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So yeah, I’m shameless and loving it. I really enjoy the lifestyle, and as far as I can tell, there’s really only one con to working as an escort: the lack of a real boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong because I’m not looking to turn my clients into something intimate. Hell no, because that would be crossing the unspoken line. But outside of work, regular guys really aren’t interested in having an escort as their girlfriend. But what am I going to do? Lie, and say I deliver packages for Amazon? I look at myself in the mirror again and shrug.
“You don’t need a boyfriend right now Chrissy,” I tell myself. “You’re good the way you are.”
After all, I’m only twenty and there’s plenty of time for relationships in the future. Right now, I’m having fun, and that’s exactly what I want for my life at the moment.
Humming, I lean towards the mirror and carefully add a coat of lip gloss, making sure that my lips look plump and juicy. After all, if tonight’s date goes well, I won’t be wearing this gloss by the end of the night. Instead, it’ll be all over a hard chest and maybe even a hard shaft too.
But then my phone pings and I grab it from my vanity. Oh perfect. It’s the driver from Curves letting me know he’s downstairs. This is just one of the reasons I choose to work with the agency: they always make sure that the girls have a safe way to and from our dates, so we don’t get pulled into some sleazy guy’s vehicle. Grabbing a small gold clutch, I text that I’m on my way out, and toss my phone in my bag before clattering down the steps to the sidewalk.
The driver bows when he sees me while opening the back door of a huge black SUV.
“Miss Lindstrom,” he greets. “What a beautiful sight.”
I giggle and nod at the older man.
“Thanks, Robert. You know where we’re going tonight?”
“Of course,” he nods. “Bar Studio.”
I nod happily and hoist myself into the back seat of the SUV before the door shuts. Then we’re whizzing through the streets of Manhattan before pulling up to a boutique hotel hidden behind a large Hyatt. It’s one of the secrets of the Hotel Never. You’d never guess it was there, unless you knew.
By now, it’s twilight and the hotel gleams in the dusk. I hop out of the SUV with a merry wave and then mince into the lobby before spotting the bar on my right hand side. Perfect. Bar Studio is luxurious yet intimate, with candles providing a romantic glow. Low lights frame the room, and the tables are covered with white table cloths, each adorned with a single rose in a bud vase.
“Welcome,” the host greets with a smile. “Can I help you?”
I nod.
“I’m meeting my friend. His name is Sanford?”
The host immediately leaps to attention.
“Oh, but of course,” he says in an obsequious tone. “Mr. Cooper let us know he was expecting you. He’s at one of our VIP tables, if you’ll just follow me.”
I smile as we weave our way to the back. A few men watch me and I nod graciously, but my stomach’s fluttering because of the date I’m about to meet. The agency told me he was someone special, and I wonder if he’s a famous person. Maybe an actor? A newscaster? We get a lot of entertainment industry types here in NYC.
Finally, we come to the back corner of the bar, and I see there’s a table there, shrouded in darkness. It’s slightly separated from the rest of the room per a decorative screen as well as some potted plants. But it’s the man sitting at the table that makes me gasp because although I can only see his outline, I can tell he’s huge. Broad shoulders stretch at a white dress shirt, and his biceps strain at the sleeves. Even in the shadows, I can already tell his feature are angular, even harsh, and those big hands look rough and raw.
But then he stands as we approach, and my knees feel weak. Mr. Cooper isn’t just a big man; he’s at least a foot taller than me, and I’m five four. Not only that, but he’s built like a bull with hard muscle packed onto a crazy large frame. He’s the kind of man who could really own a woman. He would protect her and make her his while loving and caressing her too.
Heat rises up my chest and I swear I’m going hot all over. Good thing the lights are dim because hopefully he can’t see the flush on my cheeks and décolletage. To be honest, I like to have the upper hand when I’m working, even if I do let my date think he’s in charge. I like stringing them along, and even toying with them, but tonight might be different because I can’t imagine a man like this ever giving up any control to a woman … and why is that making me so hot?
