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CHAPTER3
Point of no Return~Brooklyn
I spentmost of the night tossing and turning, slipping in and out of restless sleep. Buried dreams of Lincoln's fate and being evicted plucked away at me, but the dream that ripped me from my sleep was the guy from the cafe. His sinister smirk and dreamy eyes found their way into my brain and left my panties in a small pool of wetness. The fact that I was even thinking about him made me smother a pillow over my face. Not only was I thinking about spreading my legs for a few thousand dollars, but I also added salt to the wound by lusting over a man old enough to be my father. He had to be in his early forties. But that smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth as his eyes raked over me had me fantasizing about what it would feel like if his hands were raking over me, and in my dream, he was doing just that. I'd only been with a couple of guys, but every experience was one disappointment after another. However, this dream ended in me having to change my sheets.
I glanced at my phone. I didn't work today, but I got up anyway, afraid of what might happen if I went back to sleep. I made a cup of instant coffee and sat down on the couch. I pulled out my phone and eyed the number Mallory sent to me last night. Holding in a breath, I dialed the number and hit send before I could chicken out. The phone rang, and as each second passed, I secretly hoped it wasn't a real number or that it was disconnected. God, what if some gritty man answered? I didn't think men ran these kinds of things. Hell, I didn't know. I've never even thought about escort services outside of movies or in places like Las Vegas.
"Thank you for calling Crème de la Crème." A sultry woman's voice came over the line. "What is your 4-digit access code, please?"
My stomach bottomed out, and I pressed the end call button. Awesome. This was going great. I mentally kicked myself and called back again. I could do this. I could be a ho--- Escort.
The same woman answered, and I cleared my throat. The words tumbled out of my mouth. "My friend gave me this number. I need to speak with the Madam."
"Hold, please," she said, and soft elevator music poured through the line.
Well, at least it was classier than I had expected. It didn't help that I was nervous and sweating bullets. I squirmed around a bit, fidgeting with my hair, and twirled a lock around my finger.
"Miss?" the same voice asked. "The Madam has an interview opening at 8:50 this morning."
I glanced at the time on my phone and confirmed that I only had two hours to get ready. "Okay," I stuttered.
"The address is 7769 Hart Avenue," she rattled off.
I scrambled for a pen, not wanting to ask her again. I found a red Sharpie in the depth of my couch cushions but no paper, so I scribbled it down on my thigh in a frenzy.
"Please bring your ID. You are over 18, right?" she asks.
"Yes," I said.
"And what color is your hair?" she asked.
"Auburn…" I said, unsure why that even mattered.
"So redhead. Got it."
I opened my mouth to say something, but the line went dead before I could push the words out. I set my phone down on the small coffee table in front of me and listened as my heart pounded in my chest. The beating was literally turning my body numb. This was it. I couldn't back out if I wanted. A lump rose in my throat, my pulse slammed against my neck, all the signs of a breakdown coming full charge, but then it occurred to me that I didn't have time to fall to pieces.
I got up and hurried over to my closet and flipped the light on. I hadn't even gotten the job yet but felt like I had lost it as I scanned my very lean closet from left to right. I didn't own much because every penny I got went to survival needs. I let my fingers float over the worn fabrics of my t-shirts, ripped jeans, and over-washed yoga pants. My only saving grace was the little black dress I wore to job interviews and funerals. It was the kind of thing you wore when you wanted people to take you seriously, not when you wanted to look sexy. Still, it was all I had. I tugged on it before seeing the shimmer of purple behind it. Hanging behind my funeral dress was a midnight colored cocktail dress that I borrowed from Mallory last year when we went to a dinner that her boyfriend had paid for. I had forgotten to give it back. I showered, ran a brush through my wild, thick curls, and closed my eyes as I stepped into the dress. Sucking in my belly for dear life, I opened my eyes in shock when I was able to bend over without fear that the seams would rip apart across my ass. I took a quick glance at my body in the mirror and, for some reason, found it hard to look myself in the face. Probably because of what I was about to do.
"It's for Lincoln," I reminded myself and grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter.
* * *
The address ledme to a posh little tea house in the nicer part of Stonebridge. The ritzy end. Honestly, I didn't get up here much. For one, I had no reason to. I couldn't afford half these uppity shops and cute cafes, so why torture myself? I parked my Jeep and made my way inside. I didn't see anyone sitting by themselves, so I assumed I got there first. My eyes scanned over the menu and then the price. They had everything from hot teas, by the cup or pot, to an array of fancy baked goods that cost more than my weekly coffee bill. My mouth watered as I looked at the colorful menu. Giving up a week's worth of grocery money for a few of these desserts was becoming more tempting by the second.
"See anything that catches your eye?" A frail girl with chestnut hair in a floral dress and frilly apron asked from behind the counter.
"Everything," I said with a small smile that faded as I pointed to the beverage fountain behind her. "Can I just have water for now? I'm meeting someone."
"Of course." A sugary smile settled on her face as she grabbed a clear cup from the tower next to her.
I glanced around, taking in the room. It reminded me of Estelle's cafe, just more expensive.
"Cucumber or lemon?" the girl asked.
I spun back around. "I'm sorry?"
"In your water. We have cucumber and lemon infused."
