Chapter 3
three
The silence is absolute in the room for a few seconds. I’d feel less shocked if he’d brained me with a brick. I shift on the sofa. “Sorry? What did you just say?”
Maybe I misheard him.
He shrugs. “I’m a whore.”
Nope. No mishearing.
I hesitate. “Should you be saying that?” I finally say tentatively. “It’s a bit of a derogatory word.”
He stares at me. “Are you actually sitting there telling a whore that he can’t call himself that?”
I shrug. “Well, yeah. It’s not very nice. What about sex worker?”
“What has niceness got to do with me taking dick for money?” I snort, and he adopts a thoughtful look.
“I don’t like sex worker. It makes me sound like I have a clocking-in card.
” His eyes twinkle. “Maybe I have a cocking-in card. How about calling me an escort if your sensitive nature hates the word whore?”
“That’s a bit better.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am about that. You know I exist to calm your mind.”
“You seem to exist mainly to be snarky,” I say honestly, and he laughs. My lip twitches at the unexpectedly merry sound.
His face turns serious, and he edges closer. “I want to say something, but I’m not sure if I should,” he says in a hushed voice.
“I bet that’s a rare occurrence in your world.”
“You have no idea.” He runs a hand through his hair restlessly and then takes a breath, obviously committing to what he’s about to say. “You could do what I do.”
“Random acts of sarcasm?”
He shoves me, laughing. After a moment, he sobers. “I mean you could get into whor—escorting.”
I wait a few beats. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. It’s a nice offer but?—”
“Don’t say no yet,” he says quickly. “Just let me tell you this. Do you know how much money your face could fetch?”
“That’s… incredibly creepy.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not in a serial killer sense, although don’t tempt me. I mean your face is a very valuable commodity.”
I eye him. “I’m not sure about this, but are men really going to be looking at my face when I’m bent over in the back seat of some stranger’s car?”
He looks stunned. “How do you think I get my clients? A street corner?”
“Well, yes,” I say in a spirit of honesty. “Mostly while they’re looking for directions.”
“Are you thinking of Pretty Woman ?”
“Don’t laugh. It’s my only cultural reference for prostitution.”
“That’s a terrible film.”
“You don’t like Pretty Woman ? Are you dead in your soul?”
“It’s a very unrealistic portrayal. And that happy ever after was just catering to society’s sugary expectations of life and relationships.
If they were being true to life, she’d have probably ended up dead in a ditch with a needle in her arm, and he’d have married someone who only had sex once in a blue moon. ”
“Thank you so much, sunshine.” I pause. “So, you don’t stand on a street corner, then?”
“No, I fucking don’t. That would be hell on my back and my posture.”
“So, what do you do? This is fascinating. Here I was thinking you were just a pompous twat with nice hair, and it turns out that you have all these deep, dark secrets.”
“Thank you. I do have nice hair. I suppose it’s hardly surprising that you focus on that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he says innocently as I attempt to smooth down my untidy hair. “I get my client introductions through a bloke I know.”
“Ooh! Is that your pimp?”
He grimaces. “No. Fucking hell. I don’t have a pimp. He’s an…” He hesitates. “I suppose you’d call him an introducer. He has a place in Mayfair where men go. Very rich men.”
I twist to face him, pulling my feet up so I’m comfortable. This is just what I needed to take my mind off my problems. “How rich is very rich?”
“Way beyond whatever you’re imagining.”
“I don’t know. I can imagine a lot.”
“Who are you thinking?”
“Erm. Richard Branson.”
“Pah. He’s small change compared to some of the men who go there.”
I blink. “So, is it like a private club?”
He gets up, goes to the kitchen, and comes back with two bottles of water.
He chucks one to me and sits back down, opening his own bottle and taking a sip.
“That’s exactly what it is. These men come from all over the world to fuck beautiful young men with a clear bill of health.
Young men who know how to behave impeccably in polite society and can talk knowledgeably on any desired subject.
” He eyes me. “That part will take some work with you.”
“ Hey ,” I say indignantly, but he ignores me.
“The owner of the club is a facilitator who introduces boys like me to these incredibly wealthy men.”
“And then what happens?”
His mouth twists. “Well, Wes, then the two men kiss, fall in love, and hold hands for eternity.”
“I feel like you’re taking the piss.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
This whole thing is like a TV drama, and I’m so intrigued. “So do you all shag in a room somewhere like the back area of a club?”
“Good god, no. What part of rich and discreet did you not get? There are rooms upstairs at the club where we take the men. We perform, and if we’re lucky, the men decide to take us on.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “They keep us. We get a flat and an allowance. Plus, they pay for clothes and all the bills.”
“And does this introducer take a cut of your money?”
“No. The men take care of his fee. We keep our own money.”
Realisation dawns as I look around the expensive flat. “Is that what’s happened with you?”
“Yeah. I’ve been with my gentleman for a year, which is a fairly long time.”
“What’s he like?”
He immediately looks cautious. “Let’s call him Mister X. I can’t give you too many details.”
“Of course not. But is Mister X good to you?”
For the first time, he looks discomposed. “Good?”
“Yeah. Does he treat you nicely?”
He considers that. “He pays my bills and for this flat. I have accounts with numerous designer shops and an unlimited budget.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I frown. “Is he nice to you?”
He laughs. “Darling, one should never expect that.”
“Yes, you should,” I say firmly. “You should always be treated with kindness.”
A frown wrinkles his forehead. “Maybe you aren’t made for this sort of life after all. You don’t have to do it. You can stay here for as long as I’ve got the place.”
The thought of having a bed for a few days makes me feel weak with relief, but I can’t cause trouble in his life just because mine has imploded. That’s not fair. “Just like that?”
“Of course. I like you, Wes. I don’t want to see you get into any more trouble.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
“Please don’t. Gratitude is incredibly tedious,” he says haughtily, but he can’t help the flush of pleasure on his cheeks.
“I’ll pay you rent.” I pause, and my financial situation slams back into my head like a car crash in slow motion. “Shit. I can’t actually do that.”
He waves a careless hand. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t need the money.”
“But will your bloke mind me being here?”
“He’s not my bloke. He’s my client .”
“Well, won’t your client be pissed off that you’ve moved another man into a place he pays for?”
“I’ll explain that you’re a friend, and he’ll be okay with it.”
I stare at him. “Am I?”
This seems to discombobulate him for a second, but then he shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I think yes,” I say boldly.
He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t know me very well.”
“That’s probably a prerequisite to get over your personality.
” He pinches me, and I flinch, laughing.
“Does it matter if I don’t know you? You helped me.
That makes you my friend, and I want you to know I would do the same for you if you need it.
” I look around. “I really don’t want to upset your situation, though.
If Mister X is going to mind, I’ll clear out. ”
“There’s no need, and it’s ending anyway. He’s moving to New York, so our arrangement will end next week.”
“Will you miss him?” I ask impulsively.
“Well, I’ll certainly miss his wallet.”
I used to think Julian was such a snob. In truth, he intimidated me with his expensive clothes and posh accent. So while being polite, I kept my distance. I’m regretting that now. I’m beginning to see his snootiness is his way of covering his emotions, and there’s something so endearing about that.
I wonder if it’s possible to fuck someone for an entire year and not develop feelings. “Will you have to get out of here when Mister X goes to America?”
“No. He’s paid the lease for another six months.”
“That’s very generous of him. It can’t be cheap.”
“Darling, I’m not cheap.” He shrugs. “It gives me a bit of wiggle room, but I’ll be going back to Jack’s soon to pick up another client. I don’t like not having someone on the hook.”
“Jack’s? Is that the…” I hesitate, searching for the word.
“Jack of Clubs is the name of the business.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Were you going to say brothel?”
I sag. “I’m sorry. I think my vocabulary is rooted in my mum’s old historical romances.”
He eyes me consideringly. “So, what do you think? Do you fancy it? I’ve got to go back to the club to pick up a new client next week, so you’d have company on your first night if you want to do it.”
I swallow hard. “So soon?”
“I don’t like to be without an arrangement. There’s an introduction evening on Friday, so it’s perfect timing for me.”
“Introduction weekend? That sounds like my first week at uni.”
“Think less alcohol and vomiting. I heard all about you on fresher’s week.”
“Reports of that were wildly overexaggerated.”
“An introduction evening is exactly what it sounds like. The members come to the club and choose the boys they want. The details of the arrangements between clients and escorts are sorted out on the night. It’s all very civilised.”
I hesitate. My heart is racing, and my brain feels chaotic. And no matter how hard I try to distract myself, I’m constantly thinking about those credit cards that Tyler took out. “Would I really earn a lot of money?”