Zandra was outraged, though she realized she probably had no right to be. “Why can’t you take one of your girlfriends?”
Remy gave her a small, grim smile. “Let’s just say we’re not on the best terms right now.”
“Oh, please,” Zandra scoffed. “We both know you could step out that door right now and have thirty women scratching and clawing one another to go out on a date with you.”
He cocked a brow. “Only thirty?”
Zandra wasn’t amused. “I’m not setting you up with one of my girls.”
“Why not?”
Good question. “Because I’m not.”
His lips twitched. “That’s not an answer.”
She swallowed hard as he sauntered toward her, his unbuttoned shirt exposing his beautiful bare chest.
“We’re friends, Remy. I don’t set up friends and acquaintances with my escorts.”
He smirked. “You had no problem setting up Roderick and Lena.”
Busted. Damn.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” he taunted. “That I might fall for one of your girls and make her my wife?”
The blood drained from Zandra’s head.
“Of course not,” she managed to croak out. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Remy stopped before her, those penetrating dark eyes searching her face. “Is it ridiculous, Zandra?” he challenged softly.
She couldn’t breathe. She held his gaze for one heart-stopping moment, then turned away and stalked to the door, appalled by how badly her legs were shaking.
“It’s time for you to leave,” she said coldly.
He regarded her in silence another moment, then shook his head and met her at the door.
“Set up that date, Zandra.” It wasn’t a request, and she knew it.
She glared up at him. “Go to hell.”
A sliver of some emotion flickered in the molten depths of his eyes. “I probably will,” he murmured.
With that, he walked out the door.
Chapter Eight
Three days later, Zandra met Lena for lunch at NoMI, an upscale restaurant perched high above Michigan Avenue inside the Park Hyatt. When Zandra arrived, Lena was already seated at one of the tables that overlooked downtown and Lake Michigan.
“Hey, girl.” Lena stood and hugged Zandra, then drew back to admire her eyelet linen skirt worn with an ivory button-down top and Gianvito Rossi sandals. “You look gorgeous. As usual.”
“So do you,” Zandra said warmly. “Not only are you wearing the hell out of that pantsuit, but you’ve still got the glow of a blushing bride.”
Lena grinned, her dark eyes twinkling. “Well, there might be another reason for that glow.”
“What do you mean?”
As Lena reached down and coyly rubbed her flat stomach, Zandra’s jaw dropped. She stared at Lena. “Are you...?”
“Preggers?” Lena beamed. “You betcha.”
“Oh, my God!”
The two women squealed excitedly and hugged, drawing curious stares from the other patrons.
As they pulled apart, Zandra gently cupped Lena’s cheek in her hand. “I’m so happy for you and Roderick. You’re going to make wonderful parents.”
Lena’s expression softened with gratitude. “Thank you, Zandra.”
“I meant every word. Now sit, sit. I want details. Not those details,” Zandra snorted at the wicked look Lena sent her. “Everyone already knows you and Roderick can’t keep your hands off each other. Hell, it’s a miracle you didn’t get knocked up sooner.”
Lena tipped back her head and laughed.
When the waiter appeared, they ordered their meals—niçoise salad for Zandra, chilled buckwheat soba salad with prawns for Lena, and the signature sushi platter for both.
“Excellent choices, Mrs. Brand and Miss Kennedy.” The waiter beamed, clearly delighted to be serving two customers who frequently appeared on the society pages of the Chicago Tribune.
After he departed, Zandra draped her linen napkin across her lap and smiled at Lena. “So when did you find out you were pregnant?”
Lena grinned. “I just got the results yesterday, but I’ve suspected for the past two weeks now. It was so hard for me not to tell Roderick during our honeymoon, but I wanted to wait until I knew for sure. You should have seen how ecstatic he was. He picked me up and swung me around, and he actually got teary-eyed. Can you believe it?”
Zandra smiled. “I can believe it. Beneath their tough-as-nails exteriors, the Brand brothers are big ol’ softies, every last one of them. So have you and Rod told the family yet?”
“Not everyone. I’ve only told you and my sister, and of course Roderick had to call Remy and tell him.”
Zandra nodded, sipping her water. Remy had traveled to Abu Dhabi to provide security services to a group of Emirati businessmen who’d specifically requested his presence. He’d be gone until Saturday, which should give Zandra enough time to come up with a rational excuse for not setting him up with one of her escorts.
Lena continued, “Roderick wants to share the good news with everyone else at the same time, so we’re taking the family out to dinner this evening. I can’t wait to see their faces, especially my Poppa, Roderick’s mom and Grandma Eleanor.”
Zandra grinned broadly. “They won’t be able to contain themselves.”
“I know,” Lena said with a chuckle. “Every time they mentioned our future children while we were in St. Lucia, I just smiled to myself and kept quiet.” She sighed, gazing out the window at the glistening skyscrapers that bracketed the downtown skyline. “I’m so happy, Zandra. So ridiculously happy. It seems surreal considering the way Roderick and I came together. I know some people would have called me crazy for agreeing to his indecent proposal. Hell, some might have even called me a whore—”
“Stop right there.” Zandra reached across the table, covering Lena’s hand with her own. “I don’t like that word, and I have no tolerance for anyone who uses it to denigrate others. Especially when the name-calling is done by women. You and Roderick are absolutely perfect for each other. Anyone who’d have a problem with your relationship can go fuck themselves—which they’d probably be too uptight to do anyway.”
Lena laughed, shaking her head at Zandra. “You are a mess.”
“Just sayin’.”
Lena smiled, gently squeezing her hand. “I owe you everything for introducing me to Roderick. If you hadn’t set me up on a date with him, we never would have met. How can I ever repay you?”
“Well,” Zandra said, drawing out the word, “since you were one of my top escorts, you can help me find someone just as great to replace you.”
They both laughed.
Moments later the waiter returned with their meals. He set the plates on the table with an elegant flourish, topped off their sparkling water and asked them if they needed anything else before he glided away.
As they dug into their salads, Lena asked casually, “So what’s going on between you and Remy?”
Heat washed over Zandra’s face. She speared a cherry tomato with her fork, then took her time chewing and swallowing it. “What do you mean?”
Lena gave her an amused look. “I think you know what I mean. Something happened between you two in St. Lucia.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Oh, come on, Zandra. It was so obvious from the way you and Remy were dirty dancing on the beach—which, by the way, was totally hot. The next morning you guys were the last to arrive for breakfast, and then you went out of your way to pretend he didn’t exist for the rest of the trip.” Lena’s eyes glimmered. “Did you think no one noticed? We all did, and we all speculated about it.”
Zandra flushed uncomfortably.
“So what happened?” Lena persisted. “Did you and Remy sleep together?”
Zandra hesitated another moment, then heaved a resigned breath and mumbled, “Let’s just say we did everything but sleep.”
Lena laughed. “I knew it!”
> Zandra’s cheeks burned hotter at the memory of Remy’s stamina-defying lovemaking in St. Lucia and at her apartment. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Why?”
Zandra shook her head. “Even if I were interested in a relationship—which I’m not—Remy is the last man I’d choose to become involved with. I know him too well, yet I don’t know him at all, if that makes any sense.”
“Hmm.” Lena pursed her lips. “Could you elaborate?”
Zandra sighed, picking at her salad. “Ever since he was discharged from the navy, he’s been different. Secretive. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no Pollyanna who’s naive about the realities of war. Remy was a SEAL, so I know he must have seen and done things over the years that’d give most people nightmares. But I can only speculate, because he’s never told me very much.”
“For what it’s worth,” Lena said quietly, “I think Roderick is the only one who knows the full story behind Remy’s discharge.”
“I know, and I’m not saying that I expect Remy to confide in me. But that part of him that he keeps locked away...” Zandra trailed off, grimly reflecting on her own demons and the emotional battle scars she bore. “He’s too intense and unpredictable. We’d consume each other if we ever became involved.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I do.” Zandra frowned. “Besides, if he really wants to have a relationship with me, he sure has a funny way of showing it.”
“What do you mean?” Lena asked, deftly picking up a piece of salmon sushi with her chopsticks and popping it into her mouth.
Zandra’s frown deepened. “Before he left for Abu Dhabi, he asked me to set him up with one of my escorts.”
Lena stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“Very.” Zandra stabbed at a green bean. “I couldn’t believe it. He’s never shown the slightest bit of interest in dating any of my girls. Why now?”
Lena smiled. “Maybe he’s trying to make you jealous.”
Zandra snorted. “As if.”
An intuitive gleam entered Lena’s eyes. “So you’re not jealous?”
“Of course not. Remington Brand is a grown man, and I’m a businesswoman. If he wants to go out with one of my escorts and he can afford to pay for the pleasure of her company, who am I to stop him? Am I baffled by his sudden interest in my girls? Of course. But am I jealous? Hell, no.”
“Well,” Lena drawled, “that poor legume on your plate might beg to differ.”
Following the direction of Lena’s amused gaze, Zandra saw that she’d totally pulverized the green bean with her fork. As an embarrassed flush crawled up her neck and spread across her face, Lena grinned knowingly.
“If that’s what you do to food when you’re not jealous...”
Zandra scowled, then reached for her glass and took a gulp of water. Needing something stronger, she signaled for the waiter. When he bustled over, she ordered a margarita, heavy on the tequila.
Lena watched her with amused sympathy. “If it bothers you this much for Remy to go out with one of the girls, why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”
“Because it doesn’t bother me,” Zandra stubbornly insisted.
Lena looked skeptical. “Doesn’t it?”
Zandra sniffed. “Not at all.”
And she knew just how to prove it.
* * *
Remy stared out the tinted passenger window of the armored vehicle transporting his clients to the secret location of their business meeting. His eyes were shaded by mirrored sunglasses as he watched the heavily trafficked streets of Abu Dhabi pass by. In deference to UAE etiquette for Westerners, he wore a dark business suit and impeccably polished loafers. The expensive cut of his jacket concealed his shoulder piece, a Sig Sauer reinforced by a KA-BAR knife hidden between his shoulder blades and a .45 strapped to an ankle holster, not to mention the MP5 machine gun stowed beneath his seat.
From the backseat of the vehicle, the Emirati businessmen spoke quietly in Arabic, their conversation peppered with fervent utterances of In’shallah, which meant “God willing.” Even if Remy hadn’t been fluent in Arabic, he would have sensed that his clients were nervous. Since forging a lucrative partnership with an American energy conglomerate, the four oil executives had received kidnapping and death threats from an underground group of highly trained religious extremists who opposed any alliance with Westerners. Not knowing whom to trust, the distraught businessmen had turned to outsiders for protection.
Remy glanced from the window when his driver suddenly swerved to avoid being clipped by an aggressive cabbie switching lanes. Swearing under his breath, Dutch ran a hand over his dreadlocks and muttered, “And I thought Chicagoans were lousy drivers.”
Remy chuckled, watching as the silver taxicab roared off down the busy street.
Just then his cell phone vibrated with an incoming text message. Keeping his gaze trained on the passing scenery, he reached inside his breast pocket and removed the phone.
His pulse thudded when he saw that the message was from Zandra.
It was brief, deliberately cryptic.
You’re all set. Sunday at 8.
A grim smile curved the edges of Remy’s mouth. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Zandra had capitulated to his demands. Without realizing it, she’d just cleared the way for him to investigate her beloved agency.
After agonizing over Keegan’s proposal, Remy had gone to Zandra’s apartment on Monday evening to warn her that she and her escorts were in the mayor’s crosshairs. But he’d gotten sidetracked when he found her with another man, and when they’d argued afterward, she’d seemed so troubled and vulnerable, he didn’t have the heart to cause her any more distress. By the time Keegan called him, he’d made his decision. Sealed his fate.
Dutch threw a glance at Remy, observing his grim expression. “Everything okay, Chief?”
“Yeah.” Tucking the phone back into his breast pocket, Remy resumed staring out the window.
Even in the peaceful emirate of Abu Dhabi, he and his entourage faced the threat of ambush and violence from heavily armed zealots.
But Remy wasn’t concerned.
This assignment would be a cakewalk compared to the unpleasant task that awaited him at home.
Chapter Nine
When Zandra first opened Elite For You Companions, a trusted mentor had advised her to keep her escorts apart to prevent them from competing with one another or comparing notes. She was told horror stories of shady escorts skimming profits and colluding to steal clients to start their own agencies.
She’d received the cautionary advice, filed it away, then formulated her own approach to dealing with her escorts. Even though they were independent contractors, she considered them employees. And as any smart employer knows, happy employees are the key to a successful and highly profitable business. From the very beginning, Zandra understood that if she treated her escorts with decency and respect, then they would be happy. Happy escorts produced satisfied clients, and satisfied clients were repeat customers.
So once a month, Zandra booked a private room at an upscale restaurant and treated her escorts to dinner. Attendance was not mandatory. She knew that the women led busy lives that had them juggling the demands of a career, college and, in two cases, single motherhood. So she never required their time beyond their availability to clients. But in the five years she’d been hosting the dinners, no one had ever canceled. The women looked forward to getting together.
Over dinner, they didn’t discuss clients or dates or anything that would breach confidentiality. It was simply an opportunity for them to unwind, become better acquainted, and draw strength and support from one another.
It was through these monthly gatherings that Zandra learned how much she had in common with the women who worked for her. Relaxed by good food and wine, they often let down their guards and opened up to one another. Secrets were shared and comm
iserated over—the sense of loss and regret after an abortion; righteous anger caused by a nasty divorce; the pain and despair suffered in an abusive relationship.
The women were ethnically and physically diverse, came from different backgrounds and ranged in age from twenty-five to forty-two. But that didn’t prevent them from being able to relate to one another, a bond strengthened by the shared experience of working as an escort.
Seven months ago, Zandra had changed the venue of their outings to a luxury day spa, where the women could be pampered with manicures and pedicures, lavish massages and sauna treatments. It seemed a fitting reward for women who made a living catering to the needs of others.
That Saturday afternoon, they sat soaking in the spa’s thermal whirlpool as they sipped champagne and luxuriated in the soothing fragrances of jasmine and lavender wafting up from the steamy water.
“I finally did it,” announced Yana, a Russian college student who’d immigrated to America two years ago in pursuit of a modeling career that never panned out.
“Did what?” the others asked.
“I finally called home and told my mother that I’m an escort.”
Everyone stared at the dark-haired young beauty. “How did she react?”
Yana grimaced. “She said she didn’t raise me to be a blyadischa.”
“Ouch. Sounds bad. What does it mean?”
Yana sighed. “Whore.”
A chorus of groans swept around the pool.
“It’s really a shame that she said that to you, Yana,” Zandra said, her voice laced with sympathy and anger. “It’s hard enough hearing that word from strangers. It has to be worse coming from your own mother.”
“It was,” Yana admitted forlornly. “She’s been asking me if I’ve found any modeling work. I was tired of lying to her, so I just decided to tell her the truth. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I never expected her to call me a whore.”
“I’m truly sorry about that, kiddo,” Zandra consoled, gently rubbing Yana’s shoulder. “She’s just concerned for your welfare. Give her time to come around and accept what you’re doing.”
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