Chapter 4
4
R AIN
A couple of hours later.
I amble out of the bathroom and enter the living room, my clothes on, my hair brushed back, and my makeup done.
He wears suit pants and a tailored shirt.
Hands tucked in his pockets, he stands in front of the window and looks outside.
I drape my cloak over my shoulders and walk to him.
“I’d like to see you again,” he says, pivoting and locking my eyes.
Everything I need to know is right there in his gaze.
Like me, he’s enjoyed this a lot. And also, like me, he is not looking for more. More than sex, I mean.
He studies me, his gaze sweeping my lips briefly before he speaks again.
“I travel to New York on business a few times a month,” he says in a flat, business-like voice. “Money is not an issue,” he adds.
A slow smile curves my lips as I take him in. Raw power beams in his eyes.
Money can be a potent aphrodisiac, especially when it comes to an attractive man.
I would’ve never said that a while ago.
Mostly because I had no idea how these things worked, but now I know why my mom tried to talk me out of James Sexton.
“But I’m not...”
His hand slides up my neck, and tingles roll down my spine.
“I don’t give a damn what you are, or you’re not. I have a life outside this city too. All I want is a few hours of your time, and I’m willing to pay you.”
“All right,” I say softly.
“You live far from here?”
I shake my head.
“My driver waits for you downstairs,” he says.
He grabs a business card and a white envelope from the coffee table.
“You have all my office numbers here,” he says, pointing to the card. “My private number is in your cell,” he adds, handing me my phone. “And this is for this evening.”
He folds the envelope and slips it into my pocket.
I open my mouth, unsure of what to say.
“You might change your mind. But I hope you won’t,” he says.
I slide my hand over his chest and press my lips against his mouth.
“I probably won’t. I liked it as much as you did.”
He smiles, content.
“I’ll see you next time,” he says.
Seconds later, I tear away from him and walk into the private elevator.
Sunk in thought, I make the trip back to the first floor.
I strut across the lobby when a shining limousine parked in front of the hotel catches my eye.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” a woman says, bumping into me.
I cut my eyes at her.
She swivels her head to me fast.
“I was waving at my friend,” she explains, pointing at the bar.
My eyes follow her gaze. No one at the bar fits that description.
I glance back at her.
She wears an elegant two-piece eggplant suit paired with diamonds, her platinum blonde hair brushing her shoulders.
She studies me as well, her burgundy-painted lips pursing into a slow smile.
“Um… I think this is yours,” she says, swiftly tucking a business card in my hand.
“Thank you,” I murmur, sliding it into my pocket without looking at it.
She flashes a charming grin, her gaze lingering on my face longer than customary before she spins away and slips through the revolving doors.
There’s a town car waiting for her outside.
The driver holds the car door open for her, shielding her with an umbrella from the falling snow while she climbs in.
Smoothly, the vehicle glides away.
I walk through the same door, a car and a driver waiting for me as well.
Slightly tipping his chin down, the man gives me a soft nod and pulls the car door open before I slither inside.
Twenty minutes later, I unlock the door to my apartment and walk inside.
A weight falls on my chest when I enter my small place, a rush of panic spiking through me, making breathing difficult. I gasp and wheeze, clutching the back of a chair as more angst surges through me.
I shed my coat and turn the lights on, the empty beige walls closing in on me fast.
Frantically, I dash to the window, crack it open, and stick my head out, hoping the cold air and snow can help me breathe again.
It takes me a few minutes before I feel slightly better.
Drained off energy, I take off my clothes and put on my pajamas.
Meticulously, I empty my pockets, grab everything, and toss it on the bed.
Tucked under the covers, I examine it.
I check my phone first and find his number before I open the envelope and pull out a wad of cash.
I look at it, flip it, and then count it.
It takes a few moments to figure out how much it is since I have to count it twice. Ten fucking K.
My eyes go wide. Really wide. I clasp his business card between my fingers and scan it quickly.
There are a couple of business phone numbers for Moore Enterprises and Business Development. As I grasp the information, a second card catches my eye.
I pick it up and flip it over. It’s not his. As I read the name, the memory of that blonde woman comes to me.
Anastasia Wells, Platinum International. Escort Services.
‘Call me,’ she had scribbled on the side where she had added her cell phone number before dropping it to the floor so she could slip it to me later.
* * *
RAIN
A giant storm hits New York the first weekend of January, burying Manhattan under a foot of snow.
We close the store earlier, and I get home before seven.
My phone goes off half an hour later. I swipe the screen with my thumb, my heart racing.
“Red?”
“David?” I murmur, unable to stifle my surprise.
“Are you free tonight?” he asks without much introduction.
I pause for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Did you have dinner?”
“No.”
“My driver will pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“There’s a storm outside,” I say.
A chuckle comes from the other end of the phone line.
“It’s winter, Red.”
I smile.
“Okay,” I say, conceding softly. “I’ll see you soon.”
I retrieve two new dresses from the closet. One is buttercream, and the other one is green.
I go with the cream one, red heels, and a scarlet coat.
I remove the tags on all of them, and thirty minutes later, a different woman walks out of my small apartment.
I slip into my ride and make the short trip to his place. I’m late when the car pulls up smoothly in front of the hotel.
David is in the lobby, waiting for me, and he spots me immediately.
He pushes through the front door and rushes to the car, his eyes beaming with a smile.
“I got this,” he says to the driver before holding the door for me and helping me out.
He buries my gloved hand in his palm and leads me inside.
“Dinner is set for us upstairs,” he says as we walk into the elevator.
His gaze rolls down, his lips creasing into a soft smile.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
We enter his suite a few moments later.
It’s warm inside and smells like flowers, male cologne, and delicious food.
I look around as he takes off my coat and shows me to the dining room.
A romantic dinner awaits us, red candles and roses enlivening the table.
“Happy New Year, Red. It’s a little late,” he says apologetically, a small jewelry box surfacing in his hand.
“You shouldn’t...” I murmur, the high-end jewelry brand registering with me.
This must’ve cost him a small fortune––I muse, acting nonchalantly as if I’m used to receiving expensive gifts.
A small gasp escapes my lips when I get a glimpse of the blue diamond set.
He takes in my reaction with evident pleasure, his eyes glinting with a smile.
“It looks stunning,” I say, softly brushing the stones with my fingertips.
“You like it?”
“Yes,” I say, grinning.
I’ve never worn expensive jewelry, but I’ve always had an eye for beautiful things, and this is undoubtedly one of the most luxurious sets I’ve ever seen.
His cheeks get flushed as he notices the joy in my eyes.
More than the piece of jewelry, I love how he reacts to me and how I'm reflected in his eyes.
He clasps the necklace behind my neck and slips the bracelet on my wrist as I replace my earrings.
Glancing at me, he grins, content, satisfaction beaming in his gaze, and then he loops his arms around my waist and tenderly embraces me.
Slowly, he trails my neck with his lips, planting soft kisses.
“I’ll be here the entire weekend. Can you stay?” he asks, his voice filled with lust.
For a moment, I think about my job, the long hours I have to put in on Saturday and Sunday, and then I smile.
“Sure. I’m all yours,” I say, gently stroking his face.
The corners of his lips lift with a smile.
“Good. Then, let’s eat first.”
* * *
RAIN
Sunday evening.
I give him a tender kiss as I get ready to leave.
He drinks me in, his eyes still lustful, his lips swollen from our two-day sex marathon. A grin lights up his eyes as I wave him goodbye and enter the elevator.
Minutes later, I walk into my modest place, no longer trembling and shaking, feeling like an impostor or doubting myself.
No longer pretending I’m that new woman. I am her. The woman reflected in David’s eyes.
The few days we spent together have crushed my fears, and now I’m hell-bent on changing my life.
I didn’t expect him to call me back after our first meet-up.
There was no guarantee we could have another night like that, so it was pointless to indulge in a fantasy.
I put the money in a shoebox, stocked up the refrigerator, and bought a few elegant outfits in case he’d call again.
It was a business decision more than anything else.
I didn’t remove the tags and carefully scribbled down the purchase dates in case I needed to return the items.
This second weekend with him has been a nice break from the drudgery of my everyday life.
We ate gourmet food and had lots of sex.
I entered his suite on Friday and walked out of his place this evening only because he needed to attend a West Coast business meeting and had an early flight.
We had a lot of fun.
As it turns out, we share a sense of humor and a healthy sexual appetite.
Despite paying to see me, he doesn’t make me feel cheap. Our chemistry is great, and he is an attentive lover and a genuine gentleman––a rare breed nowadays.
I walk inside my small place in a better mood than last time because now, I finally see a way out.
I put twenty K and the jewelry set into a shoebox when a feverish thought pops up in my head.
For one, I’m not going back to work. And then I need to find a different place to live.
With this being said, I can’t rely on luck, fate, or him. David Moore.
I can think of a host of things that could go wrong, jeopardizing our arrangement.
Shit happens when you least expect it, especially when you’re down, and I’m not up yet.
So there must be a Plan B or C in place or whatever letter of the alphabet it takes.
I’m not going down again. Not in the dungeon. Not anytime soon.
I rifle through my things, searching for that woman’s business card and grab my phone.
I’ve done a bit of research on her firm, but I couldn’t find much.
No photos on her website.
Only a list of the services provided to their clients and some contact information.
Her company offers female escorts for business events, conferences, parties, and leisure activities, anything from shopping to museum trips and concerts.
Her target clientele is comprised of wealthy men, high rollers too busy to be bothered with finding some company on their own.
I place the call. She answers on the second ring.