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“I’ll give them your contact info.”
I could stop this right now. I could just tell her, ‘No way am I getting involved in something like this.’ I was fine working at the fish n’ chips joint and doing catalogue modeling when they wanted to feature a non-waif. I really couldn’t stoop to selling my body for sex. The only thing I was more sure of was that I was not going back home, so I had to make it, no matter what.
“How do you spell your name again?” she asked while looking at her phone. “I have it in my contacts with a ‘q,’ but I think Lana said that’s wrong…”
“I know. It’s R-a-k-e-l-l,” I said, barely listening as I wondered about the specifics of her job.
“Why did your parents see the need to punish you?” She smiled as she was typing.
“My dad wanted to name me Kellie, and my mom wanted Rachel, so there you go.” I shrugged. “A compromise. My dad always called me Kells, and my mom called me Rae, I think to spite my dad.”
Mandy looped her arm through mine. “Let’s make tracks so they don’t wonder what the hell we’re up to. If you do get hired—I mean, just letting you know, it’s a pretty rigorous interview, then medical tests, and the training is intense…how to act, what ‘danger’ signs to be alerted to in clients, all of the things you may imagine—but what I’m saying is maybe we could share a flat, since we’d both be in the same profession.”
“Um, sure, if…I don’t know…” Inadvertently, my hands slid to my hips. “Guys, especially men who can choose anyone, probably wouldn’t want…”
“Stop…I know what you’re thinking, just stop. Rakell, the fact that your face should be on magazines, and you speak a few languages is going to sell well…so don’t worry about…”
“Okay, I’ll think about it…” My voice faded off. “Guess itisthe oldest profession, after all,” I whispered to myself, but Mandy laughed.
“True, cheeky girl.”
When I scooted back onto my stool, I gulped the last of my pint, and Mandy made a point of going to the bar and returning with four more flutes of that dark liquid. “Black Velvets for my girls,” she announced, placing them on the wooden bar top table.
“Lovely,” Lana shouted above the background noise that continued to grow as the night progressed.
We clinked glasses, and all four of us drank. “Is this Guinness?” I asked, trying to adjust my features so I seemed pleased.
“Actually, it’s a drink that represents what England does best: pissing off its neighbors. It’s champagne from France, snubbing their noses at us, and Guinness so the Irish can join in flipping us off!”
They all laughed and cheered just as Harper, one of Lana’s and my flatmates approached, her fingers intertwined with those of a tall, dark-haired guy who looked to be in his early twenties. Harper broke off to give us all hugs. She turned back to the bloke, touching his arm. “This is Niall. I met him after his play last week. He’s an actor.” She beamed, flipping her light brown shoulder-length hair out of her face. Niall raised his hand in a sheepish half-wave.
“Nice meetin’ ya. Harper has been filling me in on this crew.” He pointed to Lana. “British, a true Londoner?” then to me, “Australian?” then to Stacey, “French? And representing London, Harper.” He did an animated bow her way. “And representing the hinterlands—” He tilted his chin towardMandy, and I cringed. He laughed and pulled a stool from another table for Harper.
Mandy’s mouth was tight as she eyed Wonder Boy. “Hinterlands, eh? That’s rich coming from brogue-boy over here.”
Harper clutched his arm, leaning against him. “I love your brogue. It’s definitely a panty-melter,” she said, loudly enough for us all to hear as her eyes fluttered up at him before cutting her gaze over to Mandy.
“Sure, if that’s what it takes for you,” Mandy shot back. “I prefer an educated accent…like someone that pronounces…”
“Mandy,” I half laughed and yelled, grabbing her arm.
“Bring it,” she said, looking at me.
I leaned in and whispered in her ear partly to distract her, but mostly because I couldn’t get our conversation out of my head. “Can we meet for coffee tomorrow? I think I’d really like to get more details…”
She eyed me and nodded her head yes. A knowing smirk came over her face as she said, “While you’re mulling it over, I should mention that the cheapest ‘date’ I’ve heard of has been 500 quid, and most are between 1000-2000. That’swithyour clothes on.”
Much to Mandy’s amusement, I couldn’t hide my shock. All I could squeak out was, “Coffee tomorrow, you’re buying.”
Chapter Five
Rakell’s brain crept back four years ago to when she had first met Brielle. She was under strict instruction from the agency to act as if she did not recognize Brielle; Rakell was told always to address her as Camille, even when they were alone. But there was no way to completely hide the awe when meeting one of the most distinguishable faces in the world. Certainly, there was no way Brielle walked by anyone in Europe without being automatically recognized.
When she arrived at the hotel, she was instructed to go to a private lobby, where the butler greeted her, grabbed her bags, and guided her to a private suite. Brielle’s husband opened the door. A tall, lean man with wavy sandy-blond hair and gray-green eyes, he introduced himself, instructing Rakell to come in. She looked away as his eyes inspected her body, nodding his head as he whisperedbeautifulin French. Then he directed Rakell to a bedroom connected to the suite, saying she could put her belongings away and that she would find lingerie in the closet, chosen specifically for her to wear for his wife. “Please place your belongings in the room and meet me here,” he said, pointing to the living room decorated with ornate royal blue velvet chairs and a gold velvet couch; the suite was bigger than most apartments—hell,homes—Rakell thought, scanning the massive room with two connecting doors leading to bedrooms.
He reiterated to Rakell that she had signed iron-clad NDAs and that he had to protect his wife’s and family’s reputations. He emphasized that he would not hesitate to take action if those agreements were violated, his voice thick and low with promise of vengeance as he spoke. Then he cleared his throat and said,“You are the perfect gift for my wife on her fortieth, and I can’t wait for you two to meet.”
That first weekend with Brielle had been indelibly imprinted on her being. Brielle introduced herself as Camille, as if Rakell would not recognize one of the most unique faces in the world, a woman she idolized. Rakell tried to display a nonchalant expression, but internally, she buzzed just being near such an impressive person, one who the world would only know on a screen or on glossy magazine covers. Brielle’s stature alone drew onlookers. Then her face demanded you study it in wonder, knowing that sort of creation was more an anomaly than the norm. She took this woman in, begging herself not to stare. Brielle stood almost six feet tall, with long black hair.
