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"So?" she said, a warm smile spread across her lips.
"So what?" I asked, folding my arms across my heavy chest.
"Did you do what we talked about?"
I rolled my eyes at her request. Ever since she found out I was pregnant, she pushed me to ask the Madam for Jaimie's information, but I have avoided it for the longest. When the Madam paired me with Jaimie, we only communicated via email.
He always sent his emails over a secure server that hid his address. Regarding names, it was agency standard to use first names, and suitors always kept the details of their personal and professional endeavors at bay. So there was no way for me to find him. Samantha helped me look through numerous fortune 500 magazines, but it was no use.
We had no idea who we were looking for, and there were too many names and businesses to sort through. Samantha even reached out to our rival agency and asked the girls if they had dates with Jaimie. The results came back dry.
"Remy?" she deadpanned. Her arms stretched across the island, and her eyes narrowed as she held my gaze.
"What? No, I didn't. What am I supposed to say? Oh, hello, Madam, do you think you can do me a solid and give me Jaime's cell phone number so I can call him up and tell him I'm pregnant? Sorry for the inconvenience."
"That's exactly what you need to do unless you plan on raising a baby on a bus, all by yourself?"
I looked down at my ankles to see they had swelled again. The top of my feet busted out of my pink flats like a tube of freshly cracked crescent rolls. She was right. Maybe I couldn't do this alone, but what were the odds that a billionaire tycoon wanted to deal with his pregnant whore.
My mother always told me never to grovel, beg, or plea. If I could do it on my own, then it was best that I continued on my own, and I've been doing it on my own. I subleased my apartment, pulled money from my nest egg to get a bus as a way to cut bills in half, and increased the followers on my channel enough to make a living off it. I doubled my savings in the last five months, and I've been staying on top of this whole baby thing pretty damn well. I didn't need a man to save me, and I sure as hell didn't want to be anybody's charity case.
"Yeah, umm, I think I'm good. I got this, Samantha. I'm not helpless. There are single mothers all over the world thriving. I'll be fine." Her left eye twitched as she glared at me. It was a classic Samantha trait; it only happened when I ignored her advice. I've been friends with her for over two years, and I thought she would have gotten used to her advice going in one ear and out the other.Guess not.
"Then I guess you got dinner too then, huh?" Her hands stretched outwards as she pointed at the two brown bags in front of us. She reached over and grabbed my phone. Her thumb scrolled the long list of contacts before she stopped and slid it back to me. The name that stared back at me had bile rising in my throat. The Madam's number stretched across the blue-lit screen, and Samantha pushed down on the green call button before I could shove my phone away.
"I'm not you, Samantha. She won't just hand over his information," I glared back at her.
"She never gave me Carl's information. I finessed it out of him. He fell in love with me, so I left the agency and got married. Now I'm gainfully divorced."
"So why do you still wear the ring?" I asked as I watched her twirl it around her finger.
"Because it'sTiffany, and I love to flaunt it," she whispered.
I met Samantha while working in my cookie shop before I went bankrupt. She would come in every Wednesday and order two melt-in-your-mouth peanut butter cookies. She always parked her Range Rover out front. She looked expensive, smelled expensive, and every time she pulled a crispy Benjamin from her designer wallet, I desperately wanted to ask what she did for a living. Then one day, I did.
I asked her with a straight face why she always had a wallet full of Benjamins, and she said she was a high-class whore. I nearly choked on my spit. She looked at me, pulled a shiny black business card out of her wallet, and slid it across the counter. One week later, I filed for bankruptcy and called the number on the back of that little black card out of sheer desperation. I remembered the day she picked me up to meet the Madam in person. I was nervous and felt so out of place, but she held my hand the whole time. Samantha was top dollar. She only hung off the arms of the most exclusive and looked damn good doing it. She was a cougar, and she owned every minute of it. Six months after I joined, she left the agency and married Carl, her ex-billionaire husband.
"Leave it to you to break a billionaire's heart," I said as I raised the phone to my ear. My heart slowly dropped in my stomach as I waited for the ringing to stop.
"Hello?" The rasp of the Madam's voice bled into my ear, and I took a deep breath
"Umm…Hi…This"
"Remy?" She said, cutting me off.
"Yes, I was ju—"
"How can I help you?" My stomach started to turn flips as I tried to regain my thoughts after each interruption.
"I know we cannot access our past suitors' real-world information, but I wondered if you could make an exception. It's kind of an emergency." The line went silent for a few seconds, and then she cleared her throat.
"What kind of emergency? Are you okay?"
I closed my eyes and turned in a circle before vomiting the words into the speaker."Yes, I'm fine. I'm just seven months pregnant and there’s a possibility it’s his baby, that's all."
The line went silent once more, and the only noise I could hear was her letting out a breathy sigh.
"Well, congratulations, Remy. I wish you a safe delivery and a fast recovery. However, you know the rules, I do not share our suitors' information with escorts, past or present. I am very sorry and wish you well in your future endeavors. Good Bye." The line died, and I placed the phone on the counter.
