Chapter 2
The door buzzes with the swipe of the keycard and I push it open to reveal the luxurious hotel room Angela booked for tonight’s tete-a-tete.
I try not to think too hard about what I’m doing here as I take in the soft white accents and modern furnishings that adorn the room, dumping my overnight bag on the floor next to the entrance in case a swift escape is needed.
Bypassing the champagne Angela has ready on ice, I head straight for the small bottles of vodka I know I’ll find in the minibar.
The lid cracks off easily, and I swipe a glass from the drawer and a piece of ice from the champagne bucket, pouring the vodka straight on top of it.
No time to fluff around with mixers. I need the alcohol to kick in fast.
No one except Angela knows I’m here. If my family or Anna knew what I was about to do they would have me checked into a mental asylum because I’ve clearly lost my fucking mind.
I don’t look around and settle in like I usually would do in such an opulent room. No kicking my shoes off to feel my feet sink into the soft carpet, or sniffing the little bottles of shampoo. Definitely no snow angels on the plush bed. No, this isn’t a holiday or a fun little city getaway.
This is something entirely different.
Holding my breath, I slam the rest of my drink down with two minutes to go until show time, and thankfully it kicks in just enough to take the edge off.
The matching key to the room is downstairs with reception just as Angela instructed, so my secret admirer can let himself up the lifts. I wonder if he’ll be punctual.
You’d think considering he’s paying fifty thousand dollars for twelve hours he wouldn’t want to waste a minute.
That minute is worth sixty-nine dollars. I did the math. And yes, I get the irony.
I spend the final two minutes looking myself over in the mirror and ignoring the butterflies that aren’t just fluttering around but having an all out pub brawl in my stomach.
What the fuck are you doing here, Gianna?
I ask my own reflection. It just stares back at me with green, cat-like eyes, my winged eyeliner purposely accentuating their almond shape.
I went a bit heavier on the make-up tonight than I usually do, almost as if I was donning a mask, melting into my very own alter ego.
There’s good-girl Gianna, and then there’s prostitute Gianna.
Two completely different people, I hope.
My long black hair that I usually keep scraped in a high ponytail is blow-dried down to the small of my back, and when I pull my coat off and toss it over a chair, my short, black dress is revealed.
One minute to go.
Angela didn’t get any details off the man, except his bank ones of course. I have no idea who will be walking through that door, and I have zero faith that I’ll be able to sleep with a man I don’t know, for money.
Can I?
What kind of man spends fifty grand on one night?
My imagination has come up with what I’m sure are the worst case scenarios.
I’m prepared, and to be honest expecting, to flee at a moment’s notice.
I’ve slept with two men in my whole life, and I was in a committed relationship with both.
A one-night stand is not me. But, it’s the intrigue that’s brought me here, to this room. I just have to see who this man is.
I spin on my Louboutins, ones I currently have up for sale on Marketplace, and wipe my palms over my hips just as I hear the tell-tale buzz of the key on the fob.
This is it. The big reveal.
I grab on to the back of the chair to steady myself as nerves take over my senses. It’s okay, Gianna. Breathe. You can leave at any point. If you don’t message Angela within ten minutes, she’ll send help.
The door cracks open and my heart jackhammers so fast I’m sure it’s trying to burst free from its bony cage. In what feels like slow motion, a tall man walks into the room, and simultaneously all the air gets sucked out like a vortex.
Tall. Dark. Gorgeous.
My eyes widen as they rove over inky black hair, tousled and just long enough I could run my fingers through it.
A chiselled face lightly kissed by the sun, full lips, and a razor sharp jawline covered in days-old stubble.
He looks about my age. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.
“What the fuck?” I say on a whispered breath.
The words must spill out of my mouth louder than intended as I stare at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
“Excuse me?”
The man halts, quietly appraising me as he pushes his hands into the pant pockets of what looks like a very expensive, tailored black suit. Even his voice is an aphrodisiac, deep and assertive, like soft velvet gliding along smooth skin.
“Er, sorry,” I rush out, wiping my palms on my hips again. “I just meant to say that I wasn’t, um, expecting you.”
He stares at me quietly, waiting for me to elaborate. When I don’t, my mind still spinning to catch up to the unexpected turn of events, he speaks again in a soft drawl.
“Who exactly were you expecting?”
He continues to stare while I avert my gaze to his broad chest, and I get a feeling that I’m missing something important. Is this a joke? Am I being punked? Is that still a thing?
“Not you.” My words come out ruder than I intended, and I blush. “Honestly? I pictured Hugh Hefner in my head.”
He raises a dark brow at me and his shoulders visibly relax as he leans back against the wall, as though meeting an escort at a hotel is just a normal day in the office for him.
The man is so gorgeous that his presence alone has my heart pounding.
Desire like nothing I have ever experienced before crashes over me like a tidal wave.
He’s a walking cliche, and I can’t help but try to find a flaw amongst all the perfection.
But as I drop my eyes lower in search of -
what? A beer gut? One leg shorter than the other? - I have to stop myself from groaning.
From what I can tell, beneath his suit is a body designed by the Gods.
Broad. Toned. Commanding.
This is a powerful man. No doubt about it.
“You were expecting Hugh Hefner to walk through this door?” He says coolly, drawing my attention away from his body. “I’m sure he’s dead.”
When I meet his gaze for the first time, I’m floored by the most striking feature of all.
His eyes, so dark they almost look black.
So deep, yet so closed off, like they’re harbouring secrets that will never see the light of day again.
They stare back at me with a detached sort of intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
I try to shake it off as I dart my gaze away.
If I look into his eyes too long I might burst into flames.
“I obviously wasn’t expecting the actual Hugh Hefner to walk through the door,” I laugh a little manically.
“Just someone who looks like him.” This bizarre scenario has me feeling borderline hysterical.
In all the possibilities I had conjured up in my mind for tonight, and trust me they got very creative, a man this drop-dead gorgeous wasn’t even in the realm of what I was expecting.
“Oh?” He asks, looking down at me, amused. If he finds our exchange odd, he doesn’t let on.
“Surely no one who looks like you is paying for sex at all, let alone such an exuberant amount.” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Have I insulted him? Apparently not enough, because my mouth decides to open again. “Unless there’s something…wrong with you.”
My gaze unwittingly drops to his crotch. He’s perfect. Too perfect. He must have a flaw somewhere.. Maybe his good looks are way overcompensating for something else?
He obviously understood my insinuation, because a small, lazy smirk forms across his face.
“Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
My heart starts beating a million miles an hour at his suggestion, even though he makes no further move toward me.
I wasn’t actually planning on sleeping with anyone tonight.
Some old guy with a fetish for being peed on was supposed to walk through that door and I was going to bolt.
But now that he’s here, I can’t deny the intense attraction I feel towards this man, and every intention I had of catching a glimpse of the guy and running leaves when my body won’t move from this spot.
It’s as if he’s gravity. Before he entered the room, I was floating around, but now his pull is so strong I can’t move even an inch away from him.
It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
He’s still smirking at me, but it’s an odd smirk.
There’s no humour in it. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say he almost looks angry.
But that thought leaves me when I’m distracted by the whisper of dimples that have appeared on his cheeks.
Soft bells of familiarity chime deep in the recesses of my mind.
“Are you a model? Have I seen you on an ad somewhere?” I blurt as my brows draw together in a frown. My eyes roam his face more closely now, taking in every perfect feature. Surely if I’d seen this man before, I’d remember. His face isn’t one you would easily forget.
The smirk drops from his face and he pushes off the wall, sauntering past me to the mini bar. He pulls down a single glass and places it down next to my used one. “No.”
Okay, then.
Now, I don’t know how these rendezvous are supposed to go. Angela gave me no direction except to turn up at the hotel, but the way he clearly side-stepped me on his way past seems a bit odd. Like he didn’t want to accidentally touch me. Isn’t the whole point of the evening that I touch him?