The Escort

by Laura Marie Altom

  After dumping the spinach on the eggs, then drowning both in a mountain of cheese, I realized I probably should have cooked the spinach first, but since it was already too late, I folded the egg over the top and called the omelet done. Note to self—it had probably already been invented, but it would be cool to have a recipe generator. The user could type in available ingredients, then the app would generate what dishes could be created.

  Damn, that was a good idea. Before I forgot, I sent it to the Great Ideas address.

  Finished, I cut the omelet in half and put each part on white plates that were china, but resembled old-school paper. They looked expensive, so I was extra careful when setting them on the counter. Before my new job, Carol’s place with its expansive view would have intimidated me, but now, my place was every bit as awesome.

  Since her fake bread was nasty, I skipped toast, but added grapes, raspberries and blueberries. Satisfied with the meal, I took forks, napkins and our plates to the bedroom, and set her share on her nightstand before carrying mine into bed.

  “Wake up, Miss Bossypants.” I grabbed a chunk of her long hair, tickling it over the tip of her perfect pert nose.

  She groaned. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven, and I have to shower and be at work by eight.”

  Creaking open one eye, she said, “Male escorts keep real hours?”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” I forked a bite of omelet and chewed. The spinach was still a little crunchy and the whole thing needed butter.

  “You can pretend all you want, but I’m entitled to my opinion. Thanks for breakfast. I’m starving.” She pushed herself up in the bed to take her first bite and smiled. “Delicious.”

  “Thanks.” I wanted to hold on to the instant anger she’d raised with her rise-and-shine nagging, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had breakfast with a naked woman, and with the morning sun glowing on her breasts, instant wood had me struggling to care that I’d ever been pissed. Part of me wanted to just tell her I’d quit the whole escort thing under the rationalization of what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, but would it be wise to start whatever it was we shared with a lie? Probably not.

  She leaned in for a kiss, and I had to grab my aching cock. “I smell coffee. Did you make it or is it the neighbors?”

  “Look what you did,” I complained, pointing to the tent she’d raised beneath the sheets. “For the record, I made the coffee, but how can you want caffeine during a crisis like this?”

  She popped a raspberry between her plump lips. “You’ve raised a valid point.”

  She set her plate back on her nightstand, then opened the top drawer. Out came my favorite kind of little foil package. Yahtzee.

  With me still eating my meal, she drew down the sheet, put the condom on my flagpole, then went for a ride. “Sweet, holy mother of all things good in this world.” I closed my eyes and set my plate on her empty pillow. Marry me? Have my babies? Promise me eggs, bacon and a breakfast screw every day for the rest of our lives?

  —

  “You’re late.”

  “Sorry,” I said to Uma. I shut her front door. The damn thing was heavy, with lots of stained glass and wrought-iron gargoyles. It gave me the creeps.

  Kinda like the suit-wearing security goon watching from the gallery above.

  “You’ve just had sex. I smell it on you.”

  I sniffed my underarms. “The hell you can. I had a shower.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean literally. You’re wearing yesterday’s suit and your hair’s a mess. I’ve spent a small fortune preparing you for your entry into society and would appreciate you being impeccably groomed at all times. Do you understand?”

  I understand I’m getting sick of your attitude. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go home, change, and get some sleep. Your eyes are as red as a couple of maraschino cherries and I find nothing more unattractive or tacky. Be back here by two. If this happens again you’re done, and I’ll send you my bill.”

  —

  By eleven that night, the happy bubble I’d floated in after my hot morning with Carol had burst, and for the first time since taking the job that I’d believed would solve my every problem, I doubted my decision.

  The more I was with Uma, the more my stomach churned. The more she reminded me of a Bond villainess.

  Finally done for the night, I slapped the bill she’d presented me with on my way out of her mansion on my penthouse’s kitchen island. She’d itemized every dime she’d spent, right down to the last time I’d put gas in my Bentley. She’d organized everything into neat columns, the totals of which I rounded to get a quick picture of just how bad I was indebted.

  Clothes—10k

  Hair and personal hygiene—2k

  Housing—10k/month

  Auto lease—3k/month

  Cash and incidentals—2k

  Food service—1k/month

  Utilities—1k/month

  Housekeeping—2k/month

  Security—3k/month

  Uma had told me profits would be split fifty/fifty, so did all the monthly charges come out of my percentage or hers? If it was mine, I’d be collecting social security before paying her off.

  Uma had told me to start taking my education more seriously, and we wouldn’t have a problem. She’d said that as soon as I started seeing clients, my income would more than balance out against expenses. She’d told me not to worry, that I was her new favorite toy, that once she finished polishing my rough edges, I’d be her best new boy. Only I wasn’t a fucking boy—more like a man-sized idiot. As much as it pained me to admit, Carol had been right.

  I was in over my head, but at this point, I had to at least see a few clients in order to recoup the thirty thousand I already owed. After that, I’d get out.

  I’d hopefully have pocket change to hold me over until I regrouped. Problem solved.

  All day, I couldn’t wait to see Carol, to hold her again, just breathing in her orange blossom scent. But now I felt tired and defeated and like the giant sack of shit she no doubt thought I was. And that hurt. I can’t believe I’d risen so high only to so quickly fall.

  I looked at the last text Carol had sent:

  Come over. I don’t care how late. Left key card for you at security desk.

  How did I feel about that? The fact that Carol now trusted me to this degree, yet we hardly knew each other? The two of us were moving as fast as my new career with Uma. As much as I’d thought I was ready to plunge headfirst into something special with Carol this morning, I now knew I wasn’t.

  This mess with Uma scared me. Was she dangerous? She’d never said what would happen if she didn’t get her money. The last thing I wanted was to get Carol mixed up in a mob-style shakedown. Fuck…

  I rubbed the knot in my neck, then dove into the ridiculously well-stocked fridge for what was no doubt a ten-dollar beer. The kitchen was all shiny granite and stainless steel juxtaposed with historic-feeling cherry cabinets that fit the penthouse’s museum vibe. There were lots of pricey rugs stretched across wood floors glossy enough to see my reflection. Thick-padded chairs and sofas had been arranged in tight conversational areas that took advantage of the fortieth-floor view. A month ago, I never would have believed this could happen to me.

  Now that I had it, I no longer wanted it.

  This showy place wasn’t me. But for that matter, neither was Carol’s sleek modern condo.

  The irony of this whole thing was that I’d once refused to let Carol pay for a fucking dinner, but now, Uma kept me in the kind of luxury I doubted even Carol could afford. The real kicker was that all of this fancy shit didn’t come at the mere price of my pride, but a helluva lot more. I was a fool. I should have walked away that first day Carol told me to go. Now, I was in so deep I’d still be paying Uma at sixty-five.

  I felt most at home in a shitty apartment or trailer. Maybe if I just packed what was left of my real clothes, I could ditch Uma and he
ad home? Surely she wasn’t powerful enough to nab me all the way back in Arkansas. Even if she did, I had friends who would be more than willing to help me lay low. But to what end? If I chose that route, then what was the point of any of this? I’d never pictured myself as the kind of guy willing to run home with his tail tucked between his legs.

  Moreover, what would I do about Carol? Sure, we weren’t anything even close to official, but that didn’t mean I don’t care. Holding her in the shower while she cried made me feel vested. I couldn’t just leave her—I didn’t want to leave her.

  But hell, I didn’t know what I wanted.

  I finished my beer, then dumped the bottle in my fancy new pull-out recycling bin that a housekeeper I’d never even met would at some point the next day empty. I grabbed three more beers, then wandered through the cavernous space, looking for something to do. I was too keyed up to sleep, so I found a mammoth TV in a game room and put on college football highlights that held my interest for about 2.5 seconds.

  On my feet and pacing, wishing the beer had given me at least a little buzz, I wandered up to a telescope and squinted through the eyehole. It was trained on the high-rise office building across from me. I scanned it for signs of life, but only found a janitor busting his Dirty Dancing moves with a vacuum.

  The next building over, I saw a woman in her bra and PJ bottoms working a jigsaw puzzle at her kitchen table. A few windows down, a couple shared a pizza in front of a Transformers movie—couldn’t tell which one. I moved from tower to tower, refocusing with each changed distance. When I realized I could see Carol’s building, I searched for her unit and found her asleep.

  The TV was on, casting her face in a warm glow.

  For the longest time, I drank her in. And then I got creeped out, thinking that any perv with a telescope could do the same. Why wasn’t I with her? After closing her curtains, I honestly wanted nothing more than to hold her till my morning alarm went off and killed the snoozy mood.

  Fuck it. I grabbed the clothes I’d need for the next day, then set off in today’s rumpled suit to have the doorman call a cab. I might be too buzzed to drive, but I was sober enough to realize Carol was way more satisfying than even the best imported beer.

  Chapter 12

  Carol

  I don’t know what time Nathan slipped into my bed, but waking to find myself serving as his little spoon made me smile. Too bad the second my thoughts strayed to wondering why he’d been so late, my stomach churned. Had he been with another woman?

  I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

  Last night, I’d told myself I could handle his job—be adult about it. I told myself to embrace the fact that I had a man so desirable that other women paid huge sums of cash just to ogle him across ballroom gala tables.

  From his nightstand came the annoying jolt of his phone’s alarm. He groaned. In lunging for it, he knocked it onto the floor and had to leave me to turn it off. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He yawned. “I was always up early to work at Food Mart, but seems like I went to bed early, too.”

  I didn’t want to ask, but had to. “Were you out late with…a client?”

  “No, baby.” He drew me back in, kissing the top of my head. “I was getting a crash course in world politics and current events. Ask me anything.”

  “Okay…” I scrambled upright in bed, anxious about quizzing him. If he was telling the truth, he’d wow me. If he had been with another woman, he wouldn’t know politics from potato salad. “Who’s Saudi Arabia’s king?”

  “Salman bin Abdulaziz. Come on, that was too easy.”

  Relief shimmered through me. The only reason I’d known the king was because Liam and Ella and Owen and Natalie had just been invited to his palace. I’d been working with his people on available dates. “Try this—if aliens attacked the White House, and not only the president, but the vice president, speaker of the House and president pro tempore of the Senate were vaporized, who would lead the army in ridding the world of little green men?”

  He thought about it for a few seconds, then counted on his fingers until blurting, “Secretary of State. Am I right?”

  I laughed. “Beats me. I was going to guess attorney general. Let’s look it up.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Let’s bet on it—whoever’s right cooks breakfast.”

  “Deal.” My lips still tingled. I’d have agreed to anything.

  While I crossed my fingers to win, he launched an official search on his phone. “Yes.” He brandished the Wikipedia page showing the correct line of succession as if it were Olympic gold. “What are you cooking?”

  “My usual.” I grinned. “Fat-free vanilla yogurt with raspberries and a sprinkling of granola.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No…” I was already out of bed and halfway to the kitchen.

  “Let’s get dressed and go out. I need bacon, and unless you went to the store since yesterday morning, you’re out.”

  “News flash—aside from Christmas morning, this ass hasn’t seen bacon since it was twelve.”

  He leapt from the bed to smack my behind on his way to the bathroom. “Then it’s about damn time we put meat on those scrawny bones. Come on, woman—hustle.”

  —

  Twenty minutes later, we shared a booth at the diner down the street.

  Once the waitress had taken our orders and delivered coffee, I couldn’t stop grinning when Nathan reached across the table, easing his fingers between mine. “I’m glad I came last night.”

  “Point of fact—” I cleared my throat. “—you didn’t come last night.”

  He reddened. “Do you kiss your momma with that potty mouth?”

  I groaned. “Don’t ruin the mood.”

  “Sorry. You and your mom aren’t on the best of terms?”

  “It’s not that…” I released his hand to color-coordinate the sugar packets. Pink with pink, yellow with yellow.

  “What, then? Tell me. Whatever we’ve got going is upside down. We know everything about each other in the bedroom, but I want to know about the other parts of you, too. So, come on—fess up.”

  Could I trust him enough to confide about my daughter? Or was it too early for such a shocker?

  He stroked my palm with the tip of his finger. “Out with it. Whatever you don’t want to tell me can’t be that bad.”

  “Yes, actually, it can.” I forced a deep breath. Why shouldn’t I tell him? Actually, it would make a good test. If he didn’t run, I’d take it as a positive sign.

  Eyebrows raised, he asked, “Worse than me being a male escort?”

  I laughed, which was exactly what I needed. Only his job was a sore subject, so I’m not sure why it made me smile. Maybe because it was so outrageous that it was actually on par with my teenage indiscretions. “All right, I’ll tell you, but wait till we get our food. Not even Liam knows what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Damn…” His slow, sexy grin worked its usual magic. Hand to his chest, he said, “I’m honored.”

  The waitress brought him bacon, eggs and blueberry pancakes. I ordered one scrambled egg and a fresh fruit cup, but his looked and smelled incredible, so I ended up eating my first carb since the frosting at Ella and Liam’s wedding—well, except for my Ben & Jerry’s. But if food was consumed as an emergency, it didn’t count, right?

  “Hey.” Nathan played at stabbing my greedy fork with his. “Back off the pancakes or I’ll force you to eat a piece of bacon.”

  “Mmm…” I said around my latest syrupy bite. “Talk dirty to me.”

  When he held the taboo meat to my mouth, I didn’t just take my planned nibble, but snagged the entire piece.

  Chewing, I closed my eyes and groaned in pleasure at the salty, crispy goodness. “Ohmygod…”

  Now, he was laughing. “Well, hell, if I’d known it was that easy to get you off, I’d have taken you to I-Hop instead of that swing.”

  I pol
itely daubed the corners of my mouth, then wadded my napkin and pitched it at him.

  He sipped his black coffee. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have a history lesson at eight. If I’m late, my boss will shit bricks.”

  I winced. “That’s a lovely visual.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m still rough around the edges. But I want to hear whatever it was you were about to tell me.”

  I’d hoped you’d forgotten. Although I was touched that he hadn’t, so I blurted, “I have a daughter.”

  “What?” He leaned forward, planting his hands flat on the table. “Where is she? How old is she? Why isn’t she living with you?” He leaned back, expression dark. “I guess the biggest question is—who’s the daddy? Liam? If so, does Ella at least know? Because you said earlier, he doesn’t have any kids, but—”

  “Stop.” I gave the room a quick glance to ensure no one was listening. “She’s not Liam’s.” My voice cracked. “She’s not even mine. I had her in high school. Then, at the advice of all the so-called responsible adults in my life—especially the teacher who got me pregnant—I gave her up for adoption.” Tears stung my eyes. “I only got to hold her for a few minutes before the lady handling the adoption whisked her away. Sometimes I still have nightmares about losing my baby. I hear her crying. The location may change, but the main theme is always the same. I might be in an empty parking garage or forest or adrift at sea, but I hear her crying, screaming, and I want to get her—I try so hard to find her, but no matter how hard I look, she’s never there. That’s why I haven’t been getting along with my mom lately, because she wants me to find her—my little girl—but I’m not so sure I should. Even if I did, why would she want anything to do with the woman who gave her away? And that’s assuming her adoptive parents would even allow her to see me.”

  Nathan left his side of the booth to ease in next to me. Much like he had in the shower, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me. “I’m sorry—so sorry.”