Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(3)
David smirked. “Well, I do work odd hours. Daytime television and I are in a committed relationship.”
Later that day, I was still pondering my conversation with David as I got ready for work. Tonight, I was meeting with a newly divorced divorce lawyer. The irony was not lost. Her name was Cathy and we’d spoken on the phone several times before I agreed to take her as a client.
My work as an escort spread through word of mouth. I never advertised, never had business cards printed up. If a lady enjoyed my company, she was inclined to recommend me to a friend, and so on.
I first got into the business because I was young, desperate, and needed the money. Now I did it because people fascinated me, women in particular. If I could indulge that fascination while also making a living, then who was I to say no?
Everybody was a little bit of a weirdo once you got to know them, and I relished discovering the weirdness inside each new client. Enjoyed facilitating them to live out their peculiarities with me.
“That’s a nice shirt,” Rose commented when I came out of my bedroom. Both she and her significant other, Damon, were in town for work, and they always stayed with me when they were in the city. Rose was a dance choreographer and Damon an actor. They divided their time between London and Damon’s cottage on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. I’d visited them there once or twice. It was a beautiful spot, but far too isolated for my liking.
I needed to be around people or I went insane. My mind required constant stimulation and I preferred to be busy. Rose and Damon were the opposite. They liked the city well enough, but whiling away their days in the peaceful island life was their favourite.
“Thanks,” I replied, noting she had her head buried in a book yet again. Rose was currently obsessed with the popular Sasha Orlando series. It was a set of novels based on the trials and tribulations of Sasha, an investigative newspaper journalist who wrote about love and relationships. There were already seven books in the series and Rose loved to regale me with Sasha’s latest adventures.
I much preferred eavesdropping on Elodie at the Polka Dot Café, but to each their own.
Rose eyed me speculatively. “Are you meeting someone?”
“Yes.”
“Work or pleasure?”
I shot her a crooked smile. “Why can’t it be both?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes I think you could be a character in one of these books.”
“Oh? Does Sasha cross paths with a handsome male escort who shows her a night she’ll never forget?” I teased.
Rose placed a finger to her lips. “She actually wrote an expose about escorts in book one. Maybe I should email the author and suggest she revisit the storyline.”
I dropped down onto the couch beside her and plucked the paperback from her hands. Skimming the page, I smirked when I saw she’d gotten to a sexy bit.
“Give me that,” she complained and grabbed for the book, but I held it out of reach.
“Maybe these stories do have something going for them,” I grinned and recited a paragraph. “Sasha’s cheeks suffused with warmth as Sebastian stripped, revealing toned, tanned muscles. He was a sight to make any woman’s underwear melt, and hers was currently ablaze. It was too bad this encounter was to help her write a column about male strippers, because she could’ve gone for a night alone with Seb, just the two of them, a hotel room and several hours to spend as they wished.”
I chuckled as I handed the book back to Rose and she scowled at me in annoyance. “Why Rose, I do believe your cheeks are “suffused with warmth” right now.”
“You’re cruel.”
“I just love making you blush.” I stood to put on my tie, straightened it out in the mirror then ran my fingers through my hair. I went to grab my coat when Rose said, “You should read the series yourself. I think you’d find a lot in Sasha that you can relate to.”
“Maybe I’ll save them for when I come to visit you and Damon on the island. I love a good romance novel when I’m on holiday.”
*
A week later I was back at the Polka Dot Café, never one to miss an episode of my favourite real-life soap opera. Suze arrived regular as clockwork, followed by Elodie a few minutes later. She swished into the place on a gust of cold London air, ordered her usual, and took a seat across from Suze.
“How’ve you been, hon?” Elodie asked as they exchanged kisses on each cheek.
“I’m having a ‘mare of a week, babes, and it’s only Tuesday. Two of the models for our show this weekend have come down with the flu. I’m in a mad scramble to replace them.”
As far as I’d gathered, Suze was an up-and-coming fashion designer, which explained her distinctive dress sense. Elodie worked in finance, but she didn’t discuss it very often. She was much more inclined to chat about her colourful love life, and I for one was grateful. I mean, it was fantastic that she had a good job and all, but finance interested me about as much as retiring to the countryside.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think you’ll have enough time to find replacements?”
Suze sighed. “I mean, I hope so, but it’s Fashion Week. Every model worth his salt has been booked out months in advance.”
Usually, I was as subtle and discreet as you could get. I’d been listening to these two for weeks and I was pretty sure neither of them ever noticed me sitting here. Being invisible was a skill one acquired having grown up in a tumultuous household.