Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
I nod sympathetically, patting her shoulder as she blabbers.
“I’m so close to finishing school and getting a real job- you know, like a respectable one. I just need to get through these last few months. But if I cancel last minute like this, then the boss won’t book me again, and I won’t be able to afford tuition.”
Oh no. I feel myself grow even weaker. I have never seen my best friend so upset, and I backpedal a bit.
“Well…” I begin.
Rose looks up hopefully.
“Please, Lucy? Just once. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t so sick. You know that.”
I swallow hard, looking down at my hands.
“So, you just hang out with the guy and they pay you for it? That’s really it?”
“Yes!” The desperation in her voice is dreadful. “I promise, there is no sex or anything. You just meet the guy at the bar, he buys you a few drinks, and that’s it. You can even take the entire fee for tonight’s customer. I just need someone to show up tonight so I can keep booking gigs.”
Now it’s my turn to stare blankly out the window. I want to help her out, but the money is the least of it. Is this really a good idea?
But my friend’s gaze on me is hot as she waits in anticipation. Rose continues to stare at me like a beat-down puppy dog, biting her lips in anticipation of my answer. It pulls at my heart strings and I let out a deep breath.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, in disbelief that I am actually going to go through with this hare-brained scheme. Me, as an escort? Ugh.
But Rose is overjoyed. She jumps forward to hug me, but I throw a hand up to stop her.
“Whoa—this isn’t going to work if you get me sick too,” I say, only half-kidding.
She nods furiously.
“Right. Thank you, thank you! Let’s hurry up and get you ready.” She clicks on her phone to check the time. “You need to be at the Hotel Indigo in forty-five minutes. Your date is at the lobby bar. His name is Reed,” she explains.
How classy. I’m sure Reed will be pushing the idea of moving the date up to his hotel room. NOT. A. CHANCE. But what can I do? I’d take a bullet for my best friend, and unfortunately, it really has come down to that. Reluctantly, I take Rose’s seat at the mirror to start primping for my upcoming date.
2
Lucy
I apprehensively enter the lobby of the Hotel Indigo, a glamorous high-end hotel on the Lower East Side of the city. The building was easy enough to find because it towers over neighboring skyscrapers. Before walking through the front doors, I surreptitiously crept along the side of the building just to scope the place out. I felt like a stalker, but then straightened my shoulders. I can’t put this off forever, and it’s time to make an entrance.
The golden doors sweep open as I approach and I smile as brightly as possible. I tell the doorman I am supposed to be meeting a friend at the first-floor bar, and he points me in the right direction. But “a friend”? Who am I kidding? I feel like everyone knows what I’m really here for, but try to walk with dignity nonetheless, with my head held high and shoulders back. Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done because I’m decked out in Rose’s sky-high red stilettos and they’re hella wobbly. Plus, I’m wearing her tiny, deep maroon cocktail dress that hugs all of my curves with a velvet black shawl draped around my shoulders. Rose did my hair so that it falls in soft curls down my back. She also helped do my makeup too, applying dark shadow to my eyes and a sleek, dark red balm to my lips.
I feel slightly uncomfortable being dressed up so extravagantly. I’m by no means a tomboy, but I am certainly not this girly of a girl. Although I do have to say, I was astonished when I checked myself in the mirror before leaving the dorm. I look stunning, and surprisingly elegant, all things considered.
I step into the bar and pause, taking a moment to scan the room. The lights are low and there are candles on the tabletops. A fire burns on the far side of the room and swanky suede couches encircle the all-brick fireplace. It is even fancier than I had assumed it would be. But what’s odd is that the bar is pretty empty. That’s weird; it is a Friday night after all.
I’m looking for a man that fits Reed’s description: a tall, dark, handsome type wearing a navy blue suit. He refused to give the agency a picture of himself for privacy reasons, and paid three times the usual amount in order to do the deal anonymously. Who is this guy? A flutter in my stomach makes me feel a bit queasy. Should I be concerned?