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“Oh, it’s totally possible. All you would need to do is rub your—”
I cover my ears with both hands. “La, la, la, la, la.”
Claire laughs. “Okay, fine. I’m back to being serious.”
“How did you even get involved in this underground escort business?”
“Funny story.”
I am not surprised. Claire always seems to find the humor in everything.
“Do share,” I encourage.
“So, it was purely by accident. I was mistaken for someone else by a piece of jewelry I was wearing. The guy at the bar was so hot that I just kept up the facade and played along. Fifteen minutes later the girl who was accepting the ‘job’ arrived and well, let’s just say I had a lot of explaining to do. So, the girl ended up staying on the date with me, which was a bit weird at first. But I loved the idea of dating men for money. A week later, I was vetted in and signed the contract. Rest is history.”
“Did you two go out on more dates?” I ask. This whole secret society of women dating men who are rich blows my mind—especially in a city like Portland.
“With the guy or the other girl?”
“The guy,” I clarify, not laughing at her attempt at a joke. Claire is most definitely straight.
“A couple more, yes. But then, I usually switch before things get weird. Date someone else.”
“Huh.” I let out the air from my lungs. “I had no idea you were doing this, and we live under the same roof.”
Claire gives me an innocent shrug. “So what do you say?”
“You know this goes against my belief system when it comes to men.”
“You build your views on a faulty system anyway,” Claire huffs. “There’s nothing wrong with being all about girl power and still letting a man into your life. Some men are into feminists anyway. C’mon, you have nothing to lose.”
“Or”—I swallow hard—“I have everything to lose.”
* * *
After knowing Claire for four years, I should have predicted that she would be swallowed up in the world of the rich and famous when given the opportunity. She has always been drawn to the elite class. Paying for a personal shopper or hiring a person to blow-dry her hair were the first warning signs. It doesn’t hurt that her parents are entrepreneurs, and she is the only child. Having two people showering her with money is very helpful for maintaining that kind of lifestyle. Even if it is money motivated by guilt.
Claire screeches to a stop along the cobblestone driveway, nearly clipping the base of the water fountain with her bumper but managing to drive up onto the curb instead.
“Keep it classy, woman.” The only reason I allowed her to drive this far was because she convinced me she would get motion sick if I decided to take the wheel.
“Aren’t you glad I flirted with my driving instructor to secure my license?” she asks with an over-the-top smile.
I give her my side-eye before breaking out into giggles. To this day, I am never quite sure when she is joking versus being serious. She definitely keeps life interesting and balances out my type A personality. Everybody needs a Claire in their life.
She lowers the window of her sleek, cherry-red Nissan Maxima and gives a wink to the valet worker. He takes her keys from her manicured hand and returns the wink.
“Be careful with her, okay? I’m very touchy with my baby,” she warns with a straight face.
“Yes, of course.”
Men in tuxedos usher us toward the front entrance doors of an elaborate, three-story mansion. Each balcony is adorned with strands of elegant lights. Sheer white curtains cover each window giving the massive structure a calming aura.
The setting sun is beautiful over the rolling landscape. Just fifteen minutes outside the city limits of Portland and it is like we are transported to a different time zone. The sound of the water fountain fills the air and competes for attention with the symphony of crickets and locusts. With each little breeze, water droplets brush against my bare skin and quickly evaporate.
“This way, miss,” the tuxedoed man says, pushing gently against my back.
His touch feels weird. Sterile. As if my back is just one of the thousands he has touched. I pull away from his hand.
