by Linnea May
She's not the first one to make that mistake.
I smile at her, mirroring the way she looked at me before. "Okay, let's do it."
Chapter 5
Jared
This girl has absolutely no business being stuck in my head for this long. Her presence is so strong that it's hard for me to focus on anything else. There are things that need doing, people who I need to talk to, positions to be filled, some to free me of some of my responsibilities, others to help me get on to the next step. I can't afford to be this preoccupied with something as silly as a girl.
And the worst thing is, I don't even understand why it’s happening.
She was pretty, I won’t deny it. But I can have pretty any time, and I've had pretty plenty of times. Yet her long, ash blond hair and those gray-blue eyes did something to me, especially in combination with the way she carried herself. She's not very tall, but she makes up for it with a strong stance, very straight posture, and a tension about her whole demeanor that I haven't seen on any other girl before.
Challenging. Demanding.
And the way she looked at me. Goddammit. It's as if she didn't know who I was, as if she had no idea what the appropriate reaction should be when faced with a man like me.
Doesn't she know? Doesn't she see me? The muscles, the money, the unspoken power. It's what brings them all down to their knees within minutes, but she didn't even blink when she looked at me.
She was insulted when I mistook her for one of the agency’s girls, which is understandable. But it doesn't make things any easier for me. On the contrary, it only makes me want her even more.
I'm sitting at the desk in my home office, twirling a single malt on the rocks, when my attention is drawn back to the computer when a new e-mail pops up in my private inbox.
The sender surprises me. It's from the agency, Violent Delights. Sent by Belinda Barry.
I take another sip of my drink before I open the e-mail, curious to see what they could have for me. I was there just yesterday, and usually I don't hear from them for at least a week in between visits.
I lean in closer to the screen, curious to read the e-mail. There's a file attached, which means they have a new girl for me to look at. The message itself is pretty short, though.
I thought you might want to have a look at this one.
That's all it says. Belinda has never been a woman of many words, but this is exceptionally brief, even for her. I hesitate before clicking to open the attached file, but curiosity gets the better of me.
My heart stops when I see the picture on the screen.
It's her.
It's the girl I met at the agency, the girl who claimed to be a journalist. I can still see her face before me, the grimace she cast me, the indignant look, as if I was completely out of my mind for thinking she worked for the agency.
Yet here she is. Smiling at me, the expression very different from the one she gave me when I met her in person. At first view, her file looks like any other file. There is a modest portrait on the front page and a list of her measurements and other basic stats right next to it.
But that's where the similarities end. For starters, there are only two pictures in her file, the portrait picture and a full body picture, and she's wearing the same outfit in both. Usually the girls are presented in a variety of poses wearing several different outfits, and some of them are even nude, leaving little to the imagination. Her pictures don't even look as if she's done anything special to make herself more attractive before having them taken. In fact, they both appear to have been taken the day I met her, now that I think about it. She's wearing the same blouse and black pants, but her hair is not tied back in a ponytail as it was when I saw her. Thick strands of straight, ash blond hair are cascading over her shoulders, almost reaching down to her hips, enwrapping her like a cape. Her smile is careful and coy, displaying uncertainty and vulnerability.
What the hell is this? Is Belinda playing a trick on me or something? Why would she send this to me?
And who is this girl, Ann? She didn't even bother to come up with an alias. The file is titled ANN, the same name she used when she introduced herself to me.
Did she lie to me? Did she in fact show up at the agency to try to get hired? If so, this was definitely a weird way for Belinda to go about it, as the selection process takes weeks and never are the girls marketed with a couple of half-assed photos and a quick interview.
Ann's file is pretty empty, but there's one part that catches my attention. When first being introduced to clients, new girls are asked a bunch of personal questions, including their sexual likes and dislikes, amount of sexual experience, their fantasies and things they're willing to try out. The answers to these questions appear in the main section of their profiles. There's one particular question that I like to check out first, though, before deciding whether or not a girl might be a good match for me. The girls are always asked why they want to work for the agency, and their answer often tells me more about them than anything else appearing in their files. Most girls come up with some kind of whitewashed version of the truth, usually something along the lines of wanting to "free" their "inner slut" or learning more about themselves by "exploring" their "fantasies and desires". My eyes have a tendency to roll back into my head every time I read this silly nonsense.
Ann’s reply, however, is short, simple, honest, and blunt.
I no longer want to have to work for money by the time I'm 30.
I laugh outright when I read her answer. But then I start to wonder when she actually decided to apply to work at the agency? Was she telling me the truth when we met, that she was there to interview Belinda for a news article? Did Belinda somehow convince her to spontaneously apply? Or did she lie to me and she always had intended to get hired at Violent Delights?
Or did she possibly do it because of me?
Is that the reason why I get to see her file this soon, and not to mention in a state that can hardly be considered complete?
I need to know, and as of right now, there's only one person who can give me the answers I’m looking for.
Belinda Barry.
Chapter 6
Ann
What the hell am I doing? When I agreed to sign up for this ridiculousness, Miss Barry warned me that it would be highly unlikely for me to attract any of the clients' interest.
"Not with these pictures," she said, after taking a few quick shots of me. "And not for the amount of money you're asking."
I didn't care about her warnings, and I made it clear that I'd rather hear nothing back from anyone than to have to sell myself for an amount that wouldn't secure my financial future for good, even if it meant I'd have to sacrifice a few months of my life.
I walked out of Violent Delights a few days ago, my notebook filled with quotes and notes from the interview with Miss Barry and my head filled with silly thoughts and fantasies.
"So you actually want to do this?" she asked. "For real? You want to be added to our catalog?"
I was somewhat stunned by her question, because it was only in that moment that I realized what I was about to do.
"Yes," I said. "Let's give it a shot. Why not? I have nothing to lose, right?"
She looked at me with her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.
"I mean, I don't have to do anything unless I sign a contract with a particular client, right?" I reassured myself.
Miss Barry nodded. "That's correct."
"Okay, can't hurt to see what it's like then," I told her. "In any case, it might prove to be helpful research for my article, if I hear back from a client soon enough. I'm working on a deadline and-"
"If you hear from a client at all," Miss Barry interrupted me. "Our clients have very specific, very elaborate, and very defined tastes. They're willing to pay a lot, but they're also expecting a lot."
She cast me a reprehensive look, and I gathered myself, nodding to signal to her that I understood. I'm no professional, no p
in-up model, no class act hooker whose sole purpose in life is to serve men. Of course, I can't compete with women like that, and I felt silly for even thinking that I could.
This was just my mind running wild. The idea that I would just have to spend time with some rich dude and be paid so generously that I might actually be able to save up a fortune to make my dream of not having to work for money come true, is just too enticing.
Especially if it was with a man like the guy I'd just met a few minutes before...
Even having sex wouldn't be out of the question, if it was with a man like him.
"Sure," I said. "I understand."
"But there are things you could offer to make up for your lack of... expertise," Miss Barry added, causing me to tilt my head to the side in question.
"Would you be willing to stay at a client's side for a little while longer?" she asked. "Even in public?"
"You mean, would I be willing to play some rich guy's girlfriend?" I clarified, and she nodded.
"Yes. I think I could do that."
"What about your job?" Miss Barry asked. "Wouldn't that interfere?"
I explained that I'm a freelancer and would be willing to set aside my work for a few months, if necessary. It's not like I would have to quit altogether, something I don't even think I could do. Even if I was to become a millionaire, I'd still want to write stories and continue working as a reporter. But it would be nice to do these things just because I enjoyed them, and not with the pressure of having to make a living.
Still, I was only going to go through parts of the application process for research purposes, to see what it's like to become one of Violent Delights’ girls, one of the most infamous escort agencies in the area. I just wanted to gain a sense of their process, their working conditions, what they offer to both their clients and the girls who work for them. It was purely for research.
Until Miss Barry asked me if I wasn’t sure I didn't want to give it a real shot.
That's when everything was set into motion.
"So, you actually want to do this?"
She asked me the question again before I signed the agreement, and at that point, I didn't even think twice. We had hashed and rehashed the whole idea for so long that I just wanted to leave having made a decision that would fuel my life with a pinch of excitement. I know if I hadn’t agreed to do it, I would've wondered for days and weeks about it.
But that woman confuses me. On one hand, she's been trying to keep my expectations low, telling me that I shouldn't expect to hear from any client in the near future because I have "so little to offer", but then she starts asking for reassurance from me over and over again before finally letting me sign the agreement. Why was she being so cautious when she didn't even expect any of her clients to show any interest in me?
Now I know why.
It’s only been two days since I visited the agency when I startle at my desk from an unexpected phone call. Just like always, Brandon's piercing blue eyes dart right through me from across the desk, warning me not to speak for too long or raise my voice. I glare back at him as I answer the call without first checking the caller ID display.
"Porter," I say, partly distracted by Brandon's hateful glance.
"Ann, this is Belinda," an incisive female voice greets me from the other end.
Belinda? It takes me a few moments to realize who I'm talking to.
"Oh, Miss Barry, hello!"
"You sound surprised," she says. "Is this a bad time?"
"No, not at all," I hurry to reply. "I'm just... yeah, I am surprised. Is there something you wanted to add to our interview?"
Belinda Barry chuckles, making me feel somewhat dumb for assuming she'd call about the interview.
"No, dear. I've said everything I wanted to say. I'm actually calling to let you know that one of our clients is interested in you."
"What?" I blurt out. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," she retorts, a hint of annoyance lacing her words. "He wants to meet you in person, as soon as possible."
I inhale audibly and my cheeks start burning up instantly. My eyes scurry rapidly around the room to see if anyone is listening in, but even Brandon is seemingly not paying attention to me at the moment. Yet, I feel like I've been found out. As if the whole office suddenly knows about me signing up to be an escort.
Is that what I did? Will I turn into a high-priced call girl if I agree to meet up with this man?
"You said you wanted to do this," Miss Barry reminds me. "And you said you'd be happy to hear from someone promptly. Was I mistaken?"
"Yes, I said I was, but still..."
"He's willing to pay more than your asking price," she cuts me off.
I gasp in shock. How is this possible? She told me I shouldn't expect anyone to be willing to pay the price I was asking - and now this?
"Don't tell me you're not interested," Miss Barry adds in a seductive tone.
I clear my throat and try to calm myself. What now? This is all so weird to me, so unfamiliar. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, or say.
"I... I don't know. How... would this work?"
"I'll send you an e-mail with some information, laying out the client's demands and expectations," Miss Barry explains. "You should know about the basics before you agree to meet with him. He's a very... interesting man."
"Interesting?" I ask. "How so?"
"You'll see."
And with that, she hangs up, leaving me confused and my heart racing. I stare at the phone in my hand, listening to the dial tone and trying to convince myself that this phone call only happened in my head, especially with regard to Miss Barry's mysterious way of ending the conversation.
But it’s not a dream. It really did happen, and the proof pops up in my e-mail inbox a moment later.
Chapter 7
Ann
Only one thought assaults my senses when I walk through the door and spot the man sitting at one of the tables in the back of the restaurant.
You've got to be kidding me.
For a moment, I don't trust my eyes. I don't want to trust my eyes. I try to convince myself that it’s just a weird coincidence, perhaps the universe playing a joke on me. This cannot be real… but it is.
The man is not a stranger.
It's him.
The man who approached me at the agency, the man whose husky voice sent shivers racing down my spine when he spoke those words against my ear. What was his name again? I'm too dumbfounded by his appearance to remember, but I distinctly remember him introducing himself that day.
Instead of walking toward the table to greet him, I don’t move from my position right inside the door, staring at him in disbelief. It’s like I’ve turned into a statue.
He notices me, too. Our eyes connect across the room. Unlike me, though, he doesn't seem to be the least bit surprised or shocked. But then, why would he be? He had the upper hand knowing that he was meeting me tonight. The e-mail Miss Barry sent me didn't include any identifying information about the man I was scheduled to meet.
The man who was interested in buying me.
All I was told were the details of his inquiry at the agency. He's looking for something very specific, something that will cost him a lot of money and appears to be hard to find. He's looking for a woman who is willing to pretend to be his girlfriend, a partner who will be attached to his arm in public, but who is also willing to serve his needs in bed. Miss Barry told me that most clients seek one or the other. Either option can be purchased for longer than a single night, and some arrangements even last for months or years, but the contracts focused on hiring a girlfriend often don’t include sex or are limited to naturally occurring intimacy.
But this guy, he wants it all, and he wants at least a year-long commitment. The inquiry said that he's not only looking for a fake girlfriend, but a submissive in bed, a girl who will satisfy his sexual needs, submit to his commanding nature, and bend to his will.
I don't know how comfortable I am with that
last part, but I was definitely intrigued by the rest, and especially what he’s willing to pay to get it.
One million dollars.
And he wants me. He saw me, both in person and on file, and he wants me. The e-mail laid out a time and place to meet him, and all I was told was to show up if I was willing to negotiate an offer with him.
Based on the inquiry, I was definitely willing and curious, but that was before I knew who the man was.
I don't know whether to feel flattered or scared, but I do know one thing: I'm angry.
The confident expression on his face doesn't change one bit when the anger surging through my veins ignites the courage I need to march across the room toward him in long, furious steps.
"Is this a fucking joke?" I snap at him once I reach the table. "Did you set me up?"
His gaze darkens and he lets out an indignant huff before getting up from his seat. I watch as he stalks around the table, coming to a halt right in front of me. He’s standing so close that I can smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. His proximity is unsettling, and it’s as if his mere presence starts churning my insides up like a blender.
I fight my instinct to back away from him, instead lifting my gaze up to meet his, defiantly jutting my chin forward and narrowing my eyes. He reciprocates my spite with a sinister look, his dark brown eyes simmering. He's wearing an expensive-looking black suit custom-fitted to his buff frame, and I notice that his hair is gelled to one side, styled in a more sleek fashion than it was the last time I saw him.
Despite the mixed kettle of emotions brewing and stirring inside me, I can't deny that he's the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life. The effect his refined allure has on me is troubling to say the least.
