Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(32)
Julian slammed his hand down on the table. “Shut up! I love that. So, you got made over and just decided to keep doing it?”
I nodded as I swallowed a gulp of water. “I met Suze that same night. I think I was just so excited that someone like her wanted to be my friend that I kept up the ruse. Now I’m in too deep.”
“Not necessarily. You can always come clean when you feel ready. I’m sure Suze will understand. Besides, you’re more comfortable to be yourself as Elodie, so Suze still knows you, Ellen. She just knows you with more makeup and different hair.”
I worried my lip. “Yes, but…I’ve lied to her about so many things. All the stories I’ve told her about my adventurous love life, they’re all fake.”
His expression sobered. “If Suze isn’t willing to forgive you for lying, then there isn’t much you can do about it. You made a mistake, but you’ll move on from it.”
My chest deflated at the idea of losing Suze. “I guess you’re right.”
Julian levelled me with a sincere look. “My philosophy in life is to do what makes you happy. So long as you’re not hurting anyone else, there’s no reason to feel shame.”
“More people should have that philosophy.”
“That’s what I say but who listens to me?”
“I do.”
A flash of affection. “Well, you’re special.”
Something in his tone made my heart beat faster. I drank more water then finally asked a question that had been nagging at me. “Julian, what do you do for a living?”
His face clouded. “Why do you ask?”
“Tonight, when I was dancing with Warren, he said you two were in the same business. I realised I still haven’t asked what you do.”
Julian stared at the table, then his magnetic eyes flicked up. “Do you promise my answer won’t change our friendship?”
“Of course it won’t.”
He still seemed unsure. Nonetheless, he held my gaze as he answered. “I’m a male escort.”
Chapter Nine
Ellen
“I’m a male escort.”
I blinked at him, not sure if I heard correctly. He’s a…a male escort? At the back of my mind, I’d worried he might be a drug dealer or some sort of criminal. There was just something a little bit sinister about Warren Gold. He was too glossy, too polished, like he was trying to hide something. When he told me he and Julian did the same thing, it set off warning bells, but prostitution didn’t even enter my mind.
Perhaps I was jumping the gun. Being a male escort didn’t necessarily mean he was being paid for sex. He would’ve said he was a gigolo if that were the case, and okay, yes, that was wishful thinking because ‘escort’ was merely a fancy term for a gigolo but…
“You’re freaking out,” Julian said.
“No, I’m just…a little shocked.”
“Shock is expected. It’s not a commonplace profession. At least, I doubt you’ve met someone such as myself before.”
“I haven’t. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Have I scared you off?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. It’d be rich of me to judge you for what you do when you haven’t judged me.”
His tone was teasing. “I may have judged you, just a little.”
I gave a quiet laugh. “Well, I still refuse to judge you back. Your job is something I know nothing about, so how can I make assumptions?”
“Do you have questions?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense. Ask me whatever you like. I’m impervious to offence.” He paused then added, “Mostly.”
I screwed the cap back onto my almost empty water bottle. This conversation had given me a case of perennial thirst. “Well, in that case, what’s the difference between a male escort and a…a—”
“A prostitute?”
I cleared my throat, cheeks heating. “Yes.”
“There isn’t necessarily a difference, though what I provide is more a holistic experience than just offering sex. I entertain my clients, take them out and do the things that they want to do. I get to know them on a personal level. Sometimes that leads to sex, sometimes it doesn’t.”
Huh. That all sounded very civilised, and he spoke about it so casually, like it was any normal job. I still wanted to know more though. When it came down to it, Julian had sex for money. I had a real-life male escort sitting at my kitchen table, ready to answer any questions I had for him. All of a sudden, I felt like my fictional character, Sasha, conducting an interview for journalistic research. It was like a scene right out of the first book in my series. Reality mirroring fiction.
“And how do people hire you?” I went on.
Julian smirked. “Are you interested?”
“No,” I sputtered, then blushed. Even though I was still dressed as Elodie, I’d shaken off the act. Talking with Julian right now was too enthralling to pretend to be anyone other than Ellen. “I just mean, like, how does it all work? Do they find you online? Fill out a form? Or do you have an agency that manages everything for you?”