Chapter 4 Scarlett #2
Maybe it was na?ve of me, but I felt like I could trust her. Despite knowing she was a no-nonsense woman, there was also a softness in her eyes that made me think she genuinely cared.
Or maybe it just reminded me of motherly affection I subconsciously craved.
I told her all about my sob story. How I’d run away from a bad marriage and a worse family, and now found myself alone and broke in a city that I thought would be a fresh start. How I had no idea what I was going to do for money because I’d never had a job and had no skills.
The part of that night I remember the most is how Amara’s eyes lit up when I said that.
You have more skills than you think, mia cara, she said.
When I asked her what she meant, she told me she owned an escort agency and that she thought I would be a perfect addition.
I was too shocked to even laugh. She wanted to hire me as a…hooker?
Not as a hooker, she corrected. An escort.
What’s the difference? I asked.
As an escort agency, we offer companionship for dinners, business outings, and other social events, she explained. Both parties are consenting adults, and at no point are sexual favors being exchanged for money.
I must have given her a look of disbelief, because she followed it up with, Think of it this way instead: what if a seventy-year-old man loses his wife of fifty years and grows lonelier every day?
Does he not deserve to have dinner with a pretty woman?
To have an adult conversation with someone who likes him?
Or if a man doesn’t want to go alone to a mandatory work event, is it wrong for him to pay for a date?
I remember feeling silly for my assumption. But that still didn’t explain why she was telling me all this.
It wasn’t until she said Basically, I own an agency that pays women to stroke a man’s ego the way you just did without even trying that I understood.
She really was trying to recruit me.
You’re gorgeous, charming, and you have an incredible read on people. You’d be every man’s dream date. I really do think you’d be a perfect escort. But…I also want to help you.
Sometimes, when I look back, a part of me wants to slap that version of myself that believed a stranger just because she had motherly eyes.
It was then that my predicament truly registered. If I couldn’t find a job within the next day, I’d either end up on the street or on the train back home. And neither option was acceptable.
We made a deal then. For one week, she’d put me up in an apartment in the building she owned. Food, clothes, everything included. And in exchange, I promised to talk to some of the girls who worked for her.
Talk to them, Amara pressed. Ask them whatever questions you want.
They’ll not only confirm what I’m telling you, but you’ll also see how much they love the job.
She started to tick things off on her fingers.
They control their own schedule, they make five times the money on a quarter of the time, and the only thing they have to do is fake interest in a man.
Her lip twitched. As if women don’t do that for free already.
It sounded too good to be true, but I was too desperate to turn her down. When I shook her hand, it was for the sole reason that I wanted to buy myself another week to figure out a new plan.
Three years later, I know three things for certain:
1. Amara’s words were genuine. She truly wanted to help me.
2. Working for an escort agency doesn’t mean you need to sleep with clients. But you make a hell of a lot more money when you do.
3. Whatever I was hoping would be on the other end of that week, I never found it.
I wonder if she senses that. If it’s the reason she pushed me to sign up for college courses, to find something that excites me the way arriving in New York City did all those years ago.
Why she inquires about my classes before she asks me anything else.
“I got a ninety-six on the exam,” I answer her question, shaking away the memories of our past. “I only got one question wrong.”
“See? I told you there was no need to stress,” she chides. I can hear the proud smile in her voice when she adds, “As if you don’t get an A on everything in that class.”
It’s that hint of care that always softens me with Amara.
It’s unfortunate that it’s always snuffed out as soon as she brings up work.
“The reason I’m calling is because I have a new client for you.”
Back to reality.
“I know you’re not fond of picking up new clients, but I have someone who I think would be perfect for you.”
My spine stiffens at the suggestion.
I don’t like taking on new clients. As a matter of fact, I hate it.
Walking into a hotel room with a stranger, knowing he’s paying me and that he could very well think he has the right to do anything he wants?
It terrifies me. It doesn’t matter that I’m the best girl Amara has at those first-time appointments, simply because I’m the best at reading what men want.
I just…don’t like it. It’s the only time I feel unsure of myself.
Things are much easier once I know what they expect from me and I can mold myself into whatever persona they want a woman to be. That I can do.
Amara sighs. “Eventually, you’re going to have to replace the two clients you lost when they moved. Your roster is getting a little light. Now’s as good a time as any to fluff it up.”
Even though she’s right, I’m suddenly finding it hard to care. It’s not like I’m wanting for money. Even with a college tuition, I still make enough with this job to live comfortably. I don’t need more clients.
Which Amara knows. And which begs the question…why is she pushing for me to add this one?
“Why do you think he’d be perfect for me?” I ask.
“He’s…young. And has plenty of money. I think he would be a slam dunk. If you’re going to take on any new clients, he’s the perfect choice, Scarlett.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “What does he do?”
Her hesitation tells me everything I need to know. “He’s a professional MMA fighter.”
I let out a tired exhale. “Amara, you know I don’t do pro athletes.” I’m not interested in the publicity they get or the risk that comes with their physical strength. Been there, done that.
“I know, I know. But listen to me. I couldn’t find a single red flag.
His background check is spotless, he’s never had a PR crisis, and even the ex-girlfriends I talked to didn’t have anything bad to say about him.
They all said he was a genuinely sweet guy and the only reason the relationships didn’t work out was because the connection went stale. ”
I’m momentarily distracted by the amusing picture of Amara going undercover to dig up dirt on a prospective client. It’s the main reason I trust the dates she sets up for me. Because she knows exactly who she’s putting into a room with her girls.
I rub at my temples with a wince, debating the risk that comes with a new client.
“What did he say he was calling for?” I ask finally.
“He said he didn’t know.” Does she sound…
fond? “Said he just needed a change, and that he wanted some new company. Honestly, it sounded like he might even make it a conversation. Nothing else. He sounded…lonely. And sweet.” Her voice softens even more, and she’s definitely smiling. “Perfect for you.”
I let out a heavy breath, accepting my fate. She’s right; I need to replace the two clients I just lost. And I’ll have to start somewhere.
“I want security in the hotel that night,” I demand. Needlessly. Because if there’s one thing Amara does, it’s protect her girls.
“Scarlett, you know I’d never put you at risk. It’s already taken care of.”
A headache starts to pound at the base of my skull. “Fine. I’ll do it. When?”
“This Thursday. At the Ritz.”
I wince. That’s only three days away.
“Just wear your usual and go in with an open mind. Feel him out. I don’t need to tell you how to get a read on him. You do that naturally.”
“What’s his name? I want to look him up.”
“Nico Price.” She sounds teasing. “You might not hate me so much after you look him up.”
Doubtful, but hearing her say that eases my tension the tiniest bit.
“Okay. I guess…I’ll check in with you Thursday.”
“Before and after,” Amara says sternly.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, mother.”
After I end the call with Amara, I drop onto my couch with an exhausted exhale.
Couch rotting it is.