Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Still, this is my reality. With a sigh, I sit at my vanity and stare at my reflection. Tonight’s date should be okay. I have my regulars, but there’s a new guy named Trevor that the agency urged me to meet. They assured me he’s well off, and the client even provided a headshot of himself. He looks to be as handsome as a male movie star, but I’m not betting on it. These things can be photoshopped so easy.
But nonetheless, a date is a date and I’m getting paid. Quickly, I swipe on some mascara, and apply my favorite color-stay lip stick in a beautiful shade of rose that contrasts nicely with my black cocktail dress. Then I pat my curls before standing and turning before the mirror. This dress really is perfect. The décolletage is subtle, hinting at my cleavage, but the back is where the drama begins. There’s a deep vee going all the way down revealing just a hint of my bottom cleft where my lower-back tattoo rests. I realize that some folks refer to these tattoos as tramp stamps, but mine is small and very discreet. It’s a rose that lies horizontally right above my buttocks with the initials “THG” in discreet script next to it. I know, I know. I got Three Hole Girls indelibly stamped on my body during a drunken night out, but at least the letters are tiny. Besides, I quite like the rose even if I should lose the acronym.
Satisfied, I turn around and smile in the mirror before fluffing out my curls. This should be enough for Trevor, and if it isn’t? Well, he can always find another escort if he’s unhappy. At that moment, a text pings on my phone, and I smile. Oh good, the Uber’s here. Quickly, I slide into my heels, grab my purse, and head downstairs with a naughty smile on my lips.
Miriam’s is more than a bar; it looks as if I’ve stepped into a Prohibition-era speakeasy with dim lights, bartenders in fitted grey vests, and elegantly coiffed guests. Beautiful crystal glasses are displayed behind a massive oak bar, and everyone seems to be enjoying a top shelf spirit that I could never afford in my wildest dreams.
Even better, I spy Trevor immediately. He’s the dark-haired man who waves when I enter, and to my surprise, he looks even better than his headshot. The man has ebony hair that makes his deep blue eyes pop, chiseled features, and a startling, bright-white smile. It’s obvious that he works out, even in his fancy suit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hits the gym twice a day.
“You must be Danielle,” he growls as I approach.
I smile brilliantly as a thrill courses down my spine.
“Yes, please call me Dani.”
We clasp hands, and electricity jolts at the touch. Wow, this is incredible. Usually my dates are handsome, but they aren’t movie-star quality. But there’s something weird about Trevor’s smile that feels a bit off. At first, I can’t put my finger on it, but then I realize that his smile is alarmingly wide and looks almost as if he has too many teeth. Is that even biologically possible?
But I banish my reservations and slide easily onto the bar stool next to his. Meanwhile, my date flags down the bartender.
“I’ll have a bourbon.” He looks at me. “What would you like, sweetheart?”
I nod and throw him an impish smile.
“I’ll take a glass of chardonnay, please.”
The bartender immediately moves away to prepare our drinks, and my date turns to face me. Wow, Trevor’s huge with broad shoulders and a massive, sculpted chest. This is probably the most handsome man I’ve ever met through the agency, and I thank my lucky stars for the opportunity.
“You know,” Trevor begins conversationally, “I’ve never done this before.”
I flutter my lashes.
“Done what?”
“Paid for a woman,” he says in a blunt tone. “It’s not something that I need to do, if you know what I mean. Usually, the ladies come to me.”
I hide my frown because the fairy tale is beginning to dispel. I mean, what a narcissistic jerk-off to even say those words! But unfortunately, it’s part and parcel of being an escort. Clients don’t feel that they need to hold their tongues, and start spewing their innermost thoughts even if it’s unpalatable. But I try to be nice.
“Oh really?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “What made you change your mind this time?”
Trevor sighs and looks off in the distance.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have too much money. I mean, WTF am I going to spend it on? Another car? Another apartment? I already own a block of apartments in Monroe, you know,” he says with a meaningful look.
I hide my giggle because while it’s impressive to own real estate in suburban New Jersey, it’s nothing like owning real estate in Manhattan. Still, I act nice.