Submersed

by Rachelle Vaughn

  “Oh, honey, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry, but my assistant is signaling me. I need to make this meeting on time or else she’s going to have a coronary. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Phew! I swallowed the lump in my throat and leaned an elbow on the coffee table.

  “Olivia?”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Yeah, that made two of us.

  Now that I’d told my father I had a date lined up, I left myself no choice but to call the number on the website. Sure, I’d backed myself into a corner but I knew it was the only way I would be able to go through with it.

  I scrolled through the “models” and after careful consideration decided on one named Dillon, a 6’1”, two hundred and five pound “outgoing, fitness enthusiast” with dark hair who claimed to enjoy Vegas nightlife and was an “excellent listener”. He was 25, just two years younger than I was.

  He looked a bit muscular for my taste, but then again he wouldn’t be wearing a tank top showcasing his bulging biceps to the charity dinner. His smile was actually warm and friendly and…nice. I needed nice right now. I needed comfortable and reassuring and nice.

  He seemed like someone I could introduce to my father and most importantly, I didn’t get a creepy vibe from his picture.

  I clutched the phone in my hand and paced the room a half dozen times. The phone was already my biggest nemesis and now I had to use it to deceive my father.

  Carefully, I dialed the number making sure that my fingers pressed each button squarely in the middle.

  A wonderfully sexy male voice answered. It was a recorded message. I couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. My stomach knotted as I dreaded leaving a message without sounding like a complete and total idiot.

  In a shaky voice, I left my name and number and disconnected the call. There was definitely no turning back now.

  Then again, I could always switch to Plan B and unplug my phone, pretend the whole thing never happened and lock myself inside my studio forever.

  I shook the thought away. I was doing this and I wasn’t going to chicken out and hide like I always did. Not this time.

  With an indeterminate amount of time to kill, I tossed the phone on the sofa, went to the window and looked out at The Strip. People were scattered below, moving like ants on the sidewalk. Cars passed by and digital billboards advertised upcoming shows and free buffets. Taxi drivers weaved through traffic, tourists gawked and snapped photos, dazzling showgirls danced, dealers dealt cards for Blackjack, Texas Hold ‘Em and Seven Card Stud, bartenders served colorful drinks with decorative garnishes.

  Thousands of people did thousands of things each and every day. I could do this one thing and not have a nervous breakdown. I crossed my fingers behind my back. Only time would tell.

  The phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  I rushed over, picked it up and looked at the caller ID. The number was the same one I’d just dialed ten minutes ago.

  Oh Lordy. It was him already. I was sure I’d have a couple more hours to obsess over his call. A couple of years, maybe?

  I swallowed but it did nothing to moisten my dry throat. “Hello?” I croaked.

  “Olivia?”

  It was the sexy voice again and this time it wasn’t a recording.

  “Yes, this is Olivia,” I said a little too primly.

  “Hey, it’s Dillon. What can I do for you?”

  “Yes, Dillon. Hi…I…uh…I was thinking about hiring you.” I held the phone away from my ear and grimaced. Sheesh, I sounded like a complete moron. There was no way he would agree to see me.

  “Okay,” he said easily.

  “But,” I hurried on without taking a breath, “I’d like to set up a meeting first to go over some things.”

  Christ, I felt like I was hiring a gardener and needed to discuss my shrubs with him.

  The boxwoods should be rounded and the Rhododendrons need trimming. Oh, and don’t forget to water the azaleas.

  “Great,” Dillon said. “Why don’t we meet somewhere?” He named a coffee shop downtown.

  My knees started to shake at the idea of meeting him, or anyone for that matter, out in a public place. Out in that…that horrifying jungle. No freakin’ way.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work for me. Uh, is there any way you can come here?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  God, he was making this too damn easy.

  “How about six? Does that work for you?” he asked.

  I glanced at the clock. Holy canoli. That was an hour from now. That didn’t give me nearly enough time to prepare what I was going to say. I had to analyze and calculate and…Calm down, I told myself. It was better to get it over with now than to dread it even more than I already did. Not that that was even possible.

  “That’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Okay, Olivia. Where are you at?”

  “Oh, right.” I smacked myself on the forehead and then cringed, hoping he didn’t hear the thwap sound. “I’m at the Sharpe Hotel and Casino. Penthouse Suite.”

  If I was expecting a reaction, I didn’t get one. Then again, he was probably called to various hotels and rooms all the time. This would just be another day at the office for him.

  “Frank the concierge will show you to the private elevator,” I added. “He’ll be expecting you.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you at six.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I hung up and forced myself to take a deep breath. It hadn’t been a completely awful conversation and I was still in one piece.

  He sounded like a regular, normal guy. Well, I’d give him that. Too bad I wasn’t a regular, normal woman.

  It had all been a little too simple. Like ordering a pizza for delivery. For Pete’s sake, what had I been expecting? A blood test? DNA profiling? Sheesh.

  Next, I called Frank at the concierge desk. As always, he promptly answered on the first ring.

  “How may I help you Miss Olivia?”

  Frank used to call me Miss Sharpe and after months of insisting he call me Olivia, this was our compromise.

  “Hi, Frank. I’m expecting a Dillon…” Oh, crap. I didn’t know the guy’s last name. Most of them didn’t even list a last name. They went by first name only like Jude or Chase. And when they did list a last name, it was something phony like Armani or Dior. So, I just plowed forward without a last name and hoped Frank didn’t notice my omission. “At six. Will you show him up when he gets here?”

  “Certainly, Miss Olivia. Will you be requiring anything else?”

  Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a lobotomy.

  “No, that’ll be all,” I answered. “Thank you.”

  I grabbed my laptop and re-read the payment procedure and rates. I would need to pay Dillon upfront in cash. I dashed over to the safe in my bedroom, counted out the money and tucked it into an envelope. The money reminded me this was a simple business transaction and I took a smidgen of comfort from that.

  What wasn’t comfortable was my breathing. I was sucking in air like a Hoover Deluxe.

  If I kept this up, I’d be passed out on the floor by the time he arrived. For fear of hyperventilating, I forced myself to stand still and inhale a few slow deep breaths. After a few minutes of zen thoughts and positive affirmations, I was ready for whatever my phone call might bring to my door.

  Taking advantage of the next forty-five minutes, I ran a brush through my hair and applied some mascara. Lip-gloss wouldn’t transform me into a glamorous fashion model, but it helped to make me feel not so frumpy. After brushing my teeth and gurgling a quart of Listerine, I went into my closet.

  I changed out of my comfy paint splattered yoga pants into my favorite pair of jeans that magically lifted my ass so it had the illusion of looking perky. I put on a cute top over a bra that promised to lift and enhance in all the right places.

  Then I studied my reflection in the mirror
and wondered how I’d veered so far from the path I’d envisioned myself on when I was a child. Back then, I’d had so many dreams, such ambitious goals. In both my personal and professional life. Now, here I was resorting to paying someone to spend time with me.

  So much for a pep talk before showtime.

  When the knock on my door sounded, I felt anything but comfortable and reassured. I felt like a frightened deer frozen in the crosshairs.

  I studied him through the peephole until my breath fogged it up. The fisheye lens gave me a warped view of him and all I could see was that he was indeed tall and dark.

  Ever so slowly, I opened the door.

  He smiled and I was temporarily blinded by his white teeth. He was wearing a snug gray V-neck tee shirt and jeans that looked like he paid a lot of money for them to have that faded worn-in look.

  Just like his picture, he had black hair, not too short and not too long, a medium build and an overall nice athletic body. He looked so much bigger in person than the photo on the website. So much taller, more muscular, more…male.

  His eyes? What color were they? Shoot, I forgot to look. Now if I looked, he’d wonder why I was staring at him like a freak.

  Keeping my eyes on his shoes, I fumbled with the door handle, contemplating whether I should let him in or close the door and hide behind it for the rest of my natural life.

  The more my heartbeat sped up, the more the second option was sounding better and better. It wasn’t too late to back out now, was it? My reputation and family name were still intact before anybody got hurt.

  He spoke first, shattering any thoughts I had of escaping. “Hi. I’m Dillon.”

  At the sound of his voice, I snapped my head up to his face.

  Blue. His eyes were blue. So dark they almost looked black, but they were definitely blue. A cross between midnight and cobalt. I made a mental note of the color so I could paint them later. I would have to get the color just right.

  His hand was outstretched, waiting for me to shake it.

  Somehow, I couldn’t see the point of shaking a man’s hand who got paid for sex, but I did it anyway. Immediately after, I wished my Purell was handy. It would be rude to use it right in front of him, wouldn’t it? That was okay, I could take a bath in it later after he left.

  “Olivia,” I said, finally remembering my name. “Please, come in.” I couldn’t just leave him out here in the hallway for the whole world to see, now could I?

  “Thank you.”

  As Dillon moved passed me, it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a man in my room since I’d moved to Las Vegas five years ago. In fact, the only people I’d allowed in my suite were my father, Michelle and room service. No wonder Dillon’s presence was overwhelming every fiber of my being.

  The sound of the door clicking shut behind us made me shudder. Great, now I was alone with him and I had no idea what to do.

  We were just going to talk, I reminded myself. Two mature adults having a conversation. My twisted nerve endings refused to listen to my logic.

  First things first, I gave him the envelope and he took it, his eyes never leaving my face. Without counting the money, he slipped the envelope discreetly into his back pocket.

  “Wow.” He strode over to the wall of windows and looked out at the city. “You’ve got a great view from up here.”

  “Yeah.”

  The view of Dillon from behind wasn’t too shabby either. His ass rounded out his jeans like a dream. He turned back to face me and I cleared my throat like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  When he took a few steps toward me, I backed up until I felt the door cold against my back.

  “So, how do you want to do this?” he asked.

  My heart knocked against my ribs. My limbs turned to jelly, the wiggly grape kind, and my teeth chattered. Here was this beautiful hunk of a man in my room willing to comply with my every need. My every sexual need.

  “Oh, God. I don’t think I can do this,” I whimpered.

  He rushed towards me as I started to sag to the floor like a pathetic sack of potatoes.

  Gently, he led me to a nearby chair and I sat down, wishing for a paper bag to breathe into. Did that really work or did they just do that on TV? Forget it, I just wanted one to put over my head.

  “It’s okay,” he told me.

  If I didn’t know better I’d think he was comforting me. This man didn’t know me from Adam and he was offering me reassurance. Then I remembered the envelope in his pocket and the warm fuzzy feeling evaporated. People did all sorts of things for money. They had sex with strangers, comforted loony women…

  He kneeled in front of me and patted my knee. “There’s no need to be nervous. Just take a deep breath and tell me why you called.”

  The most I could manage was a small, ragged breath.

  He had just touched my knee.

  Why had I called him? That was a very good question. One that I could answer.

  “My father is having this charity dinner and I…I need a date.”

  He leaned back on his heels and I could smell his skin. He smelled like the Nevada sunshine and something sporty I couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was his cologne or his deodorant. Either way, it was wreaking havoc on my reasoning.

  “Well that seems simple enough.”

  Nothing was simple in my world. It took me hours of pumping myself up just to make a simple phone call or leave the hotel. The outside world was not a friendly place and I preferred to avoid it at all costs. There was nothing simple about hiring a man to pretend he liked me.

  “Not quite that simple,” I replied. “See, I told my father I had a date and that we’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.” I cringed at my own confession. It sounded horrible to hear the words out loud. I had lied to my father. “I need you to make it seem like we’re dating.” I was a horrible person.

  Dillon nodded calmly. “The boyfriend experience. I can do that.”

  Oh jeez, he even had a name for it. Well, at least that meant I wasn’t the first person to come up with the ridiculous idea.

  “So when is this dinner?”

  Damn it. That was something I should have asked on the phone. What if he wasn’t available? What if I’d had him come here for no reason because he already had a “date” with some horny housewife? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  “It’s next Saturday at seven. Are you available?” I asked hopefully. There was no way I could start all over again with someone else. Maybe the Brad Pitt look-alike who loved the outdoors was available…

  Dillon took out his cell phone and checked his calendar. “I sure am.”

  I actually felt myself sigh with relief. “I really apologize for the short notice.”

  “No problem. We’ll just have to get to know each other before the dinner.”

  He sure had a way of simplifying things. Nothing in my life was this easy.

  I cleared my throat and tested my legs to see if they were capable of walking me across the room. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

  I needed to move my nervous breakdown out of the foyer. Somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere roomier where I wouldn’t be engulfed by Dillon’s enticing smell and his warmth and his size.

  I sat in the middle of the sofa, tucked my legs underneath me to make myself as small as possible and hugged a brocade throw pillow in front of me.

  Shield in place. All systems go.

  Dillon chose a chair across from the sofa facing the windows. He settled in and comfortably spread out his long legs.

  I took a second to look him over again. Sheesh, how did someone become so self-assured? It was like he didn’t have a care in the world. Here I was on pins and needles and he was lounging in my chair like it was nothing. And this was my room. He was the guest here but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

  I plucked at a loose thread on the pillow. “This isn’t going to work. It’s not believable that you would be with me. You’re too…perfect,” I added quietly.
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  A half laugh rumbled out of his perfect chest. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  I avoided the mirror whenever possible. “I don’t--”

  He waved a hand as if to dismiss my nonsense. “You could have any man you want. But that’s not the point. In order to pull this off,” he said, getting straight down to business, “we need to catch up on two weeks of each other.”

  My mind started calculating. Then the panic rolled in. If we’d been dating for two weeks, would we have kissed by now? Fear gripped my throat. Would we have already had sex? Oh, God, no! I wasn’t some horny slut who gave it away after just a few dates, was I? Wait, maybe that’s what women did. They certainly hired men to have sex with them after knowing each other for exactly two minutes.

  I clutched the pillow for dear life.

  Dillon must have sensed my distress because he leaned forward, rested his hands on his knees and looked at me affectionately. “So, what is it that you do?”

  I swallowed. These were just normal, run of the mill preliminary questions. People exchanged them all the time. At coffee shops, bars and restaurants all around the world.

  Or so I assumed. How the hell would I know? I didn’t go to those places. I didn’t go anywhere.

  “I…I’m an artist,” I stammered.

  This seemed to intrigue him. “Oh, what kind of art? Sculpture…?”

  “I paint. Landscapes mostly. Sometimes still life and figures.”

  He glanced around the room at the generic decorative botanical prints on the walls. “Are these yours?”

  “No.” I didn’t display my art. I kept it locked away in my studio turned facing the wall where no one could look at with harsh, judging eyes. “I…I don’t like to talk about my work.”

  “Okay. Fair enough.” He swallowed and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

  “What is your full name, Dillon?”

  “I go by Dillon Milan.”

  I grimaced. “We’re going to have to do something about your name. My father will never buy it. It sounds like you’re one of those Chippendale dancers or something.”

  “Okay, what should my new name be? Deuce Bigalow?” he suggested, laughing.