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“And then?”
I sigh again.
“Well, after graduation, I had a lot of student loans, but no job. There aren’t that many positions out there for folks with art degrees, and I guess I should have known that going in. I guess I did know, but reality is always ten times more terrifying. So I signed up with City Girls,” I say with a shrug. “It was that, or food stamps and public assistance.”
Mason nods.
“Has it worked out for you?” he asks carefully. “Is it turning out the way you expected?”
I cock my head to the side while thinking.
“It is,” is my affirmative statement. “I don’t know if it makes me a slut, but the job’s really not bad. City Girls is a high-end agency, so they screen their clientele to make sure the men are wealthy and handsome, not to mention generous when it comes to tips.” Then I squint at him. “They do business in Jersey too. And you work in the city right? I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them.”
Mason chuckles deep in his throat.
“Oh, I’m sure I have. I’ve been approached by plenty of escort agencies in my life, sweetheart. They’re practically popping out of the woodwork when you’re a rich man.”
I nod.
“So you know how it is then. I get paid a decent amount, and I’m grateful to City Girls for that. Plus, I’ve made enough money from my time as an escort so that I can coast for a while. You know, spend time with the baby, enjoy being a mom, and all that. So it’s okay,” I say in a firm tone. “My old lifestyle is providing for my current lifestyle, so it worked out.”
“Right,” he nods. “Makes sense.”
I shoot him in a wry, sideways smile.
“You know you can ask me anything about my old job, right? I’m not going to hide or be ashamed of what I used to do.”
The handsome man nods.
“And you shouldn’t be,” he adds quickly. “You were an independent woman trying to get by in an expensive city, so you did what you had to do.”
But then I fix him with a look.
“Yes, but I enjoyed it too,” I state. “Don’t forget that. I don’t want to seem like some young girl with no agency whatsoever. I made my choices, and I’m not going to hide or be ashamed.”
“Right,” Mason nods slowly, his blue eyes full of respect. “Got it. Of course.”
I sigh because even though his words are supportive, I can tell this isn’t exactly the easiest news for him to digest. Inside, my heart curdles just a bit. After all, maybe I’ve miscalculated because I’ll be honest and say that I was hoping for a future with the handsome CEO. I thought maybe our arrangement was so comfortable and easy that he’d let me stay and become a doting father-figure to my son.
But evidently, the situation is just too hairy, and maybe it was all a pipe dream to begin with. Mason Richards, billionaire extraordinaire, has his pick of the litter. He doesn’t have to date a penniless escort turned single mother, and I wouldn’t want his pity, even if he did.
So where does that leave me now? I don’t know, but we’ll see how this tableau plays out in the end.
7
CHELSEA
Later that week.
I hum quietly to myself while strolling through the garden, checking on a couple of flowers here and there. The sun’s out and it’s a gorgeous day. I smile, while shading my eyes to stare up to the blue sky and sure enough, there’s nary a cloud in sight. How lucky am I?
Lumbering, I waddle up the path to the cottage’s front door and wiggle the doorknob to see if it’s unlocked. Okay great. I left one of my favorite journals behind when I moved into the mansion, and I didn’t even realize it until earlier today because it’s been a while since I’ve felt like writing. Instead, I’ve been so busy with pre-pregnancy stuff, including buying baby furniture, baby clothes, and also the most random assortment of stuff I didn’t even know I needed, such as baby wipe warmers, and mittens in case the child decides to scratch himself. Who knew having a child was so complicated? It’s hard to believe that once upon a time, human beings used to live in caves without any of this stuff.
But times change, and Mason’s been more than generous. He insisted on purchasing everything I need, even if I’m not quite sure where this is all going to go once our relationship ends. I’ve literally filled up two rooms in his mansion with boxes now. But that’s a problem to be dealt with later, and in the meantime, I need to retrieve my journal.
But as I step into the cottage, loud singing greets my ears. I stop, puzzled. That’s weird because usually, Elsa’s as quiet as a mouse. She says her migraines demand absolute silence, so I’m surprised to hear any sounds whatsoever. Even more, when I step into the kitchen, my eyes widen because there’s my mom, shaking her butt while scrambling some eggs.
This is seriously weird.
