Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
But she would also have been scandalized that I’m considering becoming a male prostitute, even if it is a “one and done” situation. My aunt is an open-minded woman, but she wants the best for her family and “the best” doesn’t include anything that might land one of them in jail, no matter how minor the risk of that actually happening.
“So let me get this straight,” Hunter says once we’ve exchanged holiday pleasantries, and I’ve explained the strange and unexpected situation I’ve found myself in. “You quit your job, wandered into a sex club, and agreed to pretend to be an escort for a week? Is that the situation or am I still high from the gummy I took last night?”
“No, that’s about the size of it.” I pace my penthouse living room, coffee growing cold in my hand.
Snow falls silently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, softening the hard edges of Manhattan’s skyline. From forty stories up, the city looks tranquil, almost dreamlike. Even the constant construction across the street is quiet today, the cranes frozen like sleeping, long-necked dinosaurs.
I usually love my home—the peace of it, the distance from the frenetic city below—but today the space feels too big, too luxurious. Maya would take one look at the Italian marble floors and museum-quality art and know I’m not what I’m pretending to be.
Which is why I can’t stay here, not if I really intend to go through with this.
“So, I booked an Airbnb,” I tell Hunter. “A walk-up in the East Village. It’s nice enough, but not so nice it’ll raise questions about how I pay my bills if my client decides she’d like to come back to my place tonight.”
“Your client,” he echoes, amusement in his voice. “I think you have bigger problems at the moment than location, but that’s a good call. I’ve heard some of the high-end escorts do well, but not well enough for a multimillion-dollar penthouse in the Financial District. But back to the real question here—are you insane? Is this just a midlife crisis or should I look for a rehab facility?”
“I’m not on drugs and it doesn’t feel like a crisis,” I say.
“What does it feel like, then?”
“I don’t know. It feels…intriguing. Exciting.” I resume pacing, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.
I’ve been intending to put more than a couch and a single large chair in the living room, but there never seems to be time to prioritize decorating. I’m always too busy at work. Though…I suppose that’s a problem I won’t have anymore.
Once this week with Maya is over, I’ll have plenty of time to go shopping.
I push the thought aside, refusing to think about the end before we’ve begun. “She’s beautiful, fascinating… I’m actually looking forward to spending the week with her.”
“Well, then go for it, man. Life’s too short to turn your back on a beautiful woman.”
“But maybe tonight is too soon to ask her to come back to my place?” I ask, uncertain about how fast is too fast. “Twyla said she’s completely inexperienced. So maybe it would be better to take things slow?”
“Taking things slow with the woman who’s paying you to fuck her,” he says dryly. “I’m sure she’ll love that.”
I pace back toward the kitchen island, exhaling with a rush of breath. “When you say it like that, it sounds insane, but you—"
“Oh, it is absolutely insane. Totally off the rails,” he cuts in. “It’s also the most interesting thing you’ve done in the decade plus that I’ve known you. Tell me more about her, this innocent young woman who’s got you tied up in knots.”
I lean against the counter, flashing back to the warmth in Maya’s big blue eyes, the feel of her curves soft against me, the hungry little sounds she made when I pulled her against me. The ghost of her perfume still clings to my suit jacket in my closet, and I already know I won’t be sending it to the cleaners come Monday morning.
“She’s smart. And funny,” I murmur. “And so damned sweet. She offered to give me an interest-free loan if I was in trouble and only escorting because I was in dire financial straits. She didn’t want me to feel forced into doing something I didn’t truly want to do.”
Hunter makes a cooing sound that has me grinning as I turn back to the windows. “Shut up,” I say, fighting a laugh. “That’s sweet.”
“It is,” he agrees. “She sounds like a doll. Just a sweet, innocent kid adrift in the big city, primed for some gigolo to take advantage. You have to fuck her, now. If you don’t, some far less scrupulous man is going to take her for a ride in more ways than one.”
My smile fades, a frown pulling at my forehead. “Twyla doesn’t employ those kinds of men.”