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Confession #2: I was by no means a psychologist.
Mom came through and made it back three hours after she’d left the house, hauling a single sack of groceries inside with her.
Yeah, one fucking bag of groceries after a three-hour shopping trip with the store six blocks away. You do the math.
I had to be at work in five minutes, so I met her at the door and jogged to my Jeep in order to arrive at my valet station in the nick of time. Breathing hard, I smoothed my hands over the front of my light blue polo shirt to hand-iron any wrinkles and checked the schedule for any special events. Nothing for this evening, thank goodness. The place shouldn’t be a madhouse with activity, then.
A low whistle came from my right, interrupting my scan. “Today’s woman must’ve had some real stamina, huh, Lowe? You’re cutting it close again.”
Landon. He was technically my coworker, but he liked to think he was my supervisor because he’d worked here four months longer than I had. It would’ve made his entire day if I showed up even thirty seconds late. Just once.
I cast him a dry glance. “I’m still on time.”
“And yet I once again made it to work before you did.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “So, who was she today? Doctor? Lawyer? Congressman’s wife?”
Everyone knew what I was, even though they didn’t technically know. So far, it was only an unproven rumor that I was a male prostitute, and I’d yet to confirm it with anyone, especially Landon, who hounded me for details every time we worked together. He was one of those idiots who seemed to think such a profession was badass.
If only he knew the truth.
Actually, maybe it would’ve been cool if I had gotten into the business because this was my dream job. And while there'd been a short stint in there where it had been okay, that time hadn't lasted long, so these days, it just plain sucked.
Shaking my head, I said, “Man, you never give up, do you?”
“When it’s about sex? Never.” He sidled up beside me before adding, “So when are you going to make me your partner? Or hell, I’ll even settle for understudy. Surely there’s enough business to bring me on board. I mean, seriously, man, be a pal; throw a couple of those horny pussies my way every once in a while.”
Sending him a dry side-glance, I murmured, “I’m still not convinced you know how to properly work one.”
“Oh, snap,” he cried on a surprised laugh as he clutched his chest. “That hurts, man. That really hurts. I promise I can slaughter a pussy in five seconds flat.”
My lips quirked into a grimace. “See. That right there is why you can’t land a girl and have become a born-again virgin, bud. Finishing in five seconds is not something to brag about.”
“Wait! That’s not what I meant. I can last longer than that. I swear. I was just saying… I mean…”
I began to roll my eyes just as a silver four-door Bentley pulled into the valet station.
Smacking Landon in the stomach with the back of my hand to shut him up, I straightened from the podium I’d been leaning against and stepped toward the driver’s side door, only for Landon—the bastard—to flash in front of me. I scowled at his back for stealing what should’ve been my tip and probably would’ve kicked him in the back of the knee if no one had been watching. But seeing that there were multiple people in the car, I booked it around to the other side and opened the front passenger door.
Blue high heels and then tanned, toned legs exited first. Her skirt was knee length and black. I didn’t get much more than an eyeful of that before she stood and took her first step, only for the heel of her pump to get caught in the crack of cobblestone. A gasp escaped as she tripped and tumbled face forward.
“Whoa, there.” I reached out to catch her, and she smacked into my chest, hard. Blonde hair tickled my chin as her purse fell from her shoulder and all the contents spilled around our feet.
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m so clums—” She looked up, her face full of apology until her gaze met mine. Then she gasped. “Mason!”
Shit.
The most emotionally unstable client I had, she made me call her Amanda when we were alone. I hated it when she employed my services. The woman needed a psychiatrist or possibly a divorce lawyer, not a prostitute. And besides, she reminded me too much of my own mother: a little lost, a little sad, a lot broken. I could never stay completely disconnected and immune whenever she contacted me. I wanted to help her as much as I never wanted to see her again.
See what I mean about the irony and always feeling pulled in two directions? The woman scared me shitless and broke my heart all in the same breath.
I cleared my throat, instantly tense. “Mrs. Riker,” I greeted, setting her away from me, while on the other side of the Bentley, her husband handed his car keys and what looked like a freaking fifty-dollar bill to Landon.
Amanda’s gaze swerved toward him and then back to me. Pain and loneliness contorted her features, and her big brown eyes blinked, filling with moisture as she stared up at me as if she needed me to save her.
So, Landon got a fifty; I got a guilty reminder of why I hated what I did.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice hushed.
She nodded, her lashes still rapidly fluttering. “I… Yes. Yes, I’m…” Shifting her gaze away, her attention fell to her purse on the ground, and her shoulders slumped. “God, I’m such a mess.”
