Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Are you fucking kidding me? Do these things really exist? But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. Why not? I need a girlfriend who can fool my family, friends, and business associates. Someone who can pull the wool over their eyes, and then walk away once it’s all done. As a result, I said yes, and the concierge booked a night out for me with one of their best, a woman named Sansa. She says this girl is one of a kind, and in fact, she’s too good for the escort business. What does that even mean? Who says that about their product, anyways? But it’s fine because if Sansa’s as good as they say she is, then I plan on proposing on the first date.
So here I am, at the bar, waiting for my future fake fiancée. I gingerly sip at my scotch while tapping a finger against the wood idly. Sansa. What a strange name. I wonder what she looks like, and how she’ll carry herself. I can’t help but wonder if she’ll accept my business proposition because hell, she could say no. Then, I wonder if Frank will buy it: love at first sight. Hey, it’s possible, right? There’s even a TV show about these things.
Suddenly, a ripple of energy goes through the room and I turn to see what caused it. At first, I can’t see because it’s a bit dim, but then a beautiful woman shows herself. She’s young, luscious, and devastatingly gorgeous, her voluptuous curves hugged tightly by a red cocktail dress. Yet she still manages to hold an air of elegance, with the graceful curve of her neck and the soft whiteness of her décolletage. I’m so entranced by the delicate sway of her hips that for a moment, I don’t even realize she’s heading right in my direction. Holy fuck. She’s so beautiful and carries herself with such class that this can’t possibly be the escort I booked for tonight.
But sure enough, it is. She walks directly to my seat at the end of the bar, and smiles with a twinkle in her eye.
“You must be Brent,” she says in a soft, seductive voice. “I’m Sansa,” she greets. I clear the frog from my throat. Holy fuck. This woman is beyond my wildest expectations. With a start, I sit up.
“I’m glad you made it, Sansa. Please, take a seat,” I say while gesturing to the stool next to mine. She smiles lightly while delicately lowering herself onto the wooden chair. Then, the buxom brunette carefully crosses her legs as she hangs her purse beneath the bar top. I can’t help but feel aroused by her every move. Meanwhile, the bartender recognizes Sansa and briskly moves away from the patrons he was attending in order to greet her.
“Sansa, my dear. How are you?” he says politely.
“I’m doing well, very well. Thanks for asking, Matt.” Her voice is velvety: a low and seductive purr. Holy fuck. Everything about this girl is perfect, and I watch as she unwittingly wriggles in her seat while talking to the barkeep. Her curly brown hair swings from side to side brushing against the open back of her dress, revealing hints of creamy, smooth skin as it does.
“What can I get for you?” Matt asks. Yet, his eyes watch me as he speaks, as if he’s sizing me up on Sansa’s behalf. Is he her protector? Suddenly, I realize that City Girls escorts likely frequent the same hotels and bars all over Manhattan. They’re familiar with the staff, who act as sentinels of sorts, looking out for the girls as they work. I nod. It all makes sense now.
“Just a cosmo please,” Sansa orders.
“Coming right up.” Matt nods and spins on his heels towards the bar rack behind him. Then, Sansa smiles to herself and slides her bottom around on the stool, turning her body to face my own. Her eyes meet mine, and the dark brown pools stop my mind in its tracks. She’s literally that beautiful.
“What are you drinking tonight, Brent?” she asks.
“Scotch,” I respond as I tip the amber liquid in her direction.
“What kind of scotch?” she inquires. I’m surprised by her interest because most girls can’t even tell a scotch from a bourbon from a whiskey because they’re all about the same color, with the same presentation too. My shock must show in my face, but she merely smiles.
“Bowmore Gold,” I growl. “Why, do you know it?”
Her laughter tinkles in the air.
“Yes, definitely, and that’s one hell of a scotch. I’m surprised they have that here!” she remarks.
“Well, this is quite the establishment. They have a fine selection available, including a cellar downstairs, if you’re interested.” I sip my premium scotch before continuing. “So, you know a little bit about scotch then?”