Nothing to Deny (Nothing to... #12)

ONE

“THIS IS CRAZY,” Freya Dere said.

Without any hesitation, her cousin, Holly, tugged her along the sidewalk and through the glass doors of a building right in the heart of the city.

How could it be so central? So unashamed?

No, Freya, not the right mindset. She didn’t judge, as such, it was just a surprise the agency wasn’t in some seedy corner of town. Hidden, not so… public. Was Squires in the directory? Surely not.

Calm. Different businesses rented out floor space. No one would know what went on in every corner, would they? God, what was she doing? Their intention was to do something illegal. Illegal!

What the hell was wrong with her? Most people worried about falling victim to peer pressure when they were teens. She was most definitely not a teen, so why, at her age, was she embarking on a criminal career for the first time? Family, that’s why. Oh, family.

Looked like she was about to get an answer to her question. Holly stopped to check the building directory. Her? No, she couldn’t look. Plausible deniability. Seeing was believing… and culpability. This was taking too long. They were loitering where people could see them. Hadn’t her cousin claimed to know where she was going? Why the stop?

“You know what would be crazy?” Holly asked. “Us, putting up with Kelly’s nonsense without backup.”

She and her cousins were raised close. Relatively close. Close… ish. Okay, maybe not so close. Still, they kept in touch, not a lot of families even did that. Holly and Kelly Piven were the daughters of Gerry and Brenda Piven. The two sisters had a brother as well, Alan, and the three siblings grew up in a picture-perfect life with their parents.

To be fair, hers hadn’t been far from perfect either. Except, obviously, the glaring blight on her upbringing: the loss of her parents. Okay, admittedly, most wouldn’t call that perfect. Their deaths left her under the care of her paternal grandfather, Truman Dere, a man richer than God and more ruthless than Lucifer. So other people said. That hadn’t been her experience, but as his only living blood relative, her position was unique.

Her grandfather should be the last man on her mind while waiting for an elevator to a place he’d despise her visiting.

The metal doors whooshed open and whoa, boy… this was happening, it was actually happening… New year, new adventure. Was that the idea?

Holly grabbed her hand to pull her into the carriage and stabbed a button, wearing a gleeful grin.

“An escort agency,” she muttered, watching the numbers light as they ascended. “This is a bad idea.”

Holly huffed. “Seriously, Frey, I mean, seriously? You’ve heard Kelly, right? Heard how she’s so loved up, so adored, so perfect? Aren’t you sick of it?”

“Hearing how amazing Nickson is twenty-four, seven? Yes, I am sick of that. Very sick of it. But I am also tired of listening to how amazing your fictitious boyfriend is.”

Holly had reason to be upset about the state of her love life. When the woman started talking about new boyfriend, “Paul,” Freya assumed things were looking up. That false picture lasted right up until she learned “Paul” was nothing but a figment of Holly’s imagination. What a tangled web…

“This is going to make it all okay,” Holly said, looping an arm through hers and lifting her chin. “Loretta recommended this place. Loretta knows everything.”

Loretta being Holly’s boss. The two had been friends for years. To say that Holly idolized the older woman would be an understatement. For the most part, the relationship was healthy… not that she knew a lot about it. What she did know? Loretta was more daring than anyone in their family. And right then, Loretta could be their undoing.

They arrived on the agency’s floor. Still reluctant, her heavy feet would only move with Holly’s effort dragging her out. The beautiful lobby looked more like an expensive apartment than an office. Good, okay, the environment put her at ease.

Wait, was that good?

No orgies or mandatory nudity, those were good. Couches, warm colors, perfect lighting, it seduced her like a sailor to a siren, probably exactly the decorator’s aim.

Freya dug her heels in and stopped, backing them up to the wall. “Please, Hol, you know I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Holly said, letting go of her arm to cup both hands around her face. “You are allowed to have fun, Frey. You’re even allowed to have sex.”

According to who? Not her grandfather.

“Truman will build me a dungeon,” she said, certain in the widening of her eyes. “An actual dungeon, if he finds out about this.”

“You thought he’d cut you off when you went out on your own,” Holly said. “You said he wouldn’t like you getting an apartment or building the foundation.”

Like it or not, her grandfather hadn’t stood in the way of her creating Children’s Connection, ChilConn, her now-thriving charity. Truman Dere excelled at supporting her… usually.

“This isn’t exactly the same thing.”

“It will be fine.”

If only she could have the same confidence. “Hol—”

“It’s no big deal,” Holly said, straightening up, exaggerating her grin. “This is a fun adventure. We’re being daring. Don’t you want to be daring?” When Freya tried to shake her head, Holly tightened her grip to clamp it still. “Men do this all the time. All over the world. Every day. And this place has the good stuff, we’re not curb-crawling. It’s elite. Top secret. No one will know what we’ve done. All we need is a couple of men to be loved up and devoted, just like Nickson. It’s the only thing that will make our lives bearable. Don’t you want a bearable life?”

“A bearable life?” Freya muttered. “Yes, I do, but—”

“My sister is marrying a man who proposed after two months of dating. Two! They’re getting married, talking about houses and kids. And what are we doing? Nothing. We’re losers, love losers.”

Hmm, she couldn’t argue against that.

“But—”

“My father is forcing us to go away with them to get to know this man who came from completely nowhere. Do you know how many social functions we’re going to have until this damn wedding? Days, maybe weeks, at some resort with my sister and her adoring fiancé, a private engagement party, a public engagement party. We have the bridal shower, bachelorette parties—”

“I don’t see how fake boyfriends will help us with that.”

Stepping back, Holly thrust her fists to her hips. “You don’t want to be the only loser singleton at a bachelorette party. Trust me, that’s announcing eternal spinsterhood.” Whoa, wow. “Besides, we can send our men to the bachelor party, make sure this Nickson doesn’t do anything that might hurt Kelly.”

Great idea. Maybe. Her nerves jangled. There was no one around, yet it felt like they were being watched.

Paranoia didn’t usually shake her. “This just seems… complicated.”

“It’s not complicated. Squires is the premier male escort agency in the country. Probably in the world. The men here are vetted to the hilt; they’re not crazy perverts. They’re discreet and will offer any service we want. Any service…” Her cousin’s suggestive tone didn’t allay her anxiety. “It’s tailored to what the client wants, that’s us. We’re the clients!” She grinned again. “Can you imagine having a guy who actually does what he’s told?”

“I don’t think—”

“Come on, Frey, we agreed to do this together.” Did they? When did she say yes? Had agreement ever left her lips? The situation was snowballing out of control. “We have to support each other. This way, we can back each other up and talk, ‘cause we’ll know everything.”

“I can know everything without having to participate,” she said. “Seriously, Hol—”

“It’s a man,” Holly said and tilted her head. “One you’re going to pay to treat you the way you want to be treated… the way you deserve to be treated.” Obviously Holly could tell her argument wasn’t convincing because she huffed again. “Either you control your own choice or I pick a guy for you.” Crooking a brow, the threat was clear. Her cousin was aware of everything she’d hate in a partner… and how she hated to be out of control. “Bodybuilder, right? Low IQ… maybe someone who slurps his soup… you like messy eaters, right?”

Restraining her irritation at the attempted tease, she breathed out, resigned this was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. Somehow this felt like a prime, “ What would Roxie do ?” moment. An adage some of her newest friends swore by.

“You’re going to owe me big time for this.”

Clapping once, Holly squealed. “I will. I love you. Thank you!”

Grabbing her hand, Holly led them across the large, curved space filled with couches and armchairs so soft they might consume a person. The carpet was thick. A warm beige color, it complemented the elegant gold pinstripe on the walls.

“You’d think they’d be more particular about security,” Holly said, stopping at the far wall, looking left to right down the corridors running the length of the full-height windows.

Broad spiral stairs led away from the seating area. Were they supposed to go up there? Either way, there should be a more defined reception. The corridors were long, no labels or signs, which way should they go?

Holly spun around and planted her by the window. “You wait here; I’m going to find someone.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, Holly stalked off, a woman on a mission. She wouldn’t chase after her. If her cousin found someone, so be it. If not, oh, well, she wouldn’t lose sleep over Squires not meeting Holly’s expectations.

Breathing in and then out, she checked out the bustling street below. There were offices on the opposite side of the street, bullpens and private boardrooms with people in suits hustling. A typical work environment. Not like this one.

Something drew her eye toward the corridor opposite. Terrible at standing still doing nothing, she wandered that way. Not really going anywhere just… wandering. At the mouth of the corridor an archway to an enclosed circular space, maybe ten feet in diameter, prompted her on.

Headshots of men lined the walls from hip height to a couple of feet above her head. All kinds of men, men of different ages, races, builds, every demographic. Someone for everyone.

This was a menu. She shivered, unimpressed by the idea the men were lined up to be sampled and selected like caviar or wine.

All the men were attractive. Some more her type than others. How did the positioning work? There had to be some sort of system. Alternatively, the men were added and removed as they started and stopped working for the agency. Gaps would have to be filled. Could be scattershot. Maybe there was no pattern.

She wrapped her arms around herself, scanning the pictures as she would in a museum installation. One distinguished gentleman was familiar, hadn’t she met him at one of her grandfather’s functions? Maybe it was just that he looked like so many others. He could certainly fit in with her grandfather’s crowd. Many of these men could.

Despite their appearance of sophistication, something drove these men into this line of work. Sure, Squires seemed upmarket, and the conditions were impeccable, so far, but no one chose sex work because they wanted to share themselves with the masses. It was a necessity.

She backed out of the gallery. This wasn’t right. She had to find Holly and remind her these were real people, not meat meant to make their lives easier. Hurrying down the corridor, on the hunt, she went deeper into the complex and rushed smack, bang into the side of a guy who materialized from a perpendicular hallway.

“Whoa, hey,” he said, whoever he was, and opened his arms to cocoon her without actually making contact.

Stumbling back, her heel wobbled and her ankle gave out, but the stranger caught her arm. Thank you. Good. She didn’t fall on her butt. What a first impression that would make. None of these words came out. On instinct, her arm rose to push his down. And, heart racing, it didn’t settle her any to see the dazzling white smile emerge on his lips. The warmth in his brown eyes stunned her into silence; words, all words, were lost.

“Second thoughts?” he asked. Somehow the deep growl of his voice intimidated and soothed at the same time. Still, she had nothing. “I recognize the look… Married?”

Her vocal cords had clenched shut. Relax. Relax. Progress was made in a shallow headshake. The act must have shaken something loose, though it wasn’t sense, as proved by what did come out of her mouth.

“Are… are you a hooker?”

His practiced smile quirked to something much broader and more genuine. She hadn’t thought the last one was false until she saw the light of a laugh in his eyes.

“If you’re asking do I work here? Yes. I do work here.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head. “Oh, that was so offensive. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Baer will do just fine,” he said and offered her a hand. Confused, she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “You don’t have to call me God.” Had she? No. That hadn’t been what she meant, he was kidding, that was kidding… maybe. “Now, let me guess… You didn’t come here alone.”

“No,” she said and pointed back over her shoulder. “I—”

“No, don’t tell me… You said you weren’t married.” Glancing down, he stole a look at her hand. “No fiancée… So a girlfriend brought you… or a relative?”

“Cousin.”

Bobbing his head, he slipped his hands into his slacks pockets. “It’s an event.”

“Something like that,” she said. “I’m sorry I called you a hooker.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been called worse… You got all the way here, now you want to back out…? What changed your mind?”

Licking her lips, honesty was a good start. “Your gallery.”

One side of his mouth curled high enough that a hint of a dimple showed. “Yeah, some of those guys should be hung by the neck not by picture hooks… You’re skittish, aren’t you?” Taking a backward step, he opened his arm toward the corridor he’d emerged from. “Would you do me the honor of a chance to change your mind?”