be mature but still young enough that I’m expected to be ripped within an inch of my life.

  I let out a deep, frustrated sigh. It’s the only thing I can do. Looks like I’m back in the game, and I have four hours to get my shit sorted out for the next two weeks. Awesome!

  I take a deep breath and try to check my frustration at the next two weeks of my life suddenly being rearranged.

  “Okay, need you to do something for me, buddy.”

  “Sure, Rome. What?”

  “I need you to record a quick video message for her to apologize for not making her assignment and to introduce me. I’ll take this one myself.”

  “Done. I’ll do it now and shoot it off to you. Anything else?” Oh yeah, he sure is helpful now I’m covering his ass! At the end of the day, it’s my company and reputation, but the guys also know they have to take responsibility for meeting commitments. It’s what they get paid the big bucks fo
r.

  “Yeah, there is. What’s the tone of the assignment?”

  “She says she’s looking for a travel companion. But reading between the lines, she’s looking for the boyfriend experience, which I told Roxie to book after having the calls with her. She hasn’t outwardly said she’s looking for full service, but I got the impression it wasn’t off the table if she was comfortable.”

  Just great. I expected it. It’s part of the gig—particularly a two week one, costing fifty grand for the privilege of having a companion at her beck and call.

  If the woman wants sex, we’re a sure thing. Doesn’t mean I’m excited by it or looking forward to it. I have a part to play, and I’ll excel at it. That’s what makes me the best in the business and the reason we have so much repeat and referral cliental. We are that good at playing the part and coming through with the goods.

  One of the reasons I took myself off the frontline six months ago was because I’m so over fucking random women. Yeah, they’re clients, and the vast majority are really nice. I respect them, and I enjoy making them happy. There’s something intrinsically right about making someone else happy, giving them pleasure and seeing them smile—knowing I’ve put it there. I do get a huge kick out of that. But to be on the frontline, I lose a little piece of me each time. Sure, I can compartmentalize it, and I do. Eventually though, I’ve reached a stage where the whole deal has become a commodity.

  And yeah, it is.

  I get it.

  Hell, I’ve made my living from it for a lot of years.

  Nobody understands it better than me.

  That isn’t it, though.

  It doesn’t need to be cheap, and the difference between the service my company provides and everyone else is the little things, the connection with the lady. We genuinely go out of our way to make every client feel like she is the most important and beautiful woman in the world.

  That is important to me.

  Scratch that. It’s essential to me.

  I’ve been down this path before—felt this way before. It was a whole other life. I recognize the signs, though. I’m in danger of becoming that guy once again. The guy I vowed to leave behind. Practically, I’ve also really needed to step back to better manage the business; it’s growing fast.

  This means I don’t have time to take on clients. My regulars have been unhappy but understand I need to do this. Some have moved on to other gentlemen and some have just taken the memories and stepped back from the game.

  I’ve almost gotten myself to a headspace I’m happy with. I’m exploring another side of me, and I like this me and the path I’m on. Now, I have no choice but to switch gears and become Rome, the escort, rather than the balanced and responsible business man.

  “Right,” I finally say in a tight voice. Better pack all the essentials. Not that I won’t provide what she wants, I’d just hoped the next time I’d be putting my talents to use, it would be for the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

  Yeah, it’s a joke, an escort who hasn’t had sex in six months. I really hope it’s just like riding a bike. It’s been a long dry spell, and I really haven’t missed the sex. God knows, I’ve had boatloads of it for the previous ten years.

  “You’ll be fine, she was nice to talk to. I was actually looking forward to the trip. She seemed to be low maintenance.”

  “Cool. I hope you’re right.” The last thing I want is to have to spend time with an uptight, high maintenance drama queen. It’s all part of the deal, and we get our fair share. Two weeks is a long time to be attentive and the perfect boyfriend for, if she’s hard work.

  “I’ll get onto the video.”

  “Yeah, do that. I need to jet. I’ve got a mountain of stuff to get through in under two hours. Traffic will be a bitch into LAX, and I don’t want to be late.”

  “Good luck, Rome. Thanks for saving my ass on this one, bud.”

  “It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it. Make sure you let Roxie know as soon as you’re able to be back in the game. Bookings are through the roof.”

  “Count on it.”

  And I can. Anton is a good guy. He just has a truck load of baggage that takes cold hard cash to sort out. While this isn’t the business for everyone, if you’re a fit, the money is amazing.

  Guess it’s time go and work some, for a change.

  Chapter 2

  Carlene

  I drag my bags into the bathroom with me to take care of the need only having two working toilets on a jumbo jet can create, and to try washing up a little.

  Fortunately, my hair returns to looking slick and groomed with the run of a brush. A little deodorant and a spritz of perfume will hopefully remove the travel smell. I settle for a brush of mascara and a slick of lipstick. Then I remember Anton’s words, “I want you to greet me with a kiss,” and I brush my teeth a little longer than necessary.

  Suddenly, my heart is pumping like mad. I use a tissue to blot the lipstick until it’s nothing more than a color stain on my lips. It would be so embarrassing to get lipstick all over him. Maybe he only meant a kiss on the cheek?

  Why don’t I get that feeling?

  I’m pondering all this like a crazy woman, when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my jeans. As I pull it out and glance at the screen, I realize it’s from a number I don’t recognize.

  Rome here from Perfect Gentlemen. There’s been a slight change of plans and Anton can’t pick you up. I’ll be meeting you instead. Sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll be standing by the exit of your terminal, waiting for you. I’m wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans with mirrored aviator sunglasses. Please don’t worry. This is all legit and I can verify it. Looking forward to meeting you soon. R.

  My heart leaps into my throat and threatens to choke me. This isn’t a great start. I’m on the other side of the world, and the first part of my plans have already gone haywire!

  I take a deep breath to get my fluttering stomach under control. Falling apart is not an option, Carlene. You’re a smart, educated woman. You can sort this.

  Pep talk done, I text back.

  Ok C.

  Then it dawns on me, I’m probably crazy. I don’t know Anton. This guy could be anyone. Is this some human trafficking ring? I read a book about that once…

  A little adrenaline spike whips through me. What to do? I shoot off a text to Chelsea.

  Just letting you know I’ve landed safely. About to meet the guy from Perfect Gentlemen. Apparently, Anton wasn’t able to make it. The guy they sent is waiting for me. Love Mum XXX

  I don’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, I get a text back from Chelsea.

  Don’t freak. I’m sure it’s fine Mum. They’re reputable. Take a photo of the two of you together and text it to me, that way I can give it to the police if something happens. Hahaha… Have fun and I love you too. Chels <3 <3

  Police!

  Oh God, I am nuts!

  What the hell am I doing?

  I was reluctant before. Now I’m wondering if I’m terrified or just plain stupid?

  But standing here isn’t going to solve anything. Sooner or later, I have to leave this bathroom.

  Okay, Carlene, you can do this. If he gives you the creeps, you can dump him right here and go to a hotel or catch the next plane home, I tell myself logically. Good talk, I can do this.

  Let the adventure begin…

  I push through the bathroom door and set off across the distance to the doors with signage claiming to lead me to the exit. Everyone else seems to be heading in that direction. Right now, I’m happy to be part of the herd. The doors swing open as I approach and let me through.

  Suddenly, natural light flows in, and I can see cars at the curb outside. I’m almost there, and as my eyes track back, I spot this Rome.

  There’s no way I can miss him. Not only does he look like one of those unattainable models from the pages of a high-end fashion magazine, he also seems to have a presence about him which stands out from everyone
else. I glance from side to side and notice a few other women taking another look or two.

  He’s so handsome. No, handsome isn’t right. Phil was ruggedly handsome. This guy is gorgeous. Easily over six foot and with dark brown hair cut stylishly tight to his head. The top is a little longer and styled to sit perfectly, and the glowing tan he sports looks like he spends hours in the sun. The mirrored sunglasses hide his eyes, but I’ll bet they are dark. His nose is straight and his lips sinfully full. There’s a hint of scruff on his cheeks. Just a little over five o’clock shadow. Although, I have no doubt his beard will be thick and dark if left to grow.

  The name Rome suits him. He looks like there could easily be Italian blood in his heritage somewhere.

  The crowd in front of me breaks to go their separate ways, and I approach him with my heart in my mouth. I can feel his eyes on me from behind those glasses. Are they as intense as they feel? Or is my imagination playing tricks on my mind? Blood is thumping in my ears, and my heart’s pounding so hard. Then he flips the glasses up onto the top of his head and time seems to standstill for a second.

  I am right. Those eyes…oh, those eyes!

  They’re the dark brown I expected and just as intense, maybe more so. His eyes speak of confidence, warmth, and intelligence.

  “Hello, Carlene. Thanks so much for coming to visit me, beautiful,” he says smoothly as he steps forward.

  “Hi, Rome,” I manage to squeak out as he puts his arms around me in an embrace that can only be described as familiar. He smells so good. I could happily drown in his scent. It’s something exotic, a scent I’ve never come across before. Although, I’m hardly a connoisseur of men’s colognes.

  His body’s large, and he easily engulfs me. It’s so nice to be in the arms of a man again. He draws back with his shoulders a little, and I look up at him in question. Before I can form another logical thought, his head lowers, and his lips meet mine.

  And I’m taken aback by the feel, so soft and warm—welcoming. I wobble a little in his arms, my legs unsteady at the impact of a simple kiss. It wasn’t a peck, but it wasn’t a long, drawn out kiss either. Something happened and immediately I feel different—alive, hopeful.