Chapter 4
I never did this, never even imagined. Perched on a barstool in a dress I would never have picked on a normal day, in a bar I would never have entered on a normal night, drinking something I couldn't even name anymore because by the third glass it stopped mattering.
But fate has a twisted sense of humour that's how I ended up here.
The bar was everything I usually avoided. Low golden lights. The kind of music that vibrated somewhere in your chest. People laughing too loudly, leaning too close, living too freely. A month ago I would have turned around at the door.
Tonight I walked straight in and found a seat at the bar.
I took another sip. The burn was starting to feel familiar now. Almost comfortable.
Good girls finish last, I thought. So what's the point?
Three years. Three years of being patient, being understanding, being the kind of girlfriend who saved three months of salary for a birthday surprise.
And what did I have to show for it? A cold apartment floor.
And the image of two people I loved burning itself permanently behind my eyes every time I blinked.
I flagged down the bartender and pointed at my empty glass. He refilled it without a word. Smart man.
I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar. The dress was deep wine red. Fitted but not too much. Old habits. Even in full rebellion I couldn't quite let go of them. My hair was down, which felt strange. I always kept it up at work. Neat. Professional. Controlled. Not tonight.
Tonight I wanted to be someone Oliver and Anne would never recognize. Someone completely unrecognizable to the Elera who stood frozen in that doorway clutching a gift bag like an idiot.
I wanted the opposite of every single thing I had allowed myself to be for the last three years. No more quiet evenings. No more skipping takeout. No more being the girl who stays in and behaves and trusts people who are busy betraying her in the same breath they call her name with affection.
Hazy at the edges, ridiculous at the center - that's exactly when the idea came to me. I had heard about them once. Male escorts. Men you could pay to make you feel chosen for a night without the risk of them crawling into bed with your best friend afterward.
I called the manager. He appeared with a smile that was a little too wide, eyes that flickered once to the credit card sitting openly on the bar beside my glass. I watched his expression shift into something calculating and accommodating all at once.
"I want a male escort" I told him. Plainly. Like I was ordering room service.
To his credit, he didn't even blink.
He smiled like I had just handed him a gift.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Wait in room three. I'll bring you the best we have. Handpicked."
I nodded like this was something I did regularly. Like I was a woman who made these kinds of requests all the time without her hands trembling slightly under the bar counter.
I hummed a little as I walked down the corridor. Swaying slightly. Not enough to fall, just enough to feel it. Room three, room three-
The door opened easily. The room fell silent. I blinked.
Rows of men in dark suits lined either side of the room like expensive, terrifying wallpaper. Two men sat on the large couch opposite the door. One older, gold chains catching the dim light, the kind of man who wore his power loudly.
The other one-
He was leaning back against the couch like he owned it.
Like he owned the room. Like he owned the very air everyone else was carefully breathing.
Arms resting along the headrest, legs spread with the kind of ease that came not from arrogance but from never having been told to make himself smaller.
His suit was dark, his jaw sharp enough to cut something, and there was a tattoo creeping past his sleeve that my drunk brain found unreasonably interesting.
He was looking at me. Unhurried. Unreadable. His eyes had already found me.
One brow lifted. Just slightly. The only crack in an otherwise unreadable face. The only sign I had interrupted something.
Wow, I thought distantly. The manager really does have good taste.
The silence in the room was strange. Heavy. Like everyone was waiting for something. But I was too drunk and running on heartbreak and spite, so I didn't think too hard about it.
I crossed the room and sat myself squarely in his lap. Placed both palms flat against his chest - solid, warm, very real - and looked him dead in the eye.
"You'll do." I said, and shifted to get comfortable.
In my drunken haze I missed out the gasps that echoed in a room filled with not so delicate people