by Jayne Blue
I held up my hand to stop her. “Are these clients checked out medically as well? Is there a screening process?”
“Of course,” Petra answered. “Most of my clients come to me by referral from existing clients. I have a fairly lengthy waiting list. Years. You understand that I can’t give you every detail, but I will answer any questions you ask of me. My clients undergo complete mental and physical background checks. I also know everything there is to know about their finances, political affiliations, and personal and professional lives. I know more about them than their own mothers do. They pay me a sizable yearly retainer. For that, they get their needs fulfilled.”
“Okay,” I said. “I expected all of that. But what about legal considerations? How do you keep your employees free from legal entanglements? I mean, you’ve said you’ll answer every question I ask. You’re offering me a job where you’re paying me to have sex with your clients. I know it’s more than sex – I understand about wish fulfillment. But how do you know you can trust me? How do you know I’m not wearing a wire or about to run to the FBI?”
She looked amused. “Are you wearing a wire? Are you planning on running to the FBI?”
I exhaled. Then I relaxed, and unclenched my jaw. “No. I’m not.”
“Good,” Petra said. “In answer to your question, I don’t keep employees free from legal entanglements. They tend to do that on their own. Most of it is common sense. You’ll never exchange money with a client. I’d recommend that you not have dialogue like you just did with me. Don’t say things like, “So I understand you want to pay me to have sex with you.” You go and you meet the client. You let them take the lead unless it seems like they want you to take the lead. You’ll be briefed in advance about what to expect from a particular client. But beyond that, just have fun and be smart. If you ever need legal advice, I can help you get it. But you work for me as a real estate consultant. A couple of times of year, I’ll need that from you too.”
Petra paused and slowly sipped her water. She may have been waiting for me to blink. I wasn’t going to.
“Your phone, there in the bag – that is how I contact you. You don’t contact me. You call Vera." She motioned toward her assistant. “The phone is fingerprint-ID’d for you.”
I opened my mouth to ask how the hell she could do that – and then realized the answer. She’d offered me a glass of water at our last meeting as well. A chill crawled up my back, but it wasn't fear. My respect for the way Petra Vallin operated was growing by the minute. The woman knew how to get things done. This was a woman who didn’t worry about her ex-husband’s gambling problem, her sister’s taste in men, or what the future held for her niece and nephew. She was also a woman who could clear the path for me to stop worrying about all of that.
“As I said,” she continued, “you have freedom of choice with all of your assignments, but consider yourself on call always. And another thing, I need to trust that your work for me takes priority over any personal entanglements you may have for a while. You’re not dating.”
The last was clearly a statement, but I answered anyway. “I’m not. Nor am I interested in anything like that for a while. And I also understand what I think you mean. No ‘freelancing’ for the foreseeable future.”
This got the hint of a laugh from Petra Vallin. “Well put. And yes. I need you to have a clear head about what I expect from you. Or just as important, what my clients expect from you. You might love some of them, and they will all definitely love you. But I’m not running lovematch.com and this isn’t a Julia Roberts movie. They know what they’re in this for. So should you. Fall in love as much as you want until the assignment ends. Sometimes, that’s an evening. Sometimes, a weekend or even a few weeks. But when it ends, it ends. That’s entirely one of the reasons why I had a feeling you’d be good for me. I think you’re strong. I think you have steel in your back like I do.”
I wondered for a moment just how much of my background Petra Vallin had researched. Then I realized that the answer was all of it. “I understand,” I heard myself say for the umpteenth time. And I really did. “I’m in.”
“Good,” she said. “I just have one final question for you. Why?”
I smiled. “Because of the money, for sure. But also because I think I trust you. And I think I want some of what you have.”
“And what’s that?”
“Control. Power. I get the distinct feeling that this ‘escort’ business may be just the tip of your iceberg. If I’m right about you, I think I might have a future in that. I’m pretty tired of feeling like I’m rolling the boulder up the proverbial hill and having it come back to flatten me. I want to level that damned hill, and I think you can help me do it.”
She nodded. “Perhaps. In the meantime, though, I’m going to ask you to exercise that growing trust you have of me. There will be times when I may not be able to explain my methods. But if I ask something of you, I’ll need you to do it.”
“As long as that freedom of choice you’ve mentioned is real, I don’t have a problem with the rest of it.”
“It is,” she assured me.
“Then let’s move forward.” And she did. Vera came back with an envelope for me, filled with the ten thousand Petra promised. Arrangements were made for me to be picked up tomorrow for my doctor appointment.
“One last thing,” Petra said as I rose to leave. “You’ve met Will. He’s yours now. He’ll drive you to assignments and act as your bodyguard. He'll be your ears. The locations of your assignments – at least at first – are controlled by us. They’ll be wired for sound but there will be no cameras, for obvious reasons. The microphones are for your protection and peace of mind. Though I’ve never had any accidents, you and Will can arrange for a safe word. If he hears it, he breaks down the door."
I whistled low, under my breath. She did think of everything. And this felt very real for the first time. I felt a thrill of excitement, and it startled me a bit.
We shook hands and I wished her a safe trip back to Holland. She said Vera would contact me in a few days. But barring any complications with my doctor’s appointment, Petra wanted me to meet with my first client next weekend. Vera would brief me about candidates, but the choice would be mine.
Then the meeting was over. Will took me back to the car and opened the door. We drove back to Natalie’s house in silence, my mind a beehive of activity.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday morning, Vera called. As expected, I’d passed my medical exam with flying colors and agreed to sign a release so Vera could confirm my method of birth control. Vera suggested we meet for lunch to go over the candidates Petra had selected for me.
We met at a small coffee shop in Union Station. Vera pulled up three photos on her tablet. She spoke in a kind of code. She said that Petra was looking to relist a bungalow I’d sold her a few years ago, and three potential buyers wanted to set up a showing. Fair enough.
First was Jack. Jack was in his mid-forties and had apparently been a client of Petra’s for 10 years. He was a venture capitalist. “He’s a fairly straightforward buyer,” Vera said. “Show him the house, and he’ll let you know what he likes best about it.” Got it. Show up, strip down, and spread ’em. The photo was a candid shot of Jack in black and white. He was handsome, with dark hair and deep-set eyes. His full lips were turned up in a smirk, as though he hadn’t wanted the picture snapped.
Candidate #2 was Garrett, a lobbyist. Garrett was older – a more seasoned buyer. He was slowing down a bit physically, so he’d need something more conducive to his lifestyle. Okay. Garrett was more in the Viagra crowd and would need me to do all the work. This might be a good start. Garrett also was good looking. In his full-length shot, he looked fit but with a slightly bulging middle.
The third option was Ben, a musician. Ben was in his early twenties and new to the real estate market. His father was also a client of Petra’s, and Ben was looking to buy his first home. He would appreciate my expertise, as he had none of his o
wn. Right. Ben’s rich dad was giving him a cherry-popping birthday present. He was young and tan and carried a surfboard in the photo.
I found myself at a complete loss. I’d thought about what would make me comfortable, but presented with real live clients who wanted real live sex with me, I'll admit that I started to freak out.
But Petra had trained Vera well. "Obviously, your instincts are valued here," she said. "But Petra does have a sense that perhaps Jack is the strongest candidate to start with. Of course, whatever you think.”
No-nonsense Jack, strip and spread 'em Jack. I nodded. “I think I'm okay with trusting Petra’s gut for the first showing. Let’s schedule Jack.”
Vera smiled. “I have good feelings about him. I think Petra does too. An excellent choice. Why don’t you clear your schedule for Saturday evening? Will can pick you up at 7:00 and drive you to the bungalow."
“Great,” I said. A weight lifted from my shoulders now that we had a real plan of action.
“Is there anything else you need?” Vera asked.
I thought for a minute. “You know, I could really use a spa day.”
Vera's smile widened. She drew another lavender business card from her purse. “Go to Theresa's in Georgetown. Tell her I sent you. She’ll get you in tomorrow. Will can drive you if you need it.”
I took the card and closed my hands over Vera’s as I said, “Thank you.”
Chapter Eight
I arrived at the bungalow just before 8:00 on Saturday. I took the metro from Natalie’s house, and Will picked me up at Union Station in a limo. Apparently, this was not a Ford Fusion kind of evening.
When he parked in the driveway of the bungalow, I had a small moment of uncertainty. My nerves were on edge, and I tried hard not to make this a bigger moment than it needed to be. This was just sex. But one way or the other, I would not be the same person by tomorrow morning.
“Last chance to pull the ripcord,” Will said unhelpfully from the front seat. I had told him I never wanted the divider between us to be up unless there was a client in the car.
“So,” I told him, “you’re saying that beyond the front door lies a thirty-thousand-foot drop then splat!”
He laughed. “Well, I’m hoping you’ll enjoy the moment of impact.”
“You're no help,” I said. Then – ugh – I remembered that he would be listening the entire time. When Petra first told me about the microphones, it comforted me. Now, I thought about the fact that Will would be listening. The. Entire. Time.
“Don't sweat it,” Will said, nearly reading my mind. “I’m just here to do a job too. One that I’m good at. Also, you’re probably not that interesting to listen to.”
He was joking. I could see the mirth in his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. “Thanks a lot. Seriously, though, what am I supposed to say if I need you?”
Just like that, Will turned from jovial jokester to all business. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a ring. It was a gold band around a round, flat opal. “Put this on your finger,” he said. “The place is wired for sound, but I’m not going to be listening to a live feed, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ll have privacy. But if you press the stone, I’ll get a signal out here. We should also come up with a code word. I’ll do ‘pop ins’ from time to time. Just a quick sound check to make sure everything’s all right.”
“A safe word,” I asked.
“Yes. If there’s a word that has special meaning to you, use that.”
I thought for a moment. “What about your last name? What if I just called your name if I think I'm in trouble?”
He nodded. “Good plan. My full name is Will U. Anal-Fist-Me.”
I let out a very unsexy nasal snort as I laughed.
Will’s eyes smiled back at me. “My dad gave me a nickname when I was a kid. I had a good mom but her form of discipline usually involved the flat end of her hairbrush across my backside. But, most of the time I was faster than she was. My dad started calling me ‘Dodger’ and it stuck.”
“Dodger,” I repeated, testing the sound of it. “I like it. Dodger. Roger Dodger.”
“You've got it,” he said.
I nodded, shooting Will a wink. Then I stepped out of the car and headed for the front door of the bungalow.
Chapter Nine
Everything was just as I remembered it when I’d shown this property to Petra two years ago. Neat, quaint, subtle, neutral furnishings. Just as Petra advised, I brought nothing with me but the Prada purse she’d given me and the clothes on my back – a simple tan silk sheath dress.
I walked to the back of the house where, I remembered, the master bedroom was. Petra was right. It was good that I’d arrived first. My heart had thumped its way into my throat, and I couldn't remember the last time I’d been so aware of the sound of my own breathing.
The bed was a dark cherry wood with four-poster frame, and it was already turned down. Petra’s people had set several three-wick candles throughout the room. They weren’t lit, but there was a lighter on one of the bedside tables. Looking for a way to get my mind off my racing heart, I lit the candles with steady hands. A warm vanilla scent filled the air.
I walked into the bathroom suite. It had been remodeled since I’d last seen it. The standard tub and shower had been removed and replaced with a Jacuzzi big enough for two and a shower as big as the entire bathroom at Natalie’s house. The stall had a wrap-around wooden bench.
I caught my image in the mirror. I looked normal. Not pale or wide-eyed. I blew my breath out. Fake it 'til you make it!
The second door of the master bath led to a small walk-in closet. Petra’s people had left me a few options. Hanging from padded hangers were a few simple dresses in bold colors and pale silk nightgowns. A small chest of drawers in the corner held a few more pieces of racy lingerie. I suddenly had the urge to change out of my own clothes. As much time as I’d spent picking out my dress, I knew right away that I’d feel better wearing someone else’s clothes. I was playing a part, wasn't I? Why not a costume change? I selected a red sleeveless mini-dress, cut in a low V in front with a slight swing to the skirt. I hung my own dress by a hook on the back of the closet door.
Petra didn't say when Jack would arrive. I went back into the bathroom. Did I smell all right? Should I put on more makeup? I made a quick inspection of the drawer under the marble-topped sink. Petra’s crew had stocked them with a few essentials like lipstick and blush in all my brands and colors. I quickly closed the drawer and took another deep breath.
I heard the soft click of a door closing toward the front of the house. I froze, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter. My pulse pounded in my temples. I willed my fingers off the marble, shook them out, straightened my shoulders, and gave myself the best steely-eyed glare I could muster in my reflection. I counted to ten. Stepping back, I did a once-over in the full-length mirror on the closet door. I was nervous, for sure, but I also felt a tremor of excitement.
I walked into the bedroom.
“I’m out in the kitchen if you want to join me for a drink,” called a deep, not unkind voice. I went out to meet it.
Jack was already pouring wine into two glasses at the kitchen counter, something white. He slid one by the stem toward me. “If you want,” he said, “I can also mix you something.”
“Wine is perfect,” I answered. My voice was steady. “You’re Jack?”
He nodded. “I am.” I stepped around the counter and was now standing two feet away from him.
Jack extended his hand, and I met it in a firm shake. I tried to size him up without looking like I was sizing him up. Then I just gave up and stared. He was much better at this than I was. His eyes hadn’t left me since I’d walked out of the bedroom, and I sensed not one bit of nerves from him.
Jack was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore a tailored gray suit with a light blue dress shirt. He’d already thrown the jacket and tie across one of the dining room chairs and was in the process of unbuttoning the
top two buttons at his collar. He had thick curly brown hair with a fair amount of peppered gray. He was handsome, but not pretty. If I’d seen him out in the world, I would definitely have found him attractive. And I did now, but it seemed very much beside the point. Still, since I had no real idea what to expect, at least outwardly, Jack was a pleasant surprise.
I reached for my wine glass but hesitated before I drank it. “I don't know if this is allowed.” Why did I say that out loud? There was supposed to be ambiance, right? Men like Jack – uh, Johns – want the illusion.
“It’s just us, Nina,” he said. He was smiling, kind, and not condescending.
“Okay,” I started again. This time I gulped the wine. “I just – I want this to be good – for you.” Ugh! I wanted to be smooth. I’m a grown-ass woman, not some clueless virgin! What in the world was Petra thinking when she said she saw something in me? Am I supposed to be cute/quirky like Julia Roberts? Smooth/sexy like Jane Fonda? Am I supposed to drop to my knees and blow him right here? I realized that Petra had really told me nothing about this man. She said her clients don’t just pay for sex. They pay for fantasies, scenarios, need-fulfillment. What was his?
I started again. “I’m really sorry. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I feel like I’m supposed to know something about you or what you like, and I….”
“Nina,” Jack said, putting his hand up and his wine down. “Do you want to leave? Are you comfortable? You know that’s an option, right? I understand your...background. If you don’t want to be here with me, just let me know.” I let out a breath and felt more comfortable almost immediately. Jack was calm and cool. I could be too.
“No. I want to be here. I understand the rules. That’s not it. I just would like to have some idea what…how you like to….”
He came toward me and filled my wine glass again. He clinked the edge of my glass with his and set the bottle on the counter. Taking his lead, I drank the wine. It was good, cold and dry. Warmth radiated from my stomach and slowly spread through my chest and shoulders. Jack kept his eyes on mine, and my smile came naturally. Jack set his glass down and crossed the distance between us.
