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This was the thing. The thing that I was working through in my head, as I held hands with my newest, sexiest, richest John in the history of all my Johns—and there were a lot, mind you. James was gorgeous. Any breathing heterosexual woman would instantly agree to that. He had huge shoulders, a square chin, and steel-blue eyes. On top of all this, he was tall, and from what I could guess was going on under his thousand-dollar-plus suit, he appeared to be devoted to working out, damn him.
None of this would have me all that excited. Although I did like his hair, too…it was steel-colored, neither brown nor black, some in-between color of thick, wavy, glossy godliness, gelled back just enough to keep it off his face.
But wait! I was getting off track here, again. Nothing about his looks, not even that glossy hair, was that thrilling to me. I’d been with lots of good-looking men, and while it sometimes made the job a little easier, I’d found that the good-looking ones were just as likely to be assholes as the plain-looking ones. In my experience, they were actually a little nastier. Maybe because they’d had everything handed to them their whole lives, and it still wasn’t working out for them.
His looks weren’t what was troubling me.
The fact that when he touched me my body responded with heat didn’t bother me, either. That was one good thing about hooking, aside from the money: I usually enjoyed the sex, as long as the John was decent and relatively kind.
I also liked good-looking men with big shoulders and big…hands, which James had. Not that I’d been studying them in the car or anything, wondering if he was going to break down eventually and let me see what else he had that might be big…
I was getting off track again. What I wanted to say, in one complete and uninterrupted thought, was what worried me about James, and what was going to happen over the next two weeks, was that he seemed almost normal. Like someone I could talk to. Like someone I might need to help.
I needed a lot of things. Needing to help someone else was not one of them. In fact, that was probably the last thing I needed, on a long list of last things. I was going to have to watch my back with him. Not let him get under my skin. I had enough people to take care of.
We were both watching the numbers on the dial go up, not saying a word. I wondered what he was thinking, and whether or not he felt the same heat between us that I felt.
I wanted to un-feel it. It would just be so much easier, all things considered.
We reached the top floor, and James punched the code in for his unit.
“Holy shit,” I said, knocked out of my inner monologue by the stark beauty of James’s apartment. “This is gorgeous.”
The space was massive, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows letting in a flood of warm sunlight. Dark hardwood floors gleamed beneath a huge couch packed with colorful throw pillows, and colored clay vases dotted the various tables in the room. It was a stunning but comfortable space, a place where you wanted to pick up a huge book and curl up on the couch.
Given James’s intense attitude, comfortable was not what I was expecting.
“I’m glad you like it.” He released my hand and motioned for me to follow him in. “Thank you. I don’t like being back up here, so I wanted the space to feel like my house in California. Lots of light. Comfortable.”
“It’s definitely not classic Boston,” I said, “but I love it.”
“Where do you live?” he asked, and I could tell he almost didn’t want to.
“New England School of Design campus housing,” I lied, easily.
He smiled at me again. “Where do you really live, Audrey?”
“Southie,” I said, and he nodded, not surprised. “It’s getting really yuppie, though.”
“I bet.” He paused for a beat, and we stood there, awkwardly. The escort and the billionaire, all chatted out. He looked at his watch. “I’ll show you your room,” he said, heading down a hallway. I followed close behind, marveling at how enormous the apartment was, wanting to stop and ogle at the view of the city and the Commons below.
James threw open a door, and I stepped into a beautiful bedroom with a king-sized bed. I went and sat on the bed and looked up at James.
“Thank you. It’s lovely,” I said.
He nodded at me, and a flicker of something—I didn’t know him well enough to recognize it—crossed his face. He started backing out the door.
“You don’t have to go, James,” I said in a low voice. “If you want, we can just do this now. So we seem natural around your family.” I patted the bed.
What are you doing? I asked myself. He told Elena no sex. You were happy about that. So what the hell, Audrey?
The thing was, I only sort of wanted to fuck him. It was more that I wanted to get it out of the way. It was more that I wanted this just to be a regular job, a regular exchange—money for sex.
Not money for I wasn’t sure what.
I wanted to make him a John.
James smiled at me and held up his hand. “I’m sure it would be…a pleasure,” he said. His eyes took me in hungrily but only for a moment. “But I already told Elena. That’s not what you’re for. You’re here to play a public role. So try to keep your legs crossed, and keep your eye on the ball. The ball, Audrey. Not my balls.”
