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But going home now feels like I’m tucking tail and running.
It isn’t supposed to be like this. Fighting tooth and nail for every damn dollar — or in this case pound — just to survive.
I remind myself, for what seems like the hundredth time, that at least I’m doing it and with no excuses. I’ve got a job that covers the bills—just. But short of getting a second day job, which is hard when I start mid-afternoon at the bar, I’m still working for peanuts.
The least amount I’ve earned is three thousand pounds.
For one night?
I dread to think what she had to do for that kind of money, but if I’m being honest, I’m no prude. I love sex. I love being kinky, not that many men are that adventurous.
Aside from a few one-night stands that were fantastic, I haven’t had the best sexual experiences. Men just don’t seem to know what women want—they just think they know. It’s not nearly the same thing.
I have needs and wants and things I want to explore but haven’t. Also, you have to be careful these days, especially on dating apps. I’ve been on all of them, and let’s just say, men can be jerks.
I’ve also never had a long-term relationship. I’m thirty years old this year, and I’ve never had anyone permanent. No boyfriend. No long-term lover. I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t want that. A dark part of me wants so much more. Not for the first time I feel a craving to be needed. Wanted.
For a man to take me in his arms, and for once tell me that it’s all going to be okay.
I’m more envious of my friends than they realise . They’ve both found the men of their dreams, and I’m happy for them. They both deserve it. Ariana and her cheating ex, she was wounded for such a long time. And Imogen, whose long-term boyfriend decided he wanted to see other people. They both thought they’d never get over the heartbreak.
Their happily ever afters make me realise that there are good guys out there. You just have to find them.
I turn the card over.
Three thousand.
I have so many questions.
On the back of the card is a phone number and an email address.
It feels a little impersonal texting, but I’d get tongue tied calling. What would I even say?
Oh, hey. Neve passed your card to me and I was wondering if you have any openings?
I can’t help the snort as I slap a hand over my mouth and laugh. Well, if you can’t have a good old laugh at yourself, you may as well be dead.
I don’t mean to be pushy, but how much is the going rate?
Oh, god. The more I think it over, the more my stupid internal chatter gets the better of me.
I know it’s about them getting off, but what are the chances that I’d actually enjoy it? All good questions. Maybe questions I could ask Neve next time I see her.
I mean, we already discussed some serious shit in hushed whispers over the bar, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Wait. Am I really considering this?
I pull out my phone and click into my email app. Before I know what I’m doing, I start constructing an email to Neve’s boss.
Subject: Job opportunity
Good morning Daphne,
I hope it’s okay that I’m emailing you. I got your details from Neve. She encouraged me to apply. Wait, is ‘apply’ the correct word? Fuck it... She thought I’d make an excellent addition to the Élégance team. Well, she didn’t really say that, but she did give me the business card… and she said that thing about me turning men’s heads and that they’d love me. That counts, right? I’d love to get some more information, and possibly set up a meeting?
I look forward to hearing from you.
How do I fucking end this? Yours truly?
