Living in Sin (The Escort Series) (4 page)

“Yeah, let’s go.”

We stand up and say bye to the guys. On our way to the door, the redhead from earlier stops right in front of us.

“You’re not leaving are you?” she asks, looking me up and down and then at Marc. “Who’s your friend here?”

“Yeah, I’m leaving. Sorry,” I say, not sounding sincere at all. These girls try to take you for all you’re worth. I refuse to pay just to have some titties in my face when I get paid to do a lot more than to watch some chick wiggle her body in front of me.

She tries pouting before turning her attention to Marc. “What about you? You can stay for a while, can’t you?”

Marc makes me look bad when he turns on his charm. He shoots her a smile and runs his hand down her arm, grabbing her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. My friend and I have to get going. I’ll be back and I promise to find you. Okay?”

The girl pretty much melts into a puddle in front of him. “Oh. Okay,” she says.

“You take care now,” Marc says, giving her a wink.

“Yeah. You too.”

We walk outside and wait for a cab.

“How’s your mom?” Marc asks me.

“She’s doin’ alright, I think,” I answer. “So what are your plans for this weekend?” I ask.

“Not much. I only have one client this weekend, but she’s booked both Saturday and Sunday.”

“More sploshing fun?” I ask with a laugh.

“Oh God no! Not the same woman. I don’t know if I could do that again.”

“Oh you would. You get paid to,” I laugh.

A cab arrives and we both climb in.

“So, three chicks huh?” he asks me with a smile on his face.

I laugh. “Yeah. Doesn’t happen too often.”

“I’ve never had three at once,” he says.

“I ain’t gonna lie. It’s almost stressful. Two is easy, but three is work. If I had three arms maybe, but fuck. I got one hand in a girl’s pussy, and my dick in another girl’s mouth, what am I supposed to do with the other chick?”

Marc laughs. “I don’t know, man. Not a bad night’s work though.”

“True.”

“So, you ever think about settling down?” he asks.

“Sometimes, but like Nico said, what girl is gonna want to be with any of us, knowing what we do for a living? Not any that I know of.”

Marc just sighs. He seems to be getting more and more worried about this settling down thing. I assume it’s because he’s in his mid-thirties.

The cab pulls up to my condo, so I pull out some money and toss it on the seat.

“See ya later, man,” I say to Marc as I get out.

“Yeah. Take it easy.”

The cab pulls away and I walk towards the lobby of my building. I live in a five hundred foot skyscraper, and am lucky enough to live in a penthouse suite on the top floor.

“Mr. Jamison, how are you sir?” the concierge asks me as I walk by.

“I’m fine, John. How are you?”

“Same ole thing, sir. Wife’s bothering me about taking her to some show,” he says with a roll of his eyes. John’s probably in his forties and always complaining about something his wife is making him do.

“Gotta keep the lady happy, John. You know that,” I laugh.

“You got that right. Happy wife, happy life. You have a good night, Mr. Jamison.”

“You too, John, and you know you can call me Jace.”

“Will do.”

I make my way past him and into the elevator that will take me to my suite. When I finally get up into my place, I strip off all my clothes and take a hot shower. As soon as I get out, I flop onto the bed, and I’m sure I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Walking through the door of my apartment, I use my foot to close the door while holding three shopping bags in each hand. I go to my room and gently lay them all on the bed. I walk into the kitchen; grab a bottle of water and gulp almost the whole bottle down in one drink. It’s fucking hot outside.

Going back to the bedroom, I kick my shoes off, sit on the bed and start going through all the bags. Inside of them are decorative wedding pieces. I have to put together a few different ideas for Mrs. Roberts, because she just can’t make up her mind on what she wants for her daughter’s reception tables. Why the daughter doesn’t get a say, I don’t know. Actually, I do. Mrs. Roberts is a woman who gets everything she wants. I feel bad for her daughter. The poor girl probably has had no say in her own wedding.

I gather a glass dish and put some turquoise and clear jewels in it with a few candles of different sizes. Another piece is something that looks like a giant wine glass. Inside of it will be a bouquet of flowers. I pick up a few tall glasses and throw some flowers inside and fill them with water, a floating candle will sit perfectly at the top. The last one is a small bowl with several small floating candles and flower petals in the water. I hope she will finally make up her mind after seeing them in person. Apparently, photos in an album aren’t good enough.

I pick up my phone to give her a call.

“Yes?” the haughty voice on the other end answers.

“Hello, Mrs. Roberts. It’s Adrienne. I have those centerpieces put together for you.”

“Oh, yes dear. Thank you. I can stop by in about fifteen minutes to take a look. See you then.”

She hangs up the phone before I can respond. Luckily, fifteen minutes works for me. Not that I have a choice apparently.

I carry each piece into my dining room and place them on the table. After straightening up my living room a little bit, I hear a light knock on the door.

Swinging the door open, I see Mrs. Roberts there holding several bags herself.

“Goodness, it’s hotter than Hades out there,” she says, walking past me.

I let out a small laugh. “Yes, ma’am it is. That’s May in Vegas for ya.”

She makes herself at home, and puts her bags down on my couch, looking over my things, like she always does when she comes over. “Oh, what’s this?” she asks, picking up a birthday card that’s sitting on my coffee table.

“A birthday card my dad gave me.”

“Oh. Well happy birthday, dear. You didn’t tell me.”

“Thank you. It was yesterday.”

“Did you do anything special?” she asks as she walks over to a large mirror that’s on the wall in the dining room. She attempts to fix her hair that the wind has blown slightly out of order and checks her lipstick.

“Just had dinner with my dad.”

“No boyfriend, then?” she asks as she turns towards me with a sad smile. It’s almost like she’s saying “you poor, lonely thing.”

“No. No boyfriend. I’m too busy with work.”

“Of course you are, dear.”

I walk over towards the centerpieces, hoping to get her to choose one and leave, but of course, I’m not that lucky.

“How old are you? I might have somebody I could set you up with.”

“Oh that’s not necessary. I’m not looking for anybody,” I say. She’d probably try to set me up with an old geezer. No thank you.

“He isn’t as old as me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says with a small smile. “I know some young hotties, too.”

I laugh out loud. “You’re not old, Mrs. Roberts,” I say, knowing that will please her.

“You’re a doll. I pay a lot of money to not look old,” she laughs.

Mrs. Roberts is probably in her late fifties or early sixties. I’d never ask. She does look really good though. She’s in good shape and keeps her blonde hair short. She obviously gets Botox injections, because she barely has any wrinkles. I’m also pretty sure she’s had a boob job, because those babies are always on display.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you alone about the boyfriend thing. I just think that a young lady as beautiful as you are deserves to have a little fun, too. All work and no play isn’t the way to live.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be sure to get out and play a little,” I say with a smile.

“Okay. Now where are those centerpieces?”

After hanging out at my house for half an hour, Mrs. Roberts finally picked a centerpiece. Thank goodness. As soon as I got her out the door, I couldn’t help but think about how little fun I actually have. I’m always working. An event coordinator’s job is never done. I’m either planning weddings, company parties, grand openings, or some other fancy shmancy thing some rich people are wanting done without actually doing it themselves. I love my job though. I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

I call my best friend, and see if we can plan a night out. I could go for a drink or three.

“Emilie speaking,” my friend answers.

“What? Who answers the phone like that?” I laugh.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying out new ways to answer the phone.”

“Okay. What else you got?” I ask.

“You’ve reached Emilie,” she says in her upbeat voice.

“Next.”

“This is Emilie,” she says like she’s just been transferred a call from her secretary.

“I got one for you,” I say.

“What is it?”

“Hello.”

“Oh shush. I’m trying to be different. What do you want?”

“I’m just messin’ with ya. Answer the phone however you want. Weirdo. I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out.”

“Wait. Hold the phone! Adrienne wants to go out? What is going on?” she squeals.

“Come on. It’s not that strange. We’ve been out together before.”

“Uh, yeah! Like, five years ago!”

“Oh please, you exaggerator. Do you wanna go or not? I have other friends you know,” I tease.

“Psh. No you don’t. Your assistant doesn’t count. I’m down to go out. Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Just come over later and we’ll get ready here and figure it out.”

“Okay, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Sounds good. See ya lata!”

“Emilie, out.”

I laugh and hang up. She’s crazy.

Several hours later I have a knock on my door.

“Hurry up. I gotta pee!” Em’s voice screams on the other side.

I run to the door and open it up. Emilie rushes past me, straight to the bathroom, dropping a backpack on the floor.

I grab it and put on the couch and wait for her to come back out.

“Whew! I thought I was gonna pee on myself there for a minute.”

“Why didn’t you go before you left your house?” I ask.

“I did! I have the bladder of a child, or an old person.”

“So do you have any ideas on where we should go tonight? I have no idea what to wear.”

“Where aren’t we going is a better question. You haven’t asked to go out in I don’t know how long and I am taking advantage! I can’t even believe you asked where to go. We live in Las frikken Vegas!” She starts shaking her head in disbelief and pulls out some clothes from her backpack.

“Geez. Calm down, crazy. So club clothes, I take it?”

“Yes, Adrienne. We’re going to a few clubs, so be ready.”

She pulls out a little black dress and a gold one. “Which one do you want to wear?”

“I have my own clothes, Em.”

“I know you do, but not a lot of club type clothes. So pick one,” she says as she holds out the two dresses.

“Does this one have slits all down the side?” I ask, grabbing the black one.

“Yes! Isn’t it sexy?” she says, pulling it back.

“I guess I’ll let you have it. I’ll take the gold one.”

“Great! Let’s do our faces and hair,” she says as she takes off towards my room.

I drop the gold slinky dress on the bed then go to the bathroom where Em is already plugging in her straightening iron.

“Are you going to straighten your hair tonight?” Em asks.

“Nah. It will take too long. Do you see this craziness?”

“Your hair is beautiful! I’m jealous. I wish I had those curls. I have this plain, stringy hair.”

“Whatever. I’d kill to wake up to straight hair every morning where all you gotta do is brush it.”

“Well, thank your parents for the curls!” she says.

My dad is a black and Cherokee mix and my mom is a German and French mix. I have long, soft, uncontrollable curls. I love it sometimes, other times I just have it pulled up. When I take the time to straighten it, it’s nice and silky looking, but that takes a long time, so it’s a rarity.

Emilie combs through her shoulder length, dirty blonde hair and parts it on the side. She has her bangs side swept, and places a headband on. She only straightens her bangs out and she’s done. Ugh. Jealous.