by Jayne Blue
Was I interested? To be clear, she was asking me to come to work for her as a high-class call girl...who could make millions! Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time I’d been approached with an offer like this. To pay for my real estate training and licensing, I’d worked for a lingerie catalog and posed for a calendar about a decade ago. I also made huge money working at a bikini bar when I was in my twenties. I was approached – and I considered it back then. But then there was Brad. Plus, I’d made a goal to finish school and get my real estate license. Yes, Petra had hit the nail on the head. I posed for those calendars and catalogs because I was desperate. Because I didn't think I had any other options. But what about now? Was that still true?
It wasn’t. I wasn’t. But...I was still interested.
“How much?” I asked. “How much are you offering me?”
Petra smiled and shook her head. “I don’t pay by the job except for the first assignment...a trial run. You make a salary. For one year, you work for me. You trust me to match you with people who will be good for you. You have choices. You can decide not to work with a particular client at any time – though at least in the beginning, I really do want you to trust me. I’m rarely wrong about what’s best for the people I take on.”
“So how much?” I asked again.
“You let me set you up with one client first. One assignment. Like I said, you have the choice to refuse and I’ll find you something different. But for the first assignment, I give you $100,000. If you go through with it, you keep the money. Then, if we both decide to continue and you commit to working for me for one year, I pay you one million dollars.”
The air literally left my lungs. A million dollars. Even the hundred thousand would be enough to pay off a good chunk of Brad’s debt and provide the capital I’d need to start my own business if I ever wanted to leave Lindbergh.
I had to ask, “Why me?”
Petra’s eyes widened. “You don’t really strike me as someone with a self-esteem problem, Nina!”
“I'm not. But why did you ask me? How could you be sure I wouldn’t bolt out of here, call the cops or N.O.W. or the ACLU?”
“As I told you, one of my truest gifts is need fulfillment. I'm also a very good judge of character, and I've been paying attention to yours since the day I met you…like I do for every single person I meet. Also, I serve on the board of one of those organizations you mentioned, and I’m a platinum donor for the other.”
Right.
“I don't know,” I answered. “And that’s the truth. I really don’t know what to think.”
“But you’re interested?”
“Of course I am. But you already knew I would be.”
Dammit, I was. That was change-your-life money, and I knew I wasn’t dealing with some seedy character like those I’d met during my calendar days. Petra Vallin didn’t get to be Petra Vallin without knowing how to handle her shit and protect her people.
“I need some time to think about it,” I said. And I really did. I was experienced enough to know you don’t say yes to someone’s first offer. Ever.
“Naturally,” she said.
“You're not going to tell me to take all the time I need?”
“I am not,” she answered, already rising from the table. “I have business back in Amsterdam. I’ll be gone for a couple of months. But my offer isn’t open-ended. I have some specific assignments in mind for you, and I need to match them soon. I’ll tell you what. You take that time. Two weeks from today, let’s say. I’ll give you a card with my private number. Call me if you want to accept my offer.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I stood up and put out my hand to shake hers. She handed me a lavender card with her number – no name – in raised gold letters. She rubbed the back of my hand with her thumb. It struck me as a very maternal gesture, and it somehow put me at ease.
She left the room, leaving me alone with my thumping heartbeat and her business card.
Chapter Four
One week later...
If I had known why Phillip Patrick called me into his corner office at Lindbergh, I promise my exit would’ve been so much more smooth and spectacular. Hindsight is really a motherfucker. I can usually fake confidence well. This was a necessary skill for an eighteen-year-old forced to support herself and her teenage sister. There were a lot of parent meetings, job interviews, and other life stuff that I had to bullshit my way through to keep someone from getting between me and survival.
This time though, I got too comfortable, I think. Even with Brad's financially catastrophic habit, I knew when and what I needed to get to my next commission check, how to keep bread on the table. I was a consistent seller, maybe not with big numbers like Phil or some of the other partners, but I more than earned my keep at Lindbergh. The clients liked me, especially the men. And yes, I traded on my looks. Anyone in sales knows you use whatever assets you have. But there I sat, stunned into speechlessness when Phil delivered the death blow to my career and current life as I knew it.
“It’s not a decision any of us take lightly, Nina. We had big plans for you.” Phil's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “But since the market crash, everyone is cutting. We were lucky to hold out through the year. As much we all want to, we just can’t hang on to you. And you’ll land on your feet. You were making a decent living before we took you on. You’ll find your way back to that. In another year or two, after the next election maybe, you’ll probably be outselling everyone here.”
Liar. Son of a bitch. He was firing me. He was actually firing me.
“Are you serious with this?” I managed to say. “This is because I wouldn’t go on that cruise ship seminar with you after Christmas, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t. Oh shit. I think I had just accused Philip of sexual harassment. Maybe it was true, but that’s not the kind of thing you say when you’re flailing, which I currently was. I was also single-handedly torpedoing any chance getting a good reference from him. I shut my mouth because the next thing I wanted to do was beg.
“Nina, you know that’s not fair,” he said. “I’m going to assume that the shock of this is, well, shocking.”
“Uh huh.”
“And you’ve got a safety net. The Pittsfield property is closing tomorrow. Stacy is handling it, but you’ll get your share of the commission. Five grand.
Right. $5,000. That would be enough to cover my share of the mortgage and a few boxes of mac and cheese for the kids. What about Drew’s therapy? Not. Again. The late Eighties flashed into my head. Is he telling me I’d be living hand-to-mouth again? That giant boulder had just picked up speed down the hill and was about to flatten me and everyone I loved. Again.
I don't have clear memories of how that meeting ended or what I did afterward. I know I was forced into the proverbial Walk of Shame on the way to the elevator with a cardboard box. My office had already been cleared out and files purged before I even left Phil’s office. No chance I was getting out of those doors with any of my client list. They even asked for my cell. They paid for it and, after all, it was loaded with the private numbers of everyone I’d sold for over the last four years.
Like I said, I don't remember exactly how I got there, but somehow I had loaded my pitiful cardboard box into my trunk and was about to start the car. Lois, the office manager, was running toward me, her heels clacking on the sidewalk, and I was afraid she was about to topple over and break her neck. Please topple over and break your neck, Lois. Not the most charitable thought, but there you go.
“Nina,” she gasped, leaning into my open window. “I’m so sorry. I was supposed to...you can’t take the car. Really. I’m so sorry. The partners made me take you off the insurance policy this morning.”
This morning? It was two in the afternoon. I had gone about my day, business as usual, when even Lois knew my jig was up?
“Am I supposed to hitchhike home, Lois?” It was a reasonable question.
Of course not,” she said, as she passed a metro fa
re card through my open window.
Really? Phil and the partners sprang for a fare card? Apparently my cardboard box Walk of Shame was to extend to the subway station and the six stops to Ballston. In my life, when I fall down, I fall way down.
Chapter Five
For the first time in my life, I had no steady job and few prospects. In the week since I’d been fired, no other agencies would take my calls. Economy tanking or not, agents did not voluntarily leave the Lindbergh Group. Whether Phil or any of the other partners were actively blackballing me in the industry, I had no idea. Nor did I have any idea why they would. To my knowledge, I’d done nothing to provoke them or give them any cause not to write me a good reference. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t get a contract to list my niece’s lemonade stand – let alone a decent property with a good commission.
I knew a lot of the other agents in my situation had found success flipping houses. Unfortunately, thanks to Brad, I had zero capital to start up my own business, and no bank would give me a small business loan. I absolutely hated feeling like I had no control over my life.
So, with all of these thoughts swirling in my head, I reached into the recesses of my wallet and pulled out that lavender business card. I knew that any help provided by the person on the other end of that phone number would come with strings attached strong enough to moor an aircraft carrier.
I’d like to say I spent time in thoughtful contemplation, weighing the pros and cons of Petra’s offer. I did a little of that. Most people had sounding boards for big decisions like this. I really didn’t. This was nothing new, as I’d been the one making the big life decisions for myself and Natalie for as long as I could remember. No sage wisdom from a caring and concerned parent or guidance counselor. Also, I couldn’t really figure out how that conversation might go down if I did have someone to run it by – “Say, so I have this opportunity to fuck for a living. Thoughts?”
No. This decision was all on me and, in truth that was how I liked it.
There was, however, one other event that shaped my decision more than anything else.
Natalie came home in tears after a big meeting at work. One of the dentists in the practice she worked for had just been suspended for embezzling money from the company coffers. The whole office was in disarray. They were going to keep Natalie on, but her hours would go down to part time. Cash flow and eventually health insurance were now in doubt.
If I had been waiting for some higher power to guide me in my decision, I figured this was about as close as I was going to get. I put an arm around my sobbing sister. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got a job offer and I’m going to take it. I can’t tell you much about it right now, but I’m going to get a sort of signing bonus very soon. I can cover us.”
Natalie was a snot-nosed mess as she sobbed even louder. “Oh, Nina, I don’t know why this crap always keeps happening. I thought I was going to be able to help you out more for a while. I owe you so much already.”
“Quit it, all right?” I said. “The only people you owe are Drew and Gracie. You owe them a stable home with a mother who looks out for their best interests. Let me handle everything else.”
And so I would.
At two o'clock on a Friday afternoon, I took out that lavender business card. Petra would have her answer.
Chapter Six
Petra put things in motion immediately. She told me to leave my sister’s neighborhood and meet her driver in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant about four blocks away. She told me to bring only my purse and to tell anyone who asked that I had an early dinner meeting. This was easy enough to do because it was true.
Petra’s driver arrived in a blue Ford Fusion. I guess I expected a limo, but in retrospect, this was considerably more inconspicuous. I had all of these stereotypes in my head about a liveried chauffeur who spoke only when spoken to. Instead, her driver was about my age, handsome with a scruff of beard, wavy brown hair worn long to the top of his collar and keen hazel eyes. He unlocked the door but didn’t get out to let me in. He was friendly enough. As I adjusted my seat belt, he reached out to shake my hand. “It’s Will,” he said.
“Nina,” I told him. I pride myself on a firm handshake, but Will damned near crushed my knuckles together. It was hard to tell how big he was, packed into the driver’s side of the small car, but Will was substantial. He was trim, but burly, like a linebacker or a lumberjack.
“Where are we headed?” I asked. I wouldn’t say I was nervous exactly. Not yet. Will was casual and informal, so it was hard to not be put at ease. “I mean, am I allowed to know that?”
Will shrugged. “Did you think she’d ask me to blindfold you?”
I couldn’t help it – I sputtered out a laugh. “I really have no idea. Your boss doesn’t strike me as a lady who leaves much to chance.”
“Oh, she doesn’t. We're headed to Reagan. Mrs. V's on her way home to Amsterdam for a few days, and she wants to be in the air in an hour. I’m taking you to her plane."
Plane? “Uh, am I taking the flight with her?”
“Don't think so,” he answered. “Not this trip. But you learn to be ready for anything if you work for her. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to travel with a toothbrush and a passport from now on.”
So this Will knew a few things. Did he know the line of work Petra had hired me to do? For the first time, I felt my nerves flare in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t reached the point of no return yet, but it was getting damned close.
In no time, Will had us at Reagan airport. He weaved in and out of DC traffic like a pro. I realized that if Petra sent him to get me, that’s exactly what he was. Petra’s private jet was parked on her private runway. The engines were still, but I guessed she could change that whenever she wished. This time, Will did open the door for me. He moved around to my side of the car so swiftly that I was a bit startled by his looming presence outside the window.
As we emerged from the car, the plane’s hatch opened and the stairs descended.
Petra's plane could comfortably seat about a dozen people. There was a door leading to the back that I assumed was her private quarters. For now, though, she was in the small passenger cabin, her arm draped casually across the back of a small leather couch. She was reading something on her tablet. Without looking up, she motioned me to sit across the table from her. Then she tapped her screen, set her tablet on the table, and gave me her laser-focused stare.
She smiled and said, “I'm very glad you decided to join me.” I knew she didn’t mean on the plane. “Are you ready to hear how this works?”
“I am.” My heart was now hammering in my chest. A steward entered the cabin. Petra flicked a finger and a moment later, he came back with a chilled pitcher of water and two glasses. He poured one for me and I reached for it, grateful that I still had steady hands. The air was dry and I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until I took a sip of the ice-cold water.
“You work for me. I take care of you. That’s the basic arrangement. I have clients who have specialized needs. I match you with the ones I think you’d best be able to fulfill. I’m not going to mislead you. Most of them are looking for really great sex on their terms. At least, they like the illusion that the terms are theirs but, make no mistake, nothing happens that I or you don't control.”
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
“As we discussed, you get $100,000 for your first assignment. More details about that in a moment. Afterward, we meet again. You tell me whether you’d like to sign on a more permanent basis. If you do, I start you at a million dollars a year, payable quarterly. If at any time you decide the arrangement no longer suits you, I pay you through the current quarter, and we go our separate ways.”
I nodded. I had questions, to be sure.
“I can't promise you how many assignments you’ll have in a year. A large part of that depends on what you’re comfortable with. I strongly believe you’ll end up very comfortable. And very happy. I have zero employee turnover
.”
“Zero?” More than anything else she’d told me, this shocked the hell out of me.
“Zero,” she answered. “I do have employees who transfer to different departments, but my people are loyal and content. So am I.”
“Okay, so how does this work? This first assignment, I mean.”
Petra raised her chin to her assistant behind me. A moment later, the assistant returned with a small black leather Prada purse.
“It starts with this,” Petra said as she pushed the purse across the table to me. “This is yours, and you carry it with you at all times.”
I opened it. She’d given me a smartphone and a wallet. Inside the wallet was a credit card and what looked like a bank business card with an account number and phone number.
“I've already set up an offshore account for you. When you called, I transferred ninety thousand into it on a ten-day hold. You’ll walk out of here with ten thousand. If you change your mind before your first assignment, you keep the cash, but the ninety thousand reverts back to me. Your quarterly payments will be deposited directly, as you’ll get your tax statements at the end of the year. You now work as my real estate consultant. You’re an independent contractor. You file your returns and you pay your taxes. That part is non-negotiable. I can recommend an accountant, or use your own.”
“Understood,” I assured her.
“I’ve set up an appointment for you tomorrow with a gynecologist. You’ll need a full exam and blood tests. And you’ll need to decide on some method of birth control. By Monday, if you have the all-clear medically, I’ll contact you with three possible clients. You choose the one who appeals to you. If none of them do, I can give you other options.”
