by Clara James
I knew I should toss it aside, ignore it. I didn’t need that money. Yes, it would be nice. It would have added to my financial security, but I didn’t need it. However, yet again, a part of my brain was operating without the permission of the rest. My thumb was already typing out a reply.
‘Preston, good to hear from you. I’d be delighted to see you again and the terms are fine. I’m free any night this week.’
At that time, I had no way of knowing whether or not what I’d just done was the worst decision of my life. It certainly could be. It would be some months, before I’d know for sure.
The Escort Next Door: Escape
by
Clara James
Copyright © 2013 by Clara James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Escort Next Door: Escape
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.
This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Clara James, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Clara James prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Prologue
Julia Hayes thought she had it all; a husband she adored, three children and a beautiful home. However, she’d begun to sense that there was something wrong in her marriage and soon discovers that the ‘something’ is the multiple infidelities of her husband. She cannot bring herself to remain in the relationship, but she has a big problem: she agreed to sign a prenup that guarantees she gets almost nothing if the pair separates.
With no college education, she realizes her chances of getting enough money to support herself and three children in a short amount of time is almost impossible. And there’s yet another problem, she knows her husband, Paul, will fight her for custody of their kids. She feels that she’s backed into an inescapable corner, and that sense of desperation leads her to seek out potential ways of making significant amounts of money in the shortest possible amount of time.
Although it’s completely against her nature, she finds herself flirting with the idea of becoming an escort. She’s scared by the thought, but she also realizes there’s a frisson of excitement to the notion. Having been a ‘good girl’ all her life, and only ever having slept with the man who ultimately became her husband, the prospect of breaking free from it all is intoxicating.
So she begins to live a double-life: at home she’s Julia, the doting wife and devoted mother; while at work she’s Arianna, a woman who is whatever her clients want her to be – dominant and aggressive, or quiet and demur, or anything in between, but always irresistibly sexy.
And contrary to her expectations, she loves the job. She enjoys being the center of a man’s attention, even if only for one night. She finds it freeing to express herself sexually, and she begins to see some regular clients that she grows very fond of. Of course, the money is also rolling in fast as she gains confidence and her reputation quietly spreads.
Everything seems to be working perfectly. Until the night she meets a particularly aggressive client. The handsome, wealthy man forces her to snort a line of coke before knocking her around the expensive hotel suite and taking her roughly from behind.
The next morning, Julia realizes she’s gotten in way over her head and had been naïve about the risks she was taking. Although she hasn’t quite saved enough money to fulfill all of her plans, she figures she has enough to put down a deposit on a mortgage and, at least, make a break from her unfaithful husband and loveless marriage.
However, her conviction to get out of the business doesn’t last as long as she thought it would. Because a few days later, she receives an email from a man who offers $25,000 to spend an evening with him. She’s scared to accept, and bruises from her last job are faint but still present. However, the money is tempting and on instinct alone, she calls the man and agrees to meet him in the lobby of his apartment building.
Julia’s client, Preston, is a lawyer who is associated with a homeless children’s charity. Together, they attend a dinner and ball to raise money for the charity, and as Julia begins to get to know Preston better, she starts to find herself having a good time. But she’s shocked when the night draws to a close and Preston does not invite her into his apartment. Instead, he kisses her goodnight and asks his driver to see her back home.
A mixture of relief and rejection wars within her, until the next morning, when she receives a text message from him – he wants to see her again and is once more willing to offer $25,000 for one night of her time. A part of Julia knows she should decline, take the money she has and get out of this absurd business while she has the chance. However, another part of her is operating on autopilot and has already replied to his message, agreeing to another date.
Chapter One
Secretary
Paul had become used to my late night trips to the gym. At least, that was the excuse I gave for my disappearing act. In truth, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if I left the house without an explanation at all. In any case, telling Paul that I was going to workout on the Wednesday night Preston had asked me to meet him didn’t stir any suspicion in my husband. He wasn’t all together happy about it, though.
“So I have to babysit the kids again?” he muttered, sitting on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table and the New York Times spread out on his lap.
I was in the middle of picking up toys that had been abandoned by our three children and didn’t bother to stop. “I don’t think it’s called babysitting,” I told him as I dumped an armful of plastic blocks in the box they were supposed to call home. “I think it’s called being a father.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes but still refusing to lift them from the paper. “The point is, I’ve got to stay here?”
“You had plans?” I asked. “We could always ask your parents to take them for the night,” I suggested.
He was silent for a moment and I wondered if he had indeed had plans. Was he meeting another one of his one-night stands? Was there some young woman at his office that had caught his eye... and other parts of his anatomy? “I...err,” he shrugged, “was thinking about having a few beers with some guys from work.”
He’d never been one to socialize with the men that worked for him. A year before, I would have said he didn’t socialize with the men or women that worked for him, but, of course, I now knew that to be far from the truth. But he certainly wasn’t one for making friends with his employees; never had been. Probably because, even when he was junior member of the board, he knew that one day he would take over the company from his father. Back when I thought I knew him, I thought his reserved personality was because he found it awkward to mix business with pleasure; and that he wanted to be respected, so didn’t want to be seen in an informal light. With hindsight, I realized it was good old fashioned snobbery. Daddy owned the company, so that made him better than everyone else. It meant he could look down at the men and treat the women as if they were his personal concubines, who existed only to gratify his sexual desires.
The other me, the one who had been oblivious to his affairs, would have brought up the inconsistency of his sudden yearning to buddy up with his colleagues. However, it didn’t matter to me any more. Whatever he was really doing, didn’t concern me.
In fact, if he was going to be meeting a woman, all the better, because if Preston wanted me to stay later than I’d planned, I wouldn’t have to worry about Paul getting suspicious. No, my darling husband would be far too busy getting his own kicks.
“Okay,” I said, smiling as I bent to pick up a small race car. “I’m sure your mom would be happy to help,” I added. “Why don’t you give her a call?”
“You’re okay with that?” he asked skeptically, sliding his feet down off the glass surface of the coffee table and closing the newspaper.
“The kids staying at your parents?” I asked, my brow creasing. They’d stayed with their grandparents often, especially over the last few months. The children had fun, Paul’s folks loved to have them around and Paul’s mom, in particular, relished feeling useful. Of course, she also relished rubbing it in my face, but since the plan to leave had taken root, I was capable of handling it much better. The knowledge that it would only be for a short time longer made it easier to swallow.
“No,” he huffed. “Me going out?”
“Why should I mind?” I shrugged.
“No reason, I guess,” he muttered, not managing to look at me as he spoke.
I thought, for no more than a second, that I’d seen a glimpse of something that looked like guilt. Did he feel bad about what he’d done; what he was no doubt still doing? After a moment’s musing, I dismissed the notion. It didn’t matter whether the guilt I thought I saw was there or not, it wouldn’t change the way I felt about his betrayal. Besides, I’d done too much and gone too far for things to ever go back to the way they’d been before this whole thing began.
He didn’t say anything more. He simply nodded, as he got to his feet and grabbed the cordless phone from the arm of a chair on the opposite side of the room. I heard the beeping of the numbers he punched in as he strolled away, seeking the privacy of his office to make the call.
Part of me wanted to creep up to the door and listen; because I was certain that he was speaking to someone other than his mother. However, I didn’t have the opportunity.
“Mom, what are we having for dinner?”
Lizzie’s soft voice coming from behind me, made me jump in my skin. “Oh, jeez,” I gasped. “You startled me.”
“Sorry,” she offered, grinning.
Peering down at her, I smiled as I pressed my hand against my pounding heart. “Woo,” I puffed, exhaling. “What was it you wanted?” I wondered, realizing I hadn’t taken her question in properly.
“What’s for dinner?” she repeated, throwing an arm around my waist and hanging on me in a way she hadn’t done for a couple of years.
I slipped my arms around her, hugging her close and realizing that my little girl wasn’t so little anymore. The top of her head easily reached my chest. My eight-year-old was growing fast and she was turning into a young lady right before my eyes. “I don’t know, honey,” I soothed, squeezing her tight as though it would stop her inevitable sprint to adulthood. “What do you want?”
“Spaghetti?” she suggested hopefully, her face darting up to mine.
“All right,” I nodded, “spaghetti it is.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she cheered, releasing her hold of me and dashing headlong toward the kitchen. “I love you!” she called, excitedly. She looked a lot like her younger brother as she circled the center island, as giddy as when she was a toddler. It had been a long time since I’d seen her like that. Over recent months, she’d become much more somber and sensible. I’d wondered on more than one occasion if she knew something wasn’t right between me and Paul. Looking back, I think she must have sensed it, even if she didn’t know exactly what the problem was.
“I love you too, sweetie,” I said softly, uncaring whether she even heard me. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and your brother and sister,” I added in whispered voice. I hoped one day I’d be able to say it and have her understand that I meant it.
Much later that evening, after the kids were all tucked in bed, I returned to the living room to find Paul sitting on the couch. It was unusual for him to sit there, typically if he wanted to watch some TV, he’d do it in his office. That was his sanctuary, his cave; a place that the children never entered and I was only permitted access to bring him food or clean up.
“The other TV not working?” I asked, tipping my head to the small hallway that lead to his den.
“It’s fine,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine. That in itself was something that had become very rare. “Just thought we could sit together.”
“Okay,” I nodded, plastering a smile on my face and lowering myself into the seat by his side.
He instantly moved, shuffling along the couch until his hip was pressed against mine. I knew the moment he did so that watching TV was not what he had in mind. Since I’d found out about his affairs and begun my slightly unorthodox career, we hadn’t been intimate with each other. On a couple of occasions, he’d tried to instigate something, but predominantly he’d been detached and uninterested in me. Subtly, leaning my face towards his, I inhaled through my nose and quickly realized what was going on. Just like the other times Paul had suddenly found himself feeling amorous toward me, he’d been drinking.
Despite my best attempt to sniff his breath without being noticed, he felt me moving closer and instantly placed his hand on my outer thigh. “Hmm,” he hummed, his fingers moving a little higher. “This feels nice.”
“Yeah,” I lied, swallowing hard. I tried to force myself to relax, with the silent reminder that I acted as though I was interested in men for a living. And yet, I knew that wasn’t quite true. I hadn’t had to act with most of them – there had been an element of interest in all of them; with the exception of the crazy guy, Scott. None of my other clients had made me feel sleazy or dirty, but being touched by own husband made me feel sick to my stomach. “Umm,” I mumbled. “Maybe we shouldn’t, though.”
“Why not?” he lazily asked, his head drifting to my neck.
“You have to get up early in the morning,” I pointed out, placing my own fingers over his to stop their journey upward.
“I don’t care,” he dismissed; his hand continuing to move upward, disregarding my efforts to stop it. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve done it?” he asked, the phrase ‘done it’ reminding me of our first teenage sexual fumbling’s.
“Umm,” I replied. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s been months, baby,” he whined.
I knew it hadn’t been months since he’d had sex, and his attempt to sound like some poor sex-starved husband wasn’t doing anything to endear me to him. “Really?” I asked. “That long?” The truth was I knew exactly how long it had been since we’d last been together. It was four months, three weeks and five days. That’s how long it had been since I found the empty condom wrapper in his bag. That was how long it had been since I determined to do whatever was necessary to enable me to get out of this marriage.
His hand had worked its way between my legs and the heel of his palm was pressed tightly against the zipper of my jeans. “I want you,” he eagerly said, pushing harder.
The sharp buzz of the telephone caused us both to jump. Paul quickly recovered himself and his hand went back to a very unsexy, rough massaging of my groin. I, however, leaned over the arm of the couch and grabbed the phone that lay on the end table.
“Hello,” I greeted, bringing the phone to my ear with one hand while the other grabbed his wrist and tried to yank his fingers away from my body.
“Ohh, errr, hello,” came the nervous reply. “Is this Mrs. Hayes?” the woman asked.
“Yes, it is,” I replied. “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to your husband,” she rapidly said. “My name’s Lyra, I’m his new personal assistant.”
“Just a sec,” I said, before covering the mouthpiece and turning to Paul. “You have a new assistant?” I asked.
“What?” he said, lifting his head.
“Lyra,”
I explained. “She’s on the phone.”
His eyes widened and his hand snapped away from me as if he’d been burned. “Oh right,” he mumbled, jumping to his feet. “I’ll...err, take it in the office.” With that, he held out his open palm, waiting for me to place the phone in it.
I was left to wonder what had happened between Paul and Lyra, had he made a mistake; gotten involved with a girl who expected more than just sex? Was she threatening to tell me what had happened between them? Did she think she could convince him to leave? If the poor girl had fallen in love with him, I had nothing but sympathy for her. I gladly handed him the phone, watched him jog toward the den before switching off the TV and heading to bed. It was two hours until Paul followed me. By that time, I was faking being asleep and he made no attempt to wake me.
Chapter Two
Evening Romance
Just like our first date, Preston asked me to meet him at his luxury condo. However, this time, he made no requests about wearing a formal gown, so I dressed in a slightly more casual figure-hugging ivory colored dress. Usually when visiting a client, my go-to palette was red or black: the sexy, slutty colors. But Preston had shown himself to be very different from every one of my previous clients and I hoped he’d appreciate a slightly more subtle expression of sexiness. The dress reached my knees, it had a v neck, which wasn’t really low enough to show any cleavage, and it had capped sleeves. To sum it up in one word, it was modest. My hair was curled into soft waves and was loose, hanging a little further than my shoulders. My legs were covered in tan colored hold-ups and on my feet were a pair of open-toed, low heels that were silver.
As I walked into the lobby, I was greeted by the familiar smile of the doorman. He was once again sitting behind his desk and this time, had a novel open in front of him. “Hello, Miss,” he smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”
