Thor (Recherché #1)

by L. P. Lovell

  I pull up outside her building and press the buzzer for her apartment. There’s a crackling sound followed by a mumbled curse.

  “I’m coming!” She practically shouts and then hangs up. I stare at the intercom for a few seconds wondering if she’s going to say something else. She doesn’t.

  A few minutes later the door opens and Poppy hops through it. Damn. She’s wearing a pale blue dress that drops in a v at her chest exposing just enough cleavage for me to confidently say she’s a D cup. The material clings to her tiny waist before following the flare of her hips. Her red hair is pinned up with a small blue flower tucked behind her ear. She’s the picture of elegance until I notice that she has one shoe in her hand, the other on her foot. I raise an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes.

  “Look, if you think you could make it down two flights of stairs in these, then I salute you. Until then…” She grabs my arm, using it to steady herself as she puts the other shoe on. Then she bends over in front of me, brushing something off her leg. The material of her dress hugs her arse perfectly and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to tame my dick. I don’t get excited by women, but it’s like the second I tell myself this is one I don’t get to fuck…well then the challenge has been laid down. You always want what you can’t have, right?

  “You look good.” I say. I know women inside out and back to front. I know what makes them tick, what they like to hear, hell, I can practically get most of them off simply by talking. But this is different. Those other women know what I am. They expect for me to turn up the sex, to seduce and manipulate them in ways no one else can. That’s what they pay for. Poppy isn’t paying for it. I’m accompanying her. Nothing more. So I’m not going to tell her that dress makes me want to strip her naked and fuck her—even though it does. I’m not going to tell her that I want to know how she tastes, that I wonder how she sounds when she comes, even though I do. This is unchartered territory for me. A girl I actually want to fuck, but for once it’s not in my job description. Irony can be a real bitch.

  “You look like every woman’s fantasy.” She says sarcastically before reaching up and straightening my tie. “My sister will hate me.” A grin breaks across her face and I simply shake my head. I’ll never understand women.

  As soon as she gets in the car she fiddles with the radio until she finds some 80s station. She looks out the window, humming along to Stevie Wonder and tapping her hand on her thigh.

  I wind through the Saturday morning London traffic until we pull up outside The Ritz, where her sister is getting married. I cut the engine and there’s a beat of silence. She stares at her lap fiddling with the clasp on her clutch bag. Her shoulders tighten and she chews on her bottom lip. I can feel the tension radiating off her instantly.

  “Hey.” I reach out and pull her lip from her teeth before I can think not to. “It’s fine. We’re just here to get drunk remember.”

  Her eyes meet mine and I hold her gaze for long moments. I don’t know this girl, she doesn’t know me, but when I look in her eyes, something pulls at me, something foreign. “Okay.” She breathes.

  Getting out of the car, I pass the keys to a waiting valet and open Poppy’s door. She takes my waiting hand and allows me to help her out. I can feel her hesitation as she lingers at the bottom of the steps that lead to the front entrance.

  “Look, just so you know. I’m not exactly popular with my family.” She says in a rush.

  “Popularity is overrated.” She smiles and glances at the floor. “We’re just here to get drunk, remember?” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my side. I hear her breath hitch delicately but she makes no effort to pull away. Her body relaxes slightly, her shoulders dropping and her breathing evening out.

  “Okay. Thanks.” She says.

  This is seriously foreign territory for me. We’re almost like… normal people. I’ve done the date thing, escorted women to weddings, charity functions, parties, but I’ve never escorted a woman who didn’t know I was just that…an escort. It’s kind of fucked up.

  I keep hold of her as we cross the lobby of the hotel. People linger, some sitting on the leather couches, some standing and talking. Poppy focuses straight ahead, but I’m attuned to the attention of others. Every eye subtly shifts our way as we pass through and into the hallway. When we’re outside the room where the wedding is being held, she stops. I glance down at her but she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. People mill around outside, fussing the way people do whenever there’s a wedding.

  “Poppy!” An older woman calls to her from down the corridor. Poppy paints a fake smile on her face and turns around stiffly.

  “Mother.”

  Oh, great. All in with meet the parents.

  “That dress is very revealing.” She chastises. Wow, her version and my version of revealing are very different. “And who is this?” She turns her attention on me and I square my shoulders, flashing her a smile.

  “I’m Thor Jameson, Poppy’s date. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Whitely.” And there it is. She blushes like a Catholic school girl. She has the same red hair and hazel eyes as Poppy, but that’s where the similarities end. Where Poppy is petite but curvy, her mother is just curvy. Of course, the coral pink mother of the bride outfit probably isn’t helping her case. I pull her in for a brief hug and kiss her cheek. Poppy glares at me over her mother’s shoulder and rolls her eyes.

  “Where’s Dad?” Poppy ask.

  The mother struggles to tear her eyes away. “Uh, he’s with your sister.”

  “Great. We’ll just go and take our seats then.”

  “Yes, I have so much to do.” She blinks a couple of times and walks back the way she came.

  Poppy starts pacing right in front of the doors. Her hand is at her mouth and she’s chewing on her thumbnail.

  “Poppy.” I call her name and she looks up at me and I can see how nervous she is. “Just walk in there like you own the place.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Easy for you to say, you walk like you own everything.”

  I smile. “Then follow my lead.” I offer her my arm and she tentatively takes it.

  I walk into the room, ignoring the subtle gazes thrown our way. “So tell me, why exactly does this make you so nervous?”

  She presses tighter into my side and I can feel every perfect curve on her body. “I hate attention, and I especially hate attention from the people who I know are judging me.”

  I laugh. “People will always judge, babe. Trust me on that.” I’ve never understood people who hate attention. People only offer their attention to things they deem worth their time. Surely that’s flattery at its finest?

  She finds her name in the second row behind the wedding party. I take the seat next to her and turn my body towards her slightly, blocking her view of the rest of the room. There must be seating for at least five hundred people in here. Every chair is draped in white satin and garlands of pink flowers are hanging everywhere. If I ever had the mad inclination to get married, I’d fuck off to Vegas, do the deed and have the best party money can buy. This shit—it’s all just for show. How can anything be authentic when you’re more worried about what a room full of people you barely know think, rather than the simple fact of getting married?

  “God, I’d sell my soul for a bottle of vodka right now.” Poppy mumbles. I laugh and that slight blush creeps over her cheekbones.

  “You’re cute when you blush.” She scowls at me which only makes me laugh more and her blush harder. People around us turn in their seats and I stare back at them brazenly.

  The seats around us fill up, and I notice more curious glances directed her way. Every time someone looks at her she shrinks back into her seat more. I barely know this girl, but it pisses me off. I feel unnaturally protective of her for reasons I can’t seem to fathom even to myself. Maybe it’s just because she’s different. I mean, I’m not exactly the height of moral compass, but the women I associate with are just as bad if not worse. Poppy is…a breath of fre
sh air that, if I stop and think about it, I can’t remember ever breathing.

  A few minutes later and the groom takes his place at the front of the room. The poor fucker looks shit-scared and I don’t blame him. I’ve never understood anyone who wants to get married. Why bother? Apparently, every woman’s goal in life is to get that piece of paper and the ring on their finger, but I make a living out of fucking married women. And trust me when I say, the married ones make up ninety percent of our client base. The whole idea of marriage is such a bullshit farce. No one has any loyalty, so what’s the point? Everyone might as well just fuck everyone else and be happy. The wedding music starts and everyone turns around to watch the bridesmaids wearing hideous pink dresses enter. Isn’t the bride’s sister supposed to be a bridesmaid? I ignore everyone else and focus on the groom, waiting for that moment of horror to cross his features as he realises that he’s about to sentence himself to a life of Friday night sex and constant nagging. I can tell the exact moment she enters the room though, because he smiles, a genuine smile as if her simple presence just made his world a little better. My mind can’t comprehend it, but then I never have been able to grasp the concept of love, of needing another person like that.

  Poppy’s sister makes her way up the aisle and women start dabbing at tears. It’s enough to make me roll my eyes, but I restrain myself.

  “We are gathered here today…” I zone out completely. God, this shit is so dragged out.

  When it’s over, everyone stands and claps as the bride and groom make their way out of the room.

  “What now?” I ask over the applause.

  “Now I have to go and acknowledge my sister.” She says unenthusiastically. “Come on.” I follow her down the aisle and outside the room. Down the hall is another room where apparently the reception is being held. Violet and her husband, Matthew, are standing just inside the doors to the room, being congratulated by friends and family. I feel Poppy tense up and watch as she takes a deep breath before stepping towards her sister. The moment Violet’s eyes land on her sister her smile fades just a little. She drags her gaze over the length of Poppy’s small frame, sneering at her.

  “Poppy, how nice of you to come.” The girl couldn’t be any faker if she tried.

  “Yes, well, even I wouldn’t miss your big day.” She replies acerbically. Violet's attention shifts to me, standing off to the side of Poppy. The second she looks at me I can see the want in her eyes. Ten grand says that in a few years’ time she’ll be on Recherchés client list. Poppy follows her sisters gaze to me and a smug smile pulls at her lips. “Oh, how rude of me. This is my date, Thor.”

  She holds her hand out to me and I shake it. It’s at that moment when the husband finishes talking to whoever it was he was talking to and focuses back on his wife. I pry my hand from hers and wrap an arm around Poppy’s waist.

  “Hi, I’m Matthew.” He holds his hand out to Poppy and I raise my eyebrows. Poppy’s never even met the groom. Well, this is awkward. The dude looks like an accountant, skinny, with glasses and thinning mousy brown hair.

  “I’m Poppy. Violet's sister.” He frowns. Yeah, super awkward.

  “Thor.” I introduce myself, trying to break up the tension.

  He chuckles. “Oh well, you do look rather godly.” He slaps my arm, and I’m honestly not sure what I’m supposed to do with that.

  “Uh, congratulations.” I offer, and then we’re walking away.

  Poppy blows out a long breath. “You look rather godly. Jesus.”

  I laugh. “Hey, I didn’t say it.”

  She shakes her head. “I need the bar.” I’m not going to lie, I was expecting more of a showdown. I’m kind of disappointed, but then it’s still early, we have at least another eight hours.

  A couple of guys linger at the bar, casting glances Poppy’s way. There are a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t give a shit, the fact that I don’t know her, and that she’s a job being at the top of the list. And yet I find myself getting annoyed and shifting my body between them and her, blocking their view.

  The barman approaches her and she orders six tequila shots.

  “I feel obliged to make you aware of the fact that it’s three in the afternoon.” I tap my watch.

  She releases a heavy breath. “It’s six o’ clock somewhere.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “This is true.”

  “And you vowed to get drunk with me, so suck it up, princess.” She tells me. I smile. I’m used to champagne sipping women who are all about their appearances. Poppy doesn’t give a shit. If she wants to neck tequila in the middle of the afternoon she will. I like it.

  The barman places the shot glasses on the bar, each one with a lemon slice rested atop the glass. Poppy picks one up and throws it straight back, wincing as she swallows.

  “Come on.” She waves her hand at me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware this was a frat party.”

  She taps a silver painted finger nail on the bar top. “Drink.”

  “As you wish…” I pick up one of the shots and down it. It’s disgusting. I can’t remember the last time I had a tequila shot. Maybe when I was eighteen. I was right, I should have sent Kaden for this. Kid might stand a chance of keeping up with her. Damn.

  She downs the next two, so I throw the shots back and order a beer. This is going to go downhill fast, but I did promise her I’d get drunk with her. Like I said, I’m all about client satisfaction. I pick up the beer from the bar and turn around, coming to an abrupt halt. A few feet away from me is April Harley. She’s standing next to an older guy, with silver grey hair and a gut that’s threatening to pop a button or two. Her husband I would guess. I should have known she might be here, she’s one of those women whose sole focus is her ever growing social standing. Her eyes move to Poppy beside me and I can practically see the hatred on her face.

  I lower my lips to Poppy’s ear. “I have to step out for a second. I’ll be back.” She nods and I slip away from her, making my way out of the room. There’s a sign for a smoking area and I follow it until I’m standing on a balcony at the rear of the hotel. I take a cigar from the inside pocket of my jacket and place it between my lips. The smell of tobacco hits me. I don’t smoke regularly, but I’m partial to a cigar, usually when I’m stressed. This is a pretty stressful moment right here. I light the cigar and inhale the thick smoke, allowing to fill my lungs completely. As predicted, a few minutes later the door to the balcony opens.

  “Are you mocking me?” April's voice is shrill and demanding.

  I laugh. “I’m working, April.”

  Her heels click over the floor before she grabs my arm and tries to force me to look at her. I straighten and tip my head back, taking another long drag on the cigar. “Why would you do this to me? You come here with her.” She spits the last word and I narrow my eyes at her.

  I straighten to my full height and she backs away as I tower over her. “April, I owe you nothing but the time you pay for. Remember that. If that upset’s you then I suggest we terminate our arrangement.”

  Her eyes go wide and I can see the hint of panic on her face. “No! No, it’s…I was just shocked. Are you…Will you fuck her?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Client confidentiality.” If the woman wasn’t paying so much fucking money, I’d drop her like the crazy bitch she is. I take one long drag on the cigar and put it out on the stone balcony ledge. “Have a good evening, Mrs Farley.” I turn away from her and go back inside.

  Eleven years. I’ve managed to go eleven years with a strict set of rules. Of course once or twice I’ve been with a client and bumped into another client. But I’ve never had one quite so obsessive and possessive as April. Of all the people to run into… A few years back though, I would have cut her lose and replaced her. I’ve got lazy, wanting to make the same money I made out of fifteen clients a week, seeing only four. I also never would have agreed to come to a wedding with a girl who doesn’t even know she’s a client. Shit. I’m getting old and losing my
touch.

  When I get back into the reception, Poppy is sitting at a table, talking to an old woman. Her zimmer frame rests next to her. The woman says something to her and she laughs, the tinkling sound making its way across the room to me as I approach.

  “Oh, you’re back. Thor this is my great aunt June. June, this is Thor.” She eyes me up and down before clutching Poppy’s arm.

  “A man like him will give an old woman a heart attack.” She fans herself dramatically and Poppy smiles, turning her gaze to me.

  “Aunt June’s invite got lost in the post so she thought she’d crash.”

  I take a seat next to Poppy. “Rebellious. I like it.”

  “Someone has to be in this family. Anyway, I need a Sherry and then I’m going to go wind up my sister. Her husband always did have a thing for me.”

  “Oh my god.” Poppy snorts, shaking her head.

  I get up and help June with her zimmer frame because the woman looks like a stiff wind might blow her over. “Thank you.” She eyes me up and down with a glimmer in her eye. “Oh, if I were twenty years younger.” She totters off, and Poppy bursts out laughing.

  “Just so you know, she’s eighty-five.”

  I shrug. “I’ve been known to like an older woman.”

  “Well, if wrinkles are your thing.” She smirks and picks up her glass of champagne, taking a sip.

  “Surgery works wonders nowadays.”

  She slaps my arm. “Gross.”

  I chuckle. “So, is she the only member of your family you like?”

  “She’s the only one I really talk to. My mother fully blames her for my corruption of course.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink.