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She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Babe, you’re gonna do fine. Daphne wouldn’t put you with a loser, I promise.”
I nod. I have faith. Maybe I am the most naive thirty year old on the planet, but I have to believe that this all happened for a reason. Right?
I gulp my champagne down, earning me a warning look from Neve. I don’t want to be shit-faced. When she takes two more glasses off a passing waiter, she holds mine out to me. “Sip this slowly, darling. We don’t want you out for the count before any action begins.”
I clear my throat. “I think we should make a toast.”
She piques a brow. “Fantastic idea, what did you have in mind?”
“To us being the Belles of the Ball tonight.” We clink glasses. “And to great sex.”
She smirks, taking her glass to her lips and sipping slowly. Neve brought one of her regulars with her tonight, so at least she knows what she’s in for.
As we move around the room, I notice that I do get glances from men…It makes me feel more confident, and strangely, less nervous. I have to say, men in suits fucking rock. By the time I cross the ballroom to the outside area, my cheeks are pink and my nipples are pebbling. I love a man’s attention on me, and it’s so much more exciting in disguise. Tonight I can be whoever I want to be.
I know that I’m having second thoughts, but as the night rolls on, I convince myself that the man I’m going to be with tonight is going to be perfect. I dismiss the other thoughts making butterflies dance in my stomach; the fact that the chances of him being some super-duper guy with a heart of gold and a big dick are pretty low. There has to be something wrong with him if he’s paying for sex, right? Or am I just stuck in a mind-set?
Breathe, or you’ll never get through this.
When I met Neve’s date earlier — not the same man from the bar — I have to say I was envious. He’s gorgeous. Tall. Tan. A business executive who works in Mayfair.
He’s not even old; in fact, he’s only mid-thirties.
So Mr. D is only forty-five, that’s not ancient or anything, but there are a lot of really old forty-five year olds and he could be one of them. Please dear God, do not make this man disgusting. I beg of you.
I haven’t spent any time around Élégance club to know what the men are like that frequent there. And the idea of dancing in a man’s lap seems far more abhorrent to me than doing this in private, which is stupid, I know.
I just need to stop overthinking it. I’ve made the decision. I’m here.
I am going to fuck this man and I’m going to get paid.
The quicker I get my head around that and make peace with it, the better off I'll be.
When it’s time to go up to his room, I take the instructions and make my way there, hugging Neve before I leave.
“Call me at any time, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
Now I’m in the suite and I know he’ll be here any minute, it’s making all of this so much more real.
The room is quiet as I take in the plushness of my surroundings.
Like downstairs, it’s opulent with an overhead chandelier, a giant four-poster bed, plush wallpaper that feels silky to the touch, and a carpet so soft that I’d bet it’s Persian.
I sigh, sliding my heels off for a moment to appreciate the softness under my feet.
I’ve spent all night sipping on the same glass of champagne. Nibbling from the buffet, and still my stomach groans. I was too nervous to eat anything substantial.
Dancing with Neve — and a couple of guys who joined in — I also felt the birthday boy watching me.
Mr. D.
He finally came out of the woodwork.
Neve worked out who he was, and while I only got a glance of him once, I liked what I saw. A thrill runs through me when I think about his body in the three piece monkey suit he was wearing. How his shoulders barely fit into his jacket. His messy, dark hair slicked back off his face which was covered by a detailed, glittering mask.
His eyes were on me all night.
