Her Favor (The Courtesan #1)

Chapter 1

June

“Mr. Hutcherson just pulled up.”

June, perched at her vanity with a tube of mascara in hand, glanced at her boss’s reflection in the mirror. “I’ll be right down.” She lowered the mascara. Why did she bother dressing up so much? Mitchell never cared about her makeup. The man was blind in one eye and oblivious with the other.

“The Cigar Room and the Entertainment Den are both booked for parties tonight.”

“Uh-huh.” Did June’s boss think she didn’t pay attention to what went on around there?

June wasn’t second-in-command at Le Manoir, the country’s most prestigious pleasure house, for nothing.

If she doesn’t know what’s going on, then I probably do.

That morning, June went over that night’s bookings with the closest thing to a steward the house had.

“I’ll babysit him in the salon before bringing him up here. ”

Monique, the owner of Le Manoir, leveled her eyes at one of her main employees.

Keep looking at me like that, and your face might freeze that way.

June respected her boss, especially when it came to that petite – and currently heavily pregnant – woman’s sense for business, but she did not appreciate being looked at as if she were a petulant daughter.

Monique could save that bullshit for her own daughter, should she have one.

“Make sure he goes home happy, June.” Great.

Now she was passive-aggressively lecturing her.

“He’s brought us more business this past year than any other patron. ”

“Why do you think he’s my patron?”

Monique took her leave of June’s room, stopping a maid in the hall to delegate instructions regarding the reviled Cigar Lounge.

Glad I don’t have to be in there tonight.

Whenever June worked a gathering in there, she came out with five years shaved off her life.

The secondhand smoke alone was enough to make her glad she never suffered from bad allergies or asthma.

Not like another girl who worked there. Poor Chelsea spent half her nights avoiding the room and hoping nobody was in there puffing on a Cuban until they died – maybe before her.

June, on the other hand, could work any room without much argument.

She had been at the Manoir since its founding a little over a year ago.

Granted, so had most of the other girls – minus Holly, who was new and still a bit green – but June was the first hired and the first promoted.

To say I know what I’m doing is an understatement.

She looked herself over one more time, running her fingers through her thin blond hair and making sure not too many blemishes stood out on her face.

It was a hard life for a professional. Just another night in the mountains.

June stood up and scuttled out of her room, continually pulling down her tight black skirt because she didn’t appreciate a draft blowing up her ass.

Mr. Hutcherson stepped through the main entrance when June reached the bottom of the grand staircase. He looked up, a grin of derelict hope crossing his lined face.

He wasn’t an ugly man, but he also wasn’t the type June yearned for.

He was nice, generous with gifts, not too bad to look at, and treated her with enough respect to keep her from complaining too much.

He didn’t even care about sex, and half of his visits consisted of sharing drinks and ranting about business and personal ventures before falling asleep in her bed.

When they did fool around, which was an expectation of her profession, he didn’t waste time.

This was after she was done entertaining him, of course.

“Evening, Mr. Hutcherson,” June said softly, batting her eyelashes as she took his coat.

The man, who sported salt and pepper hair and a plain black suit, wrapped his arm around her before letting her lead the way to the nearest salon, where she poured them both drinks and commenced listening to him rant about business associates while he rubbed her knee.

There were many words for what she did. Officially, June and the four others under main employment were referred to as “entertainers” or “hostesses.” Colloquially, however, clients and the public called them pricey escorts, prostitutes, and her personal favorite, whores.

They did not officially exchange sex for money.

What someone purchased were other services of pleasure, which ranged from a sympathetic ear and plenty of expensive drinks to full body massages to, yes, BDSM activities.

It was the BDSM that was the main draw to the wealthy clients who trekked all the way up to the mountains to patronize Le Manoir.

Every gal was trained both as a professional Domme and sub, depending on what the client wanted.

Someone wanted June to spank them, pull their hair, and call them pig scum?

Sure, she could do that for a nominal fee.

Someone else wanted to tie her up and hear her call them a god?

She was down for either one, as long as their wallets were open.

Actual sex, whether it was oral or intercourse, was off the books and not technically part of the packages.

Some of the other employees were not loose with the sexual services, but June would fuck anyone who had pockets deep enough. Her time was not cheap.

Most weeks, June personally saw anywhere between three and five clients, including her patron.

Mitchell made up about half her encounters, since he paid for the privilege.

Without a patron, a girl of Le Manoir was not making her full potential, and June always, always made her full potential.

She loved the money more than she loved the sex, although they were close.

Tonight, Mitchell was interested in a massage.

After they retired from the salon, when night had completely fallen, and parties were underway in other rooms, they went up to June’s room and commenced.

Mitchell removed his suit jacket and lay down on his stomach, groaning in relief as June straddled his hips and massaged his back.

“Give me a few moments, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Mitchell said, sleepily, as he slumped over on one side of June’s bed. “Wouldn’t want my last time with my pretty girl to end without fanfare.”

Good luck with that. June leaned against her headboard, glass of champagne in hand. “Hm? What are you talking about?”

Mitchell lazily waved his hand at her. “I told you already, I’m moving to Dubai to start a new branch of the company.”

The color drained from June’s face. Or maybe that was the champagne sucking it from her. “What!”

Mitchell Hutcherson, the man responsible for half her income, was asleep. So much for his promise to pay attention to her… for the last time!

June jumped off her bed and bounded into the hallway, catching the attention of the nearest maid making her rounds. They both politely ignored the moans of pleasure coming from someone else’s room once their paths crossed.

“Where’s Monique?” June demanded. “Is she in her chambers? Please tell me she’s in her chambers. This is an emergency.”

The maid squeaked beneath June’s domineering gaze. Guests don’t pay me to fuck them up because I’m soft. She could be soft, though. For the right price. “Last time I saw the madam, she was heading toward her chambers, yes.”

“Good. Come get me if you see my patron wandering around looking for me. I left him for dead in there.” June didn’t wait for the maid’s response. She was marching down the long hallway, ignoring the late hour. Monique stayed up late as shit on the big work nights.

“What is it?” the madam called, once June had razed the large door with her knuckles.

“I know that knock…” The door flew open.

There was Monique Warner, née Grant, still dressed in her designer maternity shift.

“What is it?” she asked June, phone in her hand.

“Unless someone’s bleeding… and menstruation doesn’t count… ”

June pushed into the foyer of her boss’s personal apartment. While uncouth, June didn’t usually give too much of a shit if she inconvenienced the madam, who was too easy for her own good. Besides, this was an emergency. “Did you know that Hutcherson is moving to Dubai?”

Monique held her phone up to her ear as she closed the door. “I’ll call you back, Helen,” she said to her wife. When she hung up, she asked, “What? Dubai? When?”

“Next week!”

“What!”

“That’s what I said!”

Monique shuffled into her office, switching on a lamp before pulling open a filing cabinet.

While it often annoyed June how everything was still so analog around there, she couldn’t blame a woman for being too careful.

Appointments could be kept on computers, but personal information about regular clients and patrons especially had to be protected at all costs.

This meant primary files were printed out for cabinets, with backup copies in a fireproof safe in the back corner of the office.

Monique pulled out one of the first files in the cabinet.

After perusing it, she said, “He hasn’t told me anything about moving. ”

June loomed over her boss, who was so petite that her baby made her look like she was packing beach balls beneath her dress.

Meanwhile, I’m gargantuan. Or so Monique often made her feel.

June was still the same height as most of her clients, if not shorter.

Nobody was taller than Monique’s wife, a woman who dwarfed her own wife until people asked if she was Helen’s daughter. Awkward.

“He let it slip before falling asleep. Either he’s drunk, or he violated his contract by not giving enough notice. Unless he plans on paying his patronage fee for the next month.”

“Indeed.” Monique closed the folder with an exasperated sigh. “Make sure I talk to him in the morning. This is not good. You’re sure that’s what he said?”

“Moving to Dubai for work next week. He said that tonight was our last time.” June had to stress those words. Sometimes Monique got hard of hearing when the pregnancy hormones were in full swing.

“Shit.”

“I know! That’s over half my income right there!”

Monique closed the filing cabinet and went straight to the nearest chair. She sank into it, feet wiggling in their slippers. “And a sizable chunk of mine. Hutcherson is one of our highest-paying patrons.”

Because I’m worth it. June would have to count on that more than ever now.

“If what you say is true, then after I’ve confirmed it with Mr. Hutcherson, I’ll start putting out feelers for a new patron. I’m sorry this is happening.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” June muttered. “You still get paid by the other patrons.”

“As I said, Mr. Hutcherson is one of the biggest ones. Losing him will put a dent in both of our incomes.” Monique pulled out her phone again.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m as invested as you are in finding a replacement.

That said, Mr. Hutcherson will still have to honor his patronage contract that stipulates at least thirty days’ notice before ending your professional relationship.

So even if you don’t see him, he should still be paying through the end of next month. That buys us time.”

“If he fucks off to Dubai?” Mitchell was a decent enough guy – for a billionaire – but June’s ability to trust men like that was pretty negligible. Especially those billionaires. They were used to getting out of shit.

“I doubt that would happen. Even if it does, the penalty fee is pretty sizable as well.”

June still didn’t hold enough hope. As far as she was concerned, half her livelihood was crashing around her.

Sure, she got subsidized room and board in exchange for her services out in the remote wilderness, but she had…

bills… to pay off. I get paid thousands of dollars on a good night, but it doesn’t mean shit if I don’t get to hang on to it.

If that money stopped rolling in? She couldn’t even think about it.

“We’ll clear this up in the morning,” Monique assured her. She stared at her phone, but her words were directed at June. “Worst comes to worst, we find you a new patron. Until then, keep up the hard work.”

She could fuck off with that. Nobody worked harder than June Kingsley.

Some days? June would venture that not even Monique worked harder than her #1 girl.

She certainly didn’t have to bother with other hard things like June did on an almost daily basis.

Not that she usually complained. She liked her job.

It was the stiffs like Mitchell that made life more difficult.

June left the madam’s chambers and ambled back to her room. Mitchell was still asleep on her bed. She rolled her eyes, going to take a shower. The door remained open, in case her patron wanted to clear up what he had meant earlier.

He never showed up. June couldn’t say she gave a fuck anymore.