The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(46)

Sex will definitely not be happening if I have anything to say about it. But maybe I really can do this. It’ll be an extra grand in my bank account just for making conversation with some lonely rich dude for a few hours.

Slowly I reply, “I think so.”

“Wonderful. I have the perfect starter client for you, an older gentleman who’s requested a dinner companion for seven o’clock.”

I almost choke. “As in tonight? S-so soon?”

“If you’re busy, I can put you on our waiting list. Usually, work is assigned a few weeks in advance. This engagement is only available now because the original girl called in sick yesterday.”

I lick my lips nervously and try to steady my breathing. She said all he wanted was someone to eat dinner with, right? There’s no need to freak out—and no time like the present. I have to suck it up and jump in with both feet.

“No, I’ll take it.”

Gia smiles. “Perfect.” Then she pulls out a folder emblazoned with the Allure logo and hands it to me. “Let’s cover some details about what it means to be an escort.”

I nod and then listen as she fills me in on the expectations of table manners, etiquette, and the art of making polite conversation. It’s mostly common sense, but it’s also a bit fascinating. I never imagined I’d be sitting here, listening to pointers like never discuss politics or religion on a date, and how to appear amiable and interested, even when a client isn’t at all your type.

We spend another thirty minutes talking, and then Gia slides a piece of paper across the desk. “Here’s the restaurant where you’ll meet tonight’s client. For safety, I’ll never disclose your address or other personal information.”

I take it, still feeling unsure, but trying to be brave. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“I didn’t anticipate you would,” Gia replies with another of her small, enigmatic smiles. She rises smoothly to her feet. “Let me show you out.”

? ? ?

Dale, the older gentleman I’m entertaining, is no gentleman at all. When I sit down at his table, the first thing he does is place his hand high up on my knee and give it a firm squeeze.

I blink at him and then shift in my seat so his roaming hands can no longer reach me.

He’s almost completely bald, except for a few stray hairs above his ears. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Um, thanks.”

If my tone sounds flat, he doesn’t seem to notice. He pushes a glass of red wine at me. “Ruth, right? That’s my ex-wife’s aunt’s name. How old are you?”

Why am I not surprised to hear he’s divorced? I’m already so glad I put down a pseudonym for Gia to give to customers. Instead of revealing any more personal details, I attempt to joke, “Don’t worry. I’m old enough to drink.”

“Never would’ve guessed.” He leers. “You look downright illegal.”

I sip my wine to clear the taste of bile out of my mouth. With no clue how to reply to that, I just repeat, “Thanks.”

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to care about my lackluster responses. All through dinner, he keeps up a steady flow of degrading comments and attempts to touch my leg, my shoulder, anywhere he can get away with in a public place. If this guy’s a “perfect starter client,” I don’t even want to try to imagine what an advanced-level client might be like.

As soon as the check hits our table, I jump up like a snake bit my butt. “It’s been a wonderful evening, but I really should get going now.”

Thank goodness Allure makes clients pay the base price in advance. Even if he gives me a crappy tip because I bailed so unceremoniously, I don’t have to worry about getting totally stiffed. So to speak.

He frowns. “What’s your hurry?”

I plaster on a saccharine smile. “I have to . . . take care of my mother. She’s sick.” Very sick. Dead for over a decade, in fact.

Before he can say anything else, I’m heading for the door. If I hurry, I can make the last bus home and won’t have to drop twenty bucks on an Uber.

But he just follows me out into the parking lot. “Let me at least give you a ride. It’s dark out.”

Like hell I’m getting into this creep’s car or telling him where I live. “Oh. Um, thank you for offering, but I don’t need one.”

“Don’t be like that. The night’s just getting started.” He flashes me a lecherous grin that practically drips slime. “Let’s go someplace quiet where we can . . . talk.”

My heart freezes. I open and close my mouth a few times before I manage to sputter out, “I d-didn’t agree to that.”

He heaves an irritable sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

Oh, thank God.

But panic skitters through me again when he reaches for his fly, muttering, “Right here works, too.”

“What are you doing?” I yelp.

“The hell do you think, girlie? This is the part where you blow me.” He starts to unzip.

I turn around and bolt so fast, my high heels almost trip me on the rough asphalt.

“Hey!” Dale starts after me, his face red and fly still undone. “Fuckin’ bitch!”

I clatter across the street and between buildings I don’t recognize. Someone honks—at me or him, I don’t know. I just flee until I can’t hear Dale’s yelling anymore and it feels like there’s a hot knife stuck in my side.