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He nods.
“Yeah, a fake bride. Temporary of course. Just someone to get married to, and then get divorced from. Would you be interested in the job?” Brent asks me in a strangely matter-of-fact tone, as if this is a completely normal proposition.
Is this man out of his mind?
I can’t believe the words I’m hearing. I’ve been an escort for a few years now, so I’ve seen all sorts of shenanigans. Clients with toupees which fly off during sex. Customers who keep exotic pets at their apartments. Even one man who asked his escort to call him “Grandpa” during sex. Not “Daddy,” but rather “Grandpa.” Yet, I’ve never heard of a girl receiving a fake marriage proposal, and especially not after only one booking!
“Um, so why do you need a fake fiancée?” I finally venture, still disbelieving. But Brent is smooth.
“Well,” he begins slowly. He sounds as if he is choosing his next words carefully, so as not to startle me. “My family owns a string of very successful stores called Carson’s Sporting Goods.”
“That’s your family?” I ask surprised. “Wow.” Everybody’s heard of Carson’s because they’re a huge chain. They operate nationwide and have a huge flagship in Times Square. I’ve never put much thought into who actually owned the store, but I guess there really is a Carson family that exists.
Brent nods. “Ronnie, my grandfather, started the business as a small shop in the 1950’s,” he says. “The store began to grow, and he eventually grew successful enough to open a few extra storefronts in neighboring towns. He ran the company for years and years, enlisting his sons as stockboys and then assistant managers. When Ronnie was finally ready to retire, he installed my dad as CEO and that’s when Carson’s began to really take off. My dad grew this place into a behemoth, and really re-vamped all its internal processes.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. “It’s incredible to hear. But what does any of this have to do with me, or a fake fiancée for that matter?”
Brent smiles ruefully.
“Well, that’s the funny thing. I’ve been with Carson’s since I was just a boy. Literally, I was sweeping floors when I was only twelve years old. But now, after two decades of slaving away, my dad tells me he’ll only cede the CEO position to me after I’m married. As you can see, it puts me in a bind.”
I stare at him.
“Married?”
Brent nods.
“Yeah, and let me tell you, I’m just as shocked as you. But Frank is Frank. He thinks that marriage brings stability to a man’s life, grounding him and making him fit for the job. I say it’s total bullshit, but my dad thinks a mature relationship with a good woman will keep me in check.”
I can’t help but giggle at this and Brent looks at me curiously.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” I apologize. “It’s just- is an escort really the mature relationship your dad is expecting?” Brent chuckles at this too, and we both relax a little at the absurdity of the situation.
“No, definitely not. But I need a woman who understands her place, and who comprehends what I’m looking for. I need to get married, get the CEO position, and then get divorced pronto. With a female friend, there will be complications. She’ll have expectations, and honestly, I can’t be bothered with that. Thus, I need a professional who understands that this isn’t going to be a real marriage. I need someone who will play her part, and then walk away once this is all done.”
I nod with understanding. In a weird, roundabout way, his logic makes sense, and to be honest, I kind of like how this man operates. Brent’s straightforward, to say the least.
“So, what do you think?” the handsome man prompts. “Would you be interested, honey? I’d make it worth your while.”
I bite my lip.
“Actually,” I finally say, “I’m leaving City Girls. Last night was supposed to be my last night on the job, so this kind of comes at a bad time.” Brent squints at me as I share this news.
“I was your last client, hmm? So, what are you going to do now?” Immediately, I smile, almost beaming.
“I’m going to open a candy store. I’ve signed a lease on a small storefront downtown, and I have tons of ideas for sweet treats I can sell.”
“Oh yeah? That does sound amazing. Tell me more,” he urges, intrigued by my enthusiasm.
“My focus will my specialty licorice, actually. Licorice of all sorts of flavors and with lots of color varieties, and I plan on importing this stuff from all over the world. For example, there’s a company in Lithuania that specializes in a type of green licorice made with absinthe, and I’m planning on carrying that. I’ll be the only retailer in NYC with this brand,” I say.
