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With that, I slip out of his arms and then tiptoe around the room, finding my crumpled dress before pulling it back on. In the darkness, I try to inspect my makeup in the mirror, but it’s difficult. Oh well, if I have panda eyes and smeared lipstick, then so be it. I don’t want to look like a hooker making her escape, but sometimes it can’t be helped.
Stealthily, I slip into my stilettos, and then turn to leave the bedroom before taking one last opportunity to look back at my gorgeous customer. With those dark lashes and gently tousled hair, James looks like a sleeping angel. I would love nothing more than to snuggle into his arms again, but who am I kidding? If this life has taught me nothing else, it’s that men are rarely as sweet and kind the morning after they’ve taken their fill.
As a result, I tiptoe into the living room and then quickly make my way out of the suite and back into the deserted hallway. Goodness, there are no other doors here, which means that the suite likely takes up an entire floor of the Roosevelt. It must be so nice to have money, but that’s not my concern. My work has been done, and now it’s time to move on.
I make my way back out to the streets of New York, and fortunately, it’s still early so Midtown is gray and deserted. I swing into a coffee shop for a special treat: a decaf caramel latte, extra hot. The barista pulls my shot in record time, and as I swallow gratefully, the coffee burns my tongue.
“You okay?” the barista asks as I sputter.
“Yes, totally fine,” I smile while fanning myself a bit. “Extra hot is really extra hot!”
We both laugh and then I saunter outside once more, my soul light. Idly, I begin walking to the bus stop, daydreaming as the sun begins peeking out from behind the cityscape. James was fantastic and my only wish is that I could have gotten his number.
But then, I screech to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. Sweet lord, listen to me pining over a client, of all people! James may be gorgeous, rich, and filthy in bed too, but that’s no excuse. I’m a working girl, and I know my place in the world. I can’t forget who and what I am because it’ll only lead to disappointment and heartache.
After all, mixing business with pleasure is a huge, and I mean huge, no-no for women in my line of work. Getting attached to a client spells doom because my income depends on whether the client is happy. If he falls in love with you, you’ve found yourself a repeat customer. But if you fall in love with him, you risk losing your cash cow. I’ve seen it happen to other girls. They get hooked on a man, and then wither away from heartache and sorrow even as their bank accounts dry up.
So I pinch my arm right there in the middle of the street. Get it together, Simona, I admonish myself. You know better than to go down that road.
Yet, my heart crumples a bit as I get on the bus. I had an absolutely phenomenal time with James last night, and there’s no denying that fact. Yes, I’m a bit sore, but it’s a good sore, and images of the handsome man naked keep flashing in my mind. But I bury the memories deep in the furthest reaches of my mind. I’ll probably never see him again, which is a tough pill to swallow, but again, this is the life I’ve chosen, and I’ll just have to get over it.
When I reach my apartment, the sun’s finally out, which makes me depressed for some reason. I head inside and close the door firmly with a long sigh before immediately entering the bathroom and peeling off my clothes. Then I step under the hot water with a grateful exhale. The scalding liquid feels divine against my skin, and I take a long time shampooing my hair and sudsing up. When I’m finished, I fall into my bed and curl up under the covers, my mind still occupied by the gorgeous, devilish James Montlake.
When I finally wake up, it’s mid-morning and the sun’s rays are strong against my white curtains. I stretch and wince almost immediately.
“Girl, that man did a number on you,” I remark ruefully. “Maybe it’s time for an Epsom salt bath to soothe your lady parts.”
But I decide against it because I’m utterly starved. Quickly, I throw on a robe and step into the kitchen to prepare a steaming mug of chamomile tea. A huge dollop of honey does the trick, and as the tea cools on the counter, I reach into my freezer for an egg and cheese burrito. Perfect. This is going to be the best late breakfast ever. I place my meal on a plate, heat it up in the microwave, and head to the living room to relax.
