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Moving in closer, he plucks a sliver of paper from the sleeve of my sweater dress. A fortune cookie message. Where did that even come from? He hands me back the white scrap after examining the words—Power is derived from knowing what you can and cannot live without.
“Hmm,” he says, tapping his jawline with the pad of his finger. “I’m not sure if I completely agree.”
I mumble something that made sense only in my head.
Graham manages to look taller. He hands me back my restocked purse and guides me back into the confines of the elevator by pressing gently on the small of my back. His long finger presses the button to close the door and then presses the star for the lobby. The three is still illuminated from my previous failed attempt. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking confident but relaxed.
The silence is unnerving.
We stand in opposite corners of the confined space. The speed of the elevator seems to take forever. It is as if the world around me knows that I am running out of oxygen if I don’t get out of here fast enough and for some reason decides now is a great time to play a game.
“Goodbye, Angie. Please think this whole agency job through before you sign the contract. This line of work might not be suitable for you.” His words come across as patronizing, rather than out of concern.
How dare he!
He dips his head down in a nod, moving his disheveled hair out of place. I have an urge to run my hands through it and yank it out at the same time.
I slip through the doors before they shut, turning to catch one more look of the man who very much is still a mystery to me.
* * *
I plop down on a sofa that sits at the end of the beverage station set up in the corner of the studio. I am spent. The men in charge of the superficial part of the day gather near the far end of the room. I am thrown a glance and a nod periodically, as if I’m being discussed but not actually part of the conversation. They appear happy, so I try not to obsess.
It took two hours to get my nails painted, my makeup applied, and my hair managed. Another hour and a half consisted of snapping photographs between changes in wardrobe and hairdos.
I kick off my borrowed platform heels and prop my feet up on the sofa cushion. They ache from the infinite amount of pressure that they’ve endured. My head has a dull pulsing sensation right between my eyebrows. It is relentless. A couple of ibuprofens would taste so delicious right now. And a strawberry mojito to chase them down. Heaven.
“You look deep in thought,” Dominic interrupts.
“Sorry.” I slide my feet to the floor, blindly searching for the inside of the shoes. I am still technically on the job.
“No worries. Relax.” He assesses my slouched posture with a smile. “Angie, the team is very impressed with you, as am I. You are phenomenal. We got some really great shots. You will be activated online as soon as the IT team arrives tomorrow morning.”
“Cool,” I nod, fighting back a yawn.
“Let’s go sign the last of the paperwork, then you can change back into your original outfit and go home.” Dominic reaches for my hand, as he did back in his office. He ushers me through a series of doors and into an elevator, and we head back up to the eleventh floor. “I had the physical results and the blood tests dropped off. You already signed the release for me to view those documents and verify that you meet the requirements of the agency.”
I follow Dominic into his office, and he retrieves the contract from his desk. He spends several minutes reading through the papers, tapping his pen on the surface without ever glancing up. I stare at the backs of the documents, only able to see the reflection of black typed ink on the reverse side.
“You can sign here if you agree to be part of the agency. Your test results all check out, and you are completely healthy.”
“Okay.” I sign my name with blue ink and place the heavy pen back in its holder.
It is official. I am an escort.
“Oh, and Angie? You have your first date tomorrow night. I hope you are free.”
“What? Really? Already?”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I feel the lightheaded wave of surprise cloud my vision. Of course I expect to have dates eventually, but not this soon. The ink is barely dry on the contract! Am I even ready? I swallow hard and feel the scratchiness of my throat contract with the dryness. No, I can’t have an attack—not now.
I need a drink. And I need fresh air.
“With whom?” I ask, gripping the side of his desk for support.
“Me.”
“Excuse me?” I cough-choke.
