by Jane Henry
A slight flash of embarrassment crosses her face. “You know. I stay busy. Cooking, cleaning. Weekends painting sets for the community theater. Wedding planning. Reading.” She holds a book up to the phone. A guy with six pack abs graces the glossy cover.
Hmm... Mr. Lord could be a cover model for one of those romance books she devours…
“I know they’re silly, but I love them, and they pass the time.” She’s got that look on her face. The one that tells me she’s seeking my approval.
Tom asked her to stay home once they were engaged. To prep for when they have kids? I’m not sure why, but they seem happy. “There’s nothing wrong with being a housewife, Lexi. If that’s what works for you guys, good for you.”
Her gaze lowers to her black fingernails. “I know. I just always feel a little… you know… around you… with your business venture and everything. And having to borrow money for the wedding.”
I give a snort. “Running Sugar Daddies Escort Service? Yes, I love my job. But that’s me. I’m a workaholic by nature. And please, you know I’m happy to help pay for the wedding. If dad was here, he’d be the one doing it, so let me. In his memory.”
“You’re such a boss babe and my life seems boring compared to yours.”
“Comparison is the enemy of—well, everything really. You’re happy. And that’s what matters.”
She smiles that kind of glowing smile that only a woman in love can. “I am. And speaking of happiness, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
She worries the edge of her cardigan as she speaks. “It’s the wedding.”
“Do you need more money?” She and Tom are set to be wed in the beautiful coastal town of Santa Cruz. On the beach. Right where I used to spend every single second of my free time. She’s my baby sister and I want it to be perfect. No expense spared.
She shakes her head. “No, no. It’s not that—you’ve been more generous than necessary. It will be perfect.”
“What about the wedding, then?”
Her gaze turns pleading. “It would mean a lot to me if you would bring a date.”
My nose wrinkles. Men are just clients to me. A means to an end. Not something to get attached to. “A date? Why?”
“I worry about you out there. Alone with no family. No real relationships. They said you didn’t even have an emergency contact.”
I let out a groan. “Not again with the emergency contact. Why is everyone so obsessed with that?”
“It’s true though, Miranda. You’re not an island. Everyone needs to have at least one or two healthy relationships in their lives. When you lived at the beach you had tons of friends. And boyfriends. You were at a different party every night. Then…” Her words trail off and sadness flashes over her face.
“I know.” My words come out in a whisper. I know me moving across the country was difficult for her. And I know for my sake, she won’t bring up the reason for my move. My hand instinctively goes to the scar on my torso.
The memory is too painful. I push it away.
She presses on with her inquiry. “Tell me honestly, how many friends do you have there in Vegas?”
I think of Samantha—Sam, my assistant. Katie Morrow, married to one of my best ex-clients, who I’ve become close-ish with.
Sam and I text about a hundred times a day. They’re all work related correspondences.
Katie’s invited me to at least two girls’ nights out this month. I turned her down both times.
And I don’t date, taking away the possibilities of any intimate relationships.
Lexi’s wide eyed stare holds my gaze. Confirming her suspicions. She’s right.
I have no one close in my life.
Big sister vibes kick in, strong as ever. I want to protect her. To take away her worries.
“Don’t worry, Lexi. I’ll call Katie this week. Make plans to go to yoga, do girl stuff, you know…”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not talking about an outing once a month. You need a proper relationship. Someone who can care for you.”
Gross. That is so. Not. Me. I do the taking care of. “Lexi I’m not going to-”
But she’s looking at me with those baby blue eyes. Pleading. I need to tell her something that will reassure her. As I’m racking my brain, there’s a dinging noise, the notification sound from my phone, a text from Sam pops up on the screen. I breathe a sigh of relief. An interruption to give me more time to solve this problem. “Hang on Lexi. Let me put you on hold. My assistant is messaging me.”
My sister’s voice is laced with worry. “Should you be working right now? Can’t the Daddies wait? I think you should be recovering.” My sister is the only one who knows what I really do for work.
Pausing my video call with my sister, I flip through the texts. Sam’s freaking out. But not about me being in the hospital because obviously I didn’t have her listed as an emergency contact.
There’s been a Black Tie booking; a five-star date night with a local businessman. One that could possibly lead to another regular, high paying client.
It’s for tomorrow. And we don’t have a single available escort.
This is something that we cannot afford to turn down.
She’s asking.... me... to fill in.
My stomach turns to ice.
My sister, still paused on the video chat, sends a pesky text: You really need to rest.
What I need to be doing is running a successful company. Making money. Facing my fears.
And more importantly, taking away Lexi’s worries. Right now, I can ease her mind, even though it’s a little bit of a stretch of the truth. And while I’m at it, make a little extra money for her wedding.
I pull the call back up. “Actually, Lexi, I have a surprise. It looks like I have a date. For next week.”
Holding in a laugh at the sound of her high-pitched squealing I say goodbye, hanging up before she can ask too many details. I tap back my reply to Sam.
I’ll do it.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
I walk up to the nurse’s station. I’m not leaving here until I know exactly what we’re dealing with.
“Excuse me.”
A woman a good decade older than I am with her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, doesn’t look up. Her lips are pressed in a thin line, and she holds her pen so tightly I feel badly for it. Not exactly super friendly.
“Mhm?”
I clear my throat. I don’t like being ignored. Still, she doesn’t look up, and I don’t have a lot of time to waste, so I press on.
“Can I get some information on the patient in room number 239, please?”
She looks up, prepared to give me what I suppose is a withering look, but she freezes mid-wither. Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen, before she realizes she’s gawking.
She blinks once. Twice. She clears her throat, and adjusts her glasses.
“I’m sorry, sir. What was that?”
I flash her my most charming smile, and little splotches of red bloom on her cheeks. “Room 239. Could I get some information, please?”
She blinks again, then glances at a board behind her. “New patient,” she says. “A relative of yours?”
“Miranda Montague.” I shrug and keep up the grin. It’s working. “We’re good friends.”
It’s a lie, but I won’t get away with the relative card.
She frowns, and looks abashed. “So sorry, but I’m not allowed to give information to anyone who isn’t a relative without prior written consent—”
She freezes when I lean on the counter and fold my arms. Her eyes rove over my forearms and biceps, and she gives an audible little gasp.
“Oh, I know,” I say pleasantly, giving her the full force of my smile. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. I lean in and drop my voice to a whisper, so she thinks it’s only just the two of us. “I just have some concerns, is all.” I say this wi
th empathy and concern, like I’m asking how I could possibly contribute my fortune to save starving orphans, or is it possible for me to sponsor a school in Africa?
She clasps her hands. “Of course you do,” she sighs. She looks around her again and whispers back. “What do you need to know?”
I cut to the chase. There aren’t many things about Miranda Montague I don’t know, to be honest. I clear my throat. “Does she have health insurance?”
She glances at the computer screen, scrolls through a few things, then shakes her head. “Looks like she likely isn’t up to date,” her voice trails off. “She might be eligible for free care the hospital can assist with…”
I shake my head. “No need. Have them contact me, please.”
I give her my business card.
She nods, mesmerized, her eyes flitting from the card back to me again. “Yes, of course,” she says sympathetically. “That’s so kind of you.”
She has no fucking idea.
This has nothing to do with kindness.
I slide into the driver’s seat, my mind a mile away. The warm leather seat feels comfortable and luxurious, and for one moment, I imagine she’s here. Miranda. Sitting on the passenger seat beside me. She’d flick through the radio station and make small talk, the interior of the car filled with her musical laugh and sexy, throaty voice.
I’ve never been so taken with a woman before. If you could call it that. Jesus, I must be losing my mind.
In the past, women were something to be enjoyed like fine wine, or a hundred-year-old scotch—not too often and never two evenings in a row. I’ve… dated. Well, from the woman’s perspective we were dating. For me it was just a fling gone on too long. Nothing seems to last beyond my two week grace period, though. Women are fascinating but complicated creatures, and I'm busy building my empire.
But Miranda… she makes me want something... more. I have this desire welling in my chest, the urge to take care of her. To keep her safe.
I mentally check off everything I know about her.
Five foot six, one hundred and twenty-nine pounds. Natural blonde, accentuated with salon highlights, and those baby blues make her look younger than she is. Curves for days. She’s the whole fucking package.
I blow out a breath and focus on the road ahead of me.
I can’t quite put my finger on what attracts me to her, but I know that there’s something special about Miranda. Something exquisite and unique, and I mean to find out what.
And I always get what I want.
I head down the strip toward Vegas, Baby, my mind on all things Miranda.
I call Shane Barr, my best friend and personal assistant. He runs interference with private investigators when necessary.
“Shane.”
“Hey.”
“Lemme guess. You want to see if I’ve got any more news about your pretty little lady?”
“Drop the cute stuff, asshole. What have you got for me?”
He chuckles, clearly pleased as if I’ve just given him a compliment. “Well, hello to you too, dick.”
I shake my head. It’s always this way with us.
“To answer your question, compadre, I’ve found out lots that you’d like to know.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me everything.”
“She’s a businesswoman, alright, like you suspected. But did you know she runs Sugar Daddies Escort service?”
Escort service? Daddies?
Maybe I’m in over my head with this one. I swallow hard. “What’s that?”
He laughs, and I want to whip the phone out the window. Asshole.
“Only the hottest, raciest, escort service in all of Nevada.”
“Thought escort services were banned here.”
“Oh, well, you know. They have their methods, don’t they?”
I feel my body tighten. “I wouldn’t know.”
He chuckles again. “But wouldn’t you like to find out?”
I don’t answer the question, because I’m actually thinking about it. “Tell me more.”
“Well, an escort service is—"
“Shane. No. I know what an escort is. Tell me about this service.”
My sudden interest grows cold as I think about her with other men. I hate the very thought. I want to find any man who’s ever touched her—
“Gabriel.”
“Yeah?”
“Lost you for a minute there, bro.”
I clear my throat. “I’m here.”
“So this escort service features girls… of a particular nature.”
“Will you stop being so goddamn secretive?”
That only makes him chuckle.
I grit my teeth. “Spit it out.”
The light turns green, and I gun it. I watch the needle on the dash go higher and higher, adrenaline courses through me.
“They’re kinky,” he says on a laugh.
My dick gets hard and my mouth goes dry.
“Yeah?” Is it my imagination, or is my voice lower and huskier, like I’m starring in a goddamn porn flick?
He chuckles again. “Yeah.”
“Does that mean… is she…?”
“Far as my records show, she’s never taken a client.”
I’ll be damned if her first client is any man other than me. “Can you see if she’ll make an exception? Maybe if the compensation was particularly generous?”
“For you? I’ll make it happen. I haven’t seen you this excited about a girl—well, ever.”
“Just make the call.”
“Okay, bro. Hold the line.”
I take the left that takes me to Vegas, Baby. Dusk falls over the city, but the lights don’t dim. This is, after all, the city that never sleeps.
I pull into my designated parking space, in the private section reserved for suite and penthouse residents.
She never takes a client?
Shane’s back. “I’ve got someone working on it. Stay on with me and I should be hearing something via text in a second.”
“So she makes her money by taking a cut or something?”
“Yes, but from what I can tell, what she does cut is barely enough to get by.”
That’s terrible business ownership. I frown at the road ahead of me, as if she could sense my disapproval from here.
Shane lets out a whoop. “Just got a text.”
“And?”
“And you’re booked. I had a little word with Sam, Miranda’s secretary, and she’s going to make it happen.”
“How much?”
“Five grand—a donation for a new HVAC unit for their office.”
Done. Pocket change. I would have paid three times that amount to be sure I’m her first client.
“Meet her in the lobby of Vegas, Baby at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
My pulse races. This is what I want, what I’ve wanted for months now.
Not necessarily on these terms, but… well, I’ll take it.
“I’ll be there.”
He chuckles. “Of course you will. And I’m sure you’ll have an interesting evening.”
I disconnect the phone and scowl at the screen. Sometimes he drives me crazy and I want to wipe that smug look right off his face. Other times…
I shake my head and make my way inside. I go down the private hallway that takes me straight to my suite, away from prying eyes and inquiring minds.
An hour later, my phone rings. A caller from an unknown number. I pick it up.
“Hello?
“Mr. Lord?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s nurse Mary from the hospital.”
“Hello, Mary.”
“Sir, I called to tell you that unfortunately, the woman you asked for tabs on checked herself out of the hospital.”
“She what?”
I can almost hear her wince.
“I tried to get her to stay another hour, sir, but it was no use. She insisted she was fine, and we can’t legally keep an adult like her. In fact, even the call to you
is just a courtesy call, and I shouldn’t be violating hospital policy to do so.”
“Thank you for letting me know.” I’m pissed she left before the doctor cleared her. And I’m thrilled I’ll be personally able to lay eyes on her tomorrow night and see for myself that she recovered.
My phone rings again. Damn if this phone won’t stop blowing up. This time, it’s my agent.
“Gabriel! I did it! Got a shoot in Paris next week. You leave in a few days—
“Cancel it.”
“Cancel it?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But you’ve been waiting for this for months! You wanted to mix it up, to take a job back home.”
“Some other time.”
“But there might not be another time!”
I think about the plans I have tomorrow evening with a certain pretty woman and smile softly to myself. There may not be another time for this, either. And if things go well tomorrow, I won’t want to leave the country so soon.
“Thanks for your work, I’ve got to go.”
I feel lighter than I have in… hell, years. When I get a hunch about something, I need to follow that hunch, and this time, I know my instincts are primed, that they’re ready. This is the woman for me.
But you don’t know her.
I shove aside the nagging voice in the back of my head and stalk down the hallway to my apartment.
She’ll freak out when she realizes you’ve been watching her.
It’s a healthy obsession, though. Nothing more.
Right?
God.
I walk around the suite, tension tight in my shoulders, anticipation about tomorrow making electric pulses course through me. I walk into the master bedroom.
Sugar Daddies Escort. Is that… what I think it is?
If a daddy is what she needs, a daddy is what she’ll get. Someone needs to make sure that girl starts taking care of herself. That someone is me.
I have just enough time to get some… tools for tomorrow. I swallow hard, when the sudden vision of her on her knees before me, my rope lashed about her body and her eyes shining with arousal as I’ve brought her to the edge of climax again, and again…
I glance at the clock. Think about what I’d like to do with her.
