The Escort

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Carol,” I said, “would you care to join me in getting a hot dog?”

  “Depends on who’s asking,” she snapped. “Real Nathan? Or this shiny new Mr. Smooth persona you’ve—”

  “Carol?” Ella asked, “Aren’t you excited about Nathan’s new job?”

  “No, not really. Why don’t you ask him for details?”

  “Great idea,” Liam said. “I’d love hearing more.”

  That’s it. I grabbed Carol by her upper arm, steering her toward the rose-garden gazebo that had been decked out in pink fairy lights.

  “Later, guys,” I said with a backhanded wave to the happy couple.

  Carol wrenched her arm free. “What the hell?”

  “Funny, I’m asking myself the same about you. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are—which is why I can’t stand seeing you like this.” We’d reached the gazebo and she sat hard on a flowery pink-and-white-striped cushion to appraise me. “You’re a caricature—a cross between Rico Suave and Richard Gere. What happened to Nathan? The guy who helped me demolish a bottle of twist-cap wine?”

  “Seriously?” I paced to control the anger balled in my chest. “That guy? Remember how he couldn’t afford to take you out for a decent dinner, so he sent you packing? You may not approve of my new venture, but I don’t recall asking your opinion. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Because I’ve got a bad feeling about what you’re doing. Some woman you’ve only known, what?—a couple of weeks?—is throwing big money at you, and you think that’s all right?”

  I hardened my jaw. “Okay, let’s turn this around. What happened to the girl in you, Carol? Remember her? The one you told me worked at Arby’s? How is my situation any different from when Liam plucked you from fast food, showering you in, fuck—I don’t know—jewels and furs and shit? Weren’t you essentially a high-priced call girl?”

  “Bastard!” She stood to slap me, but I caught her wrist, kissing the sensitive hollow where her pulse raced just beneath her skin.

  “Maybe it’s not so much my new job you don’t like, but the fact that you’ll have to share me?”

  “Share you?” She laughed. “I don’t even want you.”

  “Liar…” I dragged her closer, nudging open the neckline of her wispy yellow blouse to nuzzle the base of her throat.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” She groaned when I moved my attentions lower.

  “But I want to…” I eased her down from the gazebo and into thick foliage’s deep shadow.

  “Do you always get everything you want?”

  “Not even close, but I’m working on it.” Her orange blossoms drove me wild. I couldn’t get enough. Between the lush swells of her breasts, I found the epicenter of the sweet scent. My mind’s eye imagined her dressing for tonight, emerging from the shower, gliding a soft towel over her legs and arms, abdomen and breasts, only to then mist herself with this exotic perfume.

  “W-we can’t do this here…”

  “Who said we were doing anything?” I tugged her blouse from her white miniskirt, granting my roving hand access to her already puckered nipples.

  “We’re not.” Hands to my chest, she launched a half-assed attempt to push me away, but ended up fisting my shirt and pulling me closer for an angry kiss. I liked it.

  It was a dark night with barely a sliver of moon, but I hefted her over my shoulder, ignoring her pummels and clawing at my shirt to land a light smack on her now bared ass. “Behave.”

  “You’re a bastard!”

  “Language,” I said with a laugh. “There are children present.”

  “Screw you!”

  “You’re about to.” I’d been in Ella’s backyard only once, but I distinctly remembered the object I’d almost reached—a wide-seated wooden swing, suspended from a towering redwood. The tree had been there before the house, town or even state. Who knew the things it had seen—or what it was about to…

  The last few yards, I thumbed her clit—loving the convenience of yet again finding her having gone commando.

  “Oh…” She said on the heels of a groan, no longer hitting me, but back to fisting my shirt.

  “Exactly…”

  Before letting her glimpse the ride we were about to share, I paused to single-handedly take my wallet from my back pocket, then tuck it under my chin to find a condom. From there, I tossed my wallet to the grass before tearing at my fly and rolling on protection.

  I backed onto the swing, glad it hung low enough for me to plant my feet solidly on the ground before lowering Carol and helping her into position.

  “Nathan, no. This isn’t going to work.”

  “Trust me.”

  “You’re crazy…”

  “You love it…”

  “No…”

  I eased her down, down until she’d twined her arms around my neck for support and then planted herself square atop my aching package. Eyes closed, now, it was my turn to groan. “Fuck, you feel good…”

  “Likewise…”

  “Wanna go for a ride?”

  Killing me with a sexy half-smile, she drew her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded.

  “Hold on.” After checking her grip, I clamped my palms around the swing’s rope, then worked my feet backward until we were high enough to glide. The back-and-forth momentum drove me deeper, and she bit my shoulder—I suspected to keep from crying out.

  “Like—Ohmygod…Oh…Why aren’t we doing this every night?”

  “I’m down…” I took us higher, and had to suck in air just to maintain composure. I was no saint, but never had I experienced anything quite like this—and it wasn’t just the act itself, but the girl. Who else would have agreed to go along for this ride?

  Higher.

  Faster.

  Deeper.

  Harder.

  Far across the estate’s vast grounds, the carnival roared on—only from a distance, the music and laughter took on a different meaning and tone, transporting me to my rowdy teen years. The party’s sounds were no longer annoying, but uplifting, telling me anything is possible—even flying with a pretty girl.

  The sheer act of holding on was akin to being cuffed. I wanted to touch her, cup the back of her head and press her lips closer, but to keep up momentum, I couldn’t. Building frustration and pressure boiled and churned inside me until release finally struck us both swift and hard, and I wasn’t quite sure what had happened. I mean—duh. Of course, physically, I got it, but…

  “Holy shit.” I allowed the swing to slow. Once my feet found purchase, I dropped suddenly aching arms to tuck her into the embrace I’d earlier craved.

  “Yeah…” In the darkness, I felt her smile against my lips.

  I rested my forehead against hers. “I meant what I said earlier—you are beautiful.”

  “Wish I believed you. How do I know Real Nathan thinks that, and not the trained lothario your boss expects you to become? How do I know any of what just happened was real?”

  “Stop.” I framed her face with my hands, brushing her full lower lip with the pads of my thumbs. “If I say it, I mean it. And not for a second do I believe you need a man telling you to know you’re beautiful.”

  “…True.”

  “Damn straight.” I added, “Sorry about the call girl comment.”

  She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have stung if it wasn’t a little true.”

  “Still…”

  “I like you, Nathan. I want you to succeed. But since I’m living proof that taking the fast track to success leaves scars, I…”

  “I get it.” With my hand beneath her chin, I urged her gaze to meet mine. “I’m walking into this with eyes wide open, okay? Thank you for your concern, but I’ve got this.”

  Her pressed lips said she still wasn’t sure, but considering what we’d just shared, the whole issue was starting to be a bore. For the first time in my adult life, I had more than fifty bucks in my pocket, I wasn’t working double shifts at a grocery store just to
make ends meet, and I had a gorgeous girl willing to sneak off with me and do dirty things in dark corners. I wanted to celebrate my newfound success—not feel mired in it.

  “Where do we go from here?” Her voice sounded small against the night.

  I kissed her again. “Anywhere we want.”

  “What about Ella and Liam? You do realize our attraction is based purely on the psychology behind rebound/revenge sex? Which is especially stupid, considering the whole reason either of us were even invited to this party was Ella’s attempt at matchmaking.”

  “Does it matter? Can’t we just have fun?”

  She kissed me. “I like fun.”

  “Okay, well, so do I. Let’s duck into the potter’s shed—which is really more like a spa—to make sure we don’t scare any small children by showing up looking like we just had crazy-ass swing sex, then grab a couple of hot dogs and cotton candy. I’m starving.”

  —

  “Focus.” Uma snapped to get my attention. “Use utensils from the outside in.”

  “Sure. Sorry.” I should have been paying attention to my etiquette lesson, but I couldn’t get my mind off Carol. It had been two days since our crazy-ass swing sex and I craved more. Only I couldn’t quite figure out how to get past Ella and Liam’s security team to once again make use of their swing.

  One of the half-dozen suit-wearing thugs serving as Uma’s security stood at the dining room’s entry. I gave him a bro-nod, but all I got in return was a hard glare, so I returned my attention to my studies.

  “What’s this?” Uma held up a midget wine goblet.

  “Sherry glass.”

  “Right. This?” She took the spoon that had been positioned over my plate.

  “For dessert.” I pushed back my seat at her dining room’s table. It sat twenty—thirty with the leaves in. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I take five?”

  “Take fifteen. I need to make a few calls. Oh—and when you finish a course, be sure to place your knife and fork with the handles parallel with the bases in the four-o-clock position, and the tines, blade or bowl in the eleven-o-clock position, well within the plate’s well. This signals the server that you’ve finished your course. When I get back, we’ll go over Continental versus American-style utensil grips. Depending on the client, you’ll want to be able to switch.”

  Joy. This shit bored the hell out of me, but I got the fact that it was a necessary evil.

  A million years ago, right before my senior prom, Mom taught me a lot of this stuff. She’d thought it was important for me to make a good impression when taking my date, Violet Halsey, to the Rose Springs Sizzler. I told Mom the Sizzler had only one size fork and spoon. She’d reminded me that they did have separate butter and steak knives, and that if I wanted Violet to know I wasn’t raised in a barn, I’d better use the right knife at the right time. That was always important to Mom—that people knew I wasn’t raised in a barn. She’d get a kick out of me finally learning legit classy manners.

  What would Carol think?

  I couldn’t explain why, but her opinion mattered. Her jabs at my job hurt. I’d known she was opinionated, but her disapproval of my new position caught me off guard.

  With Uma’s voice a distant echo, and her watchdog out of sight, I set off in search of a bathroom. She’d told me the hundred-year-old Nob Hill mansion had once been owned by a publishing tycoon who’d built the massive Victorian for his wife. She’d died giving birth to twin girls who’d grown to be Hollywood royals. Mary and Mercy Montrose launched their careers acting, but finished behind the scenes—both single, directing and producing until they died at age fifty, one week apart. Mary died from pneumonia and Mercy reportedly from a broken heart.

  When Uma told me their story, it reminded me that I could go through this personal transformation to better myself, but what was the point if I ended up alone? I hardly knew Carol, but something about her felt right—as if I’d known her far longer than I actually had, which only fed into the whole rebound thing. We shared a common bond, and that connection heightened the intensity of our every interaction. Since she was close to Liam and Liam had won Ella, I guess a part of me still felt connected to Ella every time I was with Carol—only that was twisted. How did I separate the two from the emotional battle raging in my chest?

  The clip of Uma’s heels announced her return. “Ready to move on?”

  I raked my fingers through my hair. “When do I get to put all of this info to good use?”

  “Patience, my pet. One must learn to crawl before one can walk—let alone run a marathon.”

  Speaking of pets, the security guy reappeared as mysteriously as he’d vanished.

  “Come. We’ll spend the afternoon discussing wine.”

  “What’s to discuss? Red or white. Cork or screw-top.”

  She’d passed me on the way to the dining room, but now snapped around to face me. “I’m going to pretend those ridiculous words didn’t just fall from your handsome lips. There are people who spend a lifetime studying the intricacies of wine, and have palates so refined they’re able to distinguish the regions the grapes were harvested from. For you to make light of this topic is—” She got all huffy and a little red-faced. “Well, it’s unacceptable. And in case you thought I hadn’t noticed, your glazed expression during your table etiquette lesson was also intolerable. I’ve given you a small fortune between your new residence, car and clothes. I would think the least you could do for me in return is show respect for the gifts I’m trying to drill into your apparently thick head.”

  Fuck. I seriously didn’t need Uma going off on me. But to be fair, she made a valid point about how much I’d been paid for my services. I’d suck up her lame wine lessons, then get the hell out of here, hopefully to see Carol.

  At a quarter past five, Uma was still rambling. “Always serve champagne in a flute—it confines the bubbles and concentrates the aroma. One way to tell if a host or hostess is getting cheap on you is to look at the bubbles. The smaller they are, the higher the quality.” She finally stopped for air. “I’ve got to run a quick errand. Study this.” She handed me a black leather-bound folder that was a good half-inch thick. “When I get back, there will be a test.”

  I flipped through, only to find page after page discussing grapes—varieties, regions in which they’re grown and sugar content. FML.

  I tossed the folder to the table, then pushed back my chair to rise and stretch.

  Should I call Carol or text? Because we’d gotten our friendship backward by having crazy-hot sex before otherwise getting to know each other, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Some girls loved talking on the phone—others, not so much. I didn’t want to offend her. On the flip side, I wanted to see her and didn’t care what method was used to accomplish the goal.

  Fuck it. I called.

  She didn’t answer.

  Convinced Uma’s goon squad had this whole freakin’ place bugged, I half-whispered to Carol’s voicemail, “Hey. I wanna—want, sorry—to see you.” Uma had been dogging my ass all day about enunciation. “Call me back.”

  When Carol didn’t call or text by the time Uma returned, I was pissed. I know—not cool, but that whole swing thing had inspired passion. I mean, holy shit. Couldn’t she feel it, too? Wasn’t she feeling a do-over was in order? Hell, at the very least, we could try out our moves in a bed.

  Uma droned on.

  I pretended really hard to be interested, but when she took another call, I fished that Great Ideas Wanted ad from my wallet then fired off an email about an app that detected spy bugs. And then I texted Carol again.

  Chapter 10

  Carol

  “Need to get that?” Liam asked.

  “No.” Yes. Instead, I opted to hit DECLINE. What had Nathan wanted? Just to chat? Make plans to see me again? Once we’d exited the cocoon of the party’s shadowy fringe, we’d both slipped into our polite public personas. There hadn’t been a chance to talk alone, and the valet service had our cars parked in different l
ots, so the timing was off for us to even leave together—not that he’d intimated he wanted to.

  Liam and I sat in a pool of late afternoon sunshine at his office conference table while pouring over the hundreds of “Great Ideas” he insisted upon checking out personally each week. For years, I’d told him to first have them vetted, but he refused on the off-chance he might miss something. The company had grown into such a behemoth that this was one hands-on task that made him feel connected to the once small seed of an idea he and Owen had grown. For years, he’d had me place small ads in not just the local papers, but around the world. A surprising amount of talent had been found from them, but I still say a man as busy as Liam had no business personally checking all responses.

  From down the hall came a vacuum’s drone. I clamped my hand to my forehead to ward off a headache.

  “Who was it? On the phone?”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Since when are my personal calls your business?”

  “Since Ella told me you and her little friend have been canoodling. I don’t like that kid. He’s not good enough for you.”

  “FYI—that ‘little’ friend is taller and more ripped than you, and I happen to like him very much.” Once I worked past the rush of learning Liam cared who I saw, I was outraged all over again.

  “Point of fact.” Liam set his tablet aside to lean toward me. “You’re like a sister to me.” Ouch. “Out of respect for my wife, I’m friendly to Nathan, but I want someone more like Owen for you.”

  “Owen?” If I’d been drinking a Diet Coke, I would have spewed it. Owen was Liam’s best friend and old college roomie. They’d founded Zoogle together and he was now married with five kids—maybe even six! I couldn’t keep track. In the years I’d known him, he’d grown a little paunch, lost a little hair and fallen more in love with his wife than ever. He was also boring. I couldn’t imagine him ever having sex in a swing—let alone getting me off on the way to said swing! “He’s a teddy bear. I’m more in the market for a grizzly.”

  Liam shook his head. “I suppose that was him who called—Nathan?”