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Emory’s eyes go wide, and she blinks a couple times.
“Girl, I’m not sure what you’re here for, but this isn’t modeling. Not exactly, at least. That mirrored wall over there is a two-way mirror, and the clients are on the other side so that they can pick and choose which girl they want.”
My eyes squint.
“That’s a coincidence because I was just thinking that mirror reminded me of an interrogation room in a cop show. But when you say clients, you mean the photographer is secretly watching us from the other side to choose which model he wants to work with, right?”
Emory shakes her head solemnly. “No, not exactly. The customers are there, not a photographer.”
I squint.
“Yes, but what kind of modeling doesn’t have a photographer? Or is some kind of newfangled social media thing where they’re able to capture images using special digital devices? I’m so bad with technology, I swear.”
Again, Emory shakes her head.
“No, they’re potential clients, girlfriend, because City Girls is an escort service. Didn’t you know? The customers are men on the other side of the mirror. They’re using this opportunity to select their dates, meaning they’re choosing from the women lounging here. This isn’t modeling in the traditional sense at all, although maybe someone’s taking photos. Who knows?”
For a minute I forget to breathe. This can’t be right because the ad said models, and mentioned nothing about being an escort. “But the job posting was specifically for models, and that woman, Margaux, didn’t say anything about escorting when I got off the elevator.”
Emory laughs. “You think they’re going to advertise what they really do? Heck, I googled the business and there were no hits for City Girls. That’s a dead giveaway, if anything, because what company doesn’t have an on-line presence these days? But that’s the deal, and I just learned myself from another girl, Cathy, over there.”
I turn to see who she’s nodding to, and Cathy is a gorgeous redhead currently lounging on a plush sofa. As we watch, she stretches both arms over her head lazily, and one big breast pops out of her décolletage, almost as if by accident. But instead of being embarrassed, Cathy merely smiles slyly before reaching to toy with a deep pink nipple. Only then, does she slip her boob back under the fabric.
Holy shit, Emory’s right. Cathy was definitely performing for an unseen audience of men and my cheeks go hot. Is that what they expect me to do too? To flash my tits and pussy for a bevy of rich dudes on the other side of this mirror? Hell no! But I’m still reeling from this discovery.
“So, all the other girls know what’s up?”
Eyes wide, Emory looks around and then nods. “Yes, I think so,” she whispers. “No one really talks about it, but I think everyone knows.”
My blood starts boiling, and I can feel the heat rising up my chest to my face. What the hell? How am I the only one who didn’t realize what this was really about?
“I signed up for a modeling gig,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m not a prostitute and there’s no way I’m selling my body for money. That ad was purposely misleading, and Margaux let me keep believing this was a real modeling job when I got here.”
“Yes, but now you know the truth,” Emory whispers. “Didn’t they give you five hundred bucks when you got here?”
I shoot daggers at her.
“Yes, but I thought that was just for showing up!” I hiss. “I had no idea it was to get me to do this.”
Turning back to the table, I put my plate down deliberately with trembling fingers. Then, in anger, I kick the leg of the table. It’s juvenile, I know, but I’m so angry! How could they have tricked me like this? Where is their honesty and honor?
It’s just a small kick, but it’s audible and the table wobbles. A decanter of wine sloshes around, and the other girls look over with alarm.
“Angela!” Emory whispers with shock, her voice going pale. “What the hell are you doing?”
But I don’t care because now, I’ve turned to face the room and I can see that the game is up. Several of the women have their dresses pulled up around their waists, with their legs spread. They’re skimming their hands over their inner thighs and swirling their fingers gently around those moist pussies. Quite a few have pulled their tops down too so that their big breasts are out in the open, and judging from their stiff nipples, they’re teasing the men who are still sight unseen.
But I won’t be joining their ranks. Hell no! I have a degree, and I’m not going to sell my body just to make ends meet.
“You guys can do whatever you want, but I am not a prostitute!” I growl through my clenched jaw. Then, I pick up the hem of my dress and dash to the other side of the room before stopping in front of the door. Like a madwoman, I begin banging my fists on the surface. “Let me out, you bastards! You can’t keep me here. This is illegal! I’ll have you all arrested!”
