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Neve
LOL what about you? Will you see Birthday Boy again?
Me
I think so. Just not in the way you think. I don’t know if this is for me though — it’s complicated
Neve
Take all the time you need. It’s a lot, especially when you’re new. If you want to talk, I’m all ears.
I smile.
Me
Thanks. Appreciate that. Maybe we can have lunch this week and you can tell me all about that dashing man of yours
Neve
Sounds perfect!
I realise I should also message Ariana and Imogen. It’s been a few days. I also haven’t told them anything about me working as an escort. Neither of my friends are judgy, but that’s still a lot to unpack. Telling them about Alistair is even worse, but I know I’ll have to confess. We don’t have any secrets. I may have been coy about how hard things have been in London financially, but they’ll see through it eventually.
“That was amazing,” I say to Dom. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Mr. Devereaux left you a note. I’m afraid I had to move it in case I got food on it.” He points to the table behind. “I left it over there.”
“Oh,” I say. “Thanks, Dom.” I get up to retrieve it and notice his neat, scripted handwriting. How the hell did he learn to write so elegantly?
I smile when I get to the end. My butt is actually feeling fine this morning.
I wander over to the living room where I see a single rail of clothes hung on clear hangers. There are several shoe boxes stacked up and I gape when I see a Louis Vuitton shopping bag along with several others of varying designers.
What in the world?
I finger through the clothing. They’re all designer labels — of course — and I gape at the price tags. One Gucci blouse is over six hundred pounds.
Of course, every single item is in my size, even the shoes.
There are three pairs of jeans, a few pairs of pants and skirts — no leggings in sight. Blouses, t-shirts, jackets and belts. Clearly, Alistair expects me to wear this stuff, and since I agreed to be his sugar baby — in his eyes, happy to spend his money — I need to stop gawking and grab something to wear. It’s ten thirty already.
I swipe a pair of navy pants, the white frilly blouse and a pair of dark blue pumps. Fuck knows how I’m going to walk in those, but whatever. I peer into the shopping bags and squeal when I pull out a Louis Vuitton Neverfull. There’s also a black cross body bag from Gucci, a cream shoulder bag from Prada and two Versace belts.
I’ve never seen extravagance like this, but then again, he didn’t correct me last night when I accidentally called him a sugar daddy.
I tell myself he wants me to spend his money. He wants me to wear this stuff because I’m important to him — not because I’m being paid. It is a pleasant fiction and as I scoop the Louis Vuitton into my arms, I know today is going to be a good day, and I’ve only got half an hour to make myself presentable.
I wait outside Alistair’s office, wondering what’s taking so long. I’ve been here for twenty minutes now and as great as all this is, I’m not the most patient person in the world.
The building — like all things Alistair — is incredible. I’ve never seen so many shiny buttons on an elevator before. Of course, Alistair’s offices are on the very top floor. Would we expect anything less?
When I’m finally led to his office by an attractive receptionist, he’s on his phone. He gestures for me to come in. I do so and close the door behind me.
I study him in his surroundings and try not to get swept up in all of this.
He’s every inch the CEO in his grey suit, white shirt and matching satin tie. The things I’d love for him to do to me with that tie…
He looks handsome. His hair is carefully styled. He has manscaped his face, but his beard remains. I press my legs together when I remember how his scruff felt when his head was between my legs.
