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"What's wrong now?"
"It's Daniel. He's confirming our date, but I need to cancel. What do I—"
"Grammy emergency," Nat offers.
I text it out and drop my phone, not waiting for a response. I look at Natalie, and she's already standing beside me peering into my closet.
"So tell me, what do you need help with?"
I pull out a black two-piece—a lacy push-up bra with matching bikini panties. I decide I'll wear thigh high lace stockings and garters. I look at her and place my ensemble on my bed.
"If you're feeling sick, you can lie down."
"Shut up and tell me."
"Do my hair while I do my makeup?"
Just under two hours later, I'm in Midtown walking into Baccart Hotel, and taking the elevator up to the penthouse suite. I'm being paid for the next four hours. I've yet to do a job this long, not counting James, and get paid fifteen grand for it. I’m a little edgy not knowing what to expect. I just know I don't want to fuck up.
Coconut oil. Throat spray. Percocet. Vodka.
I'm good to go.
What every working girl's arsenal requires.
Exhaling a slow breath, I try to remain calm as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. I pull off my gloves and fold them into my purse, then walk to the end of the hall. Christine told me the door would be unlocked and to walk right in.
I step into the massive suite that's cloaked in darkness. The blinds are at half-mast and the lights from the surrounding skyscrapers create an elegant glamour that lures me in. The aroma of vanilla coats the room, and there are orchids on every counter. Large white tiles, white bed sheets with a dramatic canopy, and a stunning crystal chandelier hang in the center of the room. I can hear the shower running and decide to pour a drink and wait for my new client.
Stepping up three stairs, I walk into the lounge room and come to a halt.
My heart drops and I gasp quietly. There's someone already sitting in the corner with a drink in his hand. He twirls it, and the ice clinks against the glass. I can't see his face, but his legs are crossed and his black shoes gleam in the dark. There's a subtle sent of cologne that's so alluring I feel the attraction in my chest.
"You're a hard woman to track down, Valentina," the voice says, sending an all-consuming shiver down my spine.
James.
I swallow hard and walk over to him, trying to steady my racing heart. I'm both impatient for his touch but uneasy by how it will make me feel.
Stepping closer, light from the window casts a soft glow over his handsome face, and our eyes meet. He's wearing a slate gray crisp dress shirt that oddly accentuates his matured age.
My lips part with a sigh and I sober up as much as I can, even though my body immediately stirs with hunger each step I take closer to him.
"James. A pleasure to see you."
"Yes, it sure is a fucking pleasure," he says, raking a heated gaze up the length of my body. "Tell me, why have you refused to see me?"
I blink, clearing away my Aubrey thoughts and slipping into Valentina. I step over to the glass table that houses a few bottles of alcohol. Lifting the decanter, I say, "James, you have to know I have other clients. I can only spread myself so thin." I pour myself two fingers of tequila.
"What do I have to pay to be your only client?"
I bite the inside of my lip and walk back over to him in my four-inch heels. I place my glass down on the table between his chair and mine. Unbuckling my belt, I remove my coat and place it over the arm of the chair. His eyes flare then lower, and he unwinds and leans back, all the while staring at me like I’m a five-star meal and he’s a starving man. I melt a little inside, loving how he stares at me.
"Getting right to the point?" I smirk and sit down.
He seems so relaxed and calm, but I can feel his tension, his desire, and yet he's as smooth as the jazz softly playing in the background.
"Since you hid from me, yes. Give me a number and it's yours. I want you, Valentina. For my own. I'm willing to pay any amount. Want to do it privately and not through Sanctuary Cove? Even better. Name your terms and I'll sign a contract. I’ll draw up the papers myself. You want a monthly stipend? A condo in SoHo? The rest of your tuition paid for? Name it. There's nothing I can't make happen when I want something, and God, do I want you."
