Read Online Cream of the Crop by Dawné Dominique - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dawné Dominique
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one or—” The unsaid threat hung between them.
“ I-I’ve just been busy with exams. Are you sure I'm right for the job? You know I've never done anything like this bef—”
“ There’s a first time for everything. You meet the client at his hotel. You go out for dinner. He talks. You listen. Yadda, yadda, yadda. You're to be his charming escort. This particular customer is one of our highest profile clients. The only reason I suggested you is he has a thing for natural blondes. Unfortunately, Trisha is out of commission with her hysterectomy. He’s also a first time client who's been recommended to me by someone I trust explicitly. If you're worried about your identity being shared, don't be. Wear a wig. Dress in something you don't normally wear. Be someone else for one evening. The confidentiality of our clients is as stringent as yours. I want him treated with the utmost respect and attention. If you're lucky, he'll be a big tipper. When hotshots like him want something, they'll pay big bucks to get it...and keep it. You know what I'm saying?”
Her voice suddenly softened. “This is a perfect opportunity for you, Amy. If he likes you it’s not uncommon to get slipped a thou.”
“ You mean, like in a-a thousand dollars?”
Patrice's cold monotone returned. “Do you want the job or not?”
Damn! I could work the rest of the semester and pay off my student loan s with money like that. Before her brain caught up with her mouth, she said, “Yeah, I'm in.” She did a frantic search in her knapsack and found a pen and paper to write down the time, hotel, and what he was expecting from her.
*~*~*
So here she was standing in the corridor on the sixteenth floor of the Regency, one of the city's most expensive hotels, wanting nothing more than to toss her cookies right there on the plush carpet. The money didn’t seem so attractive now.
She tugged down the tightly fitted black suit jacket and smoothed out a couple of imaginary wrinkles on the matching pencil-thin skirt. The final payment for the outfit had been less than a week ago from a year's worth of tips she’d earned at the diner. Her "power suit" she called it. She’d bought it to wear to her first interview with some high-powered law firm the day after graduation. Never in a million years would she have imagined she'd be standing here wearing it for this reason. She hoped the fake pearls around her neck added the perfect touch of sophistication. Patrice had instructed her to wear "classy business attire with a sexy edge". The red stilettos, no nylons, and matching handbag screamed risqué. She'd twisted her flaxen-streaked hair into a tight French bun, which was now giving her the biggest headache in the world. "Whatever the client wants, we deliver," she mumbled the motto. Personally, she thought she looked more like an uptight secretary with a bad case of gas than a paid escort.
Summoning up courage, s he ran her tongue over her lips, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“ Come in.”
The voice sounded like a mixture of English suave with a bark. Her heart kicked up a notch and began thumping a bongo number. Swallowing past the brick in her throat, she waited a few moments after hearing the click of the lock before entering.
As her eyes adjusted, she noticed thick brocade drapes covered the massive window that ran the length of the entire room. One small table lamp tried its best to supply light, but failed miserably. She squinted through the gloom. The second thing she noticed was that the air smelled amazing. She peered right. Sitting on the center of a coffee table that could have served as a desk was the largest vase she'd ever seen filled with freshly cut flowers. In fact, she noticed bouquets scattered all about the hotel room. A man who likes flowers can't be all that bad, right?
Movement on her left snagged her attention. She turned toward the entranceway of what she assumed led into a bedroom. No lights were on there, but the
“ I-I’ve just been busy with exams. Are you sure I'm right for the job? You know I've never done anything like this bef—”
“ There’s a first time for everything. You meet the client at his hotel. You go out for dinner. He talks. You listen. Yadda, yadda, yadda. You're to be his charming escort. This particular customer is one of our highest profile clients. The only reason I suggested you is he has a thing for natural blondes. Unfortunately, Trisha is out of commission with her hysterectomy. He’s also a first time client who's been recommended to me by someone I trust explicitly. If you're worried about your identity being shared, don't be. Wear a wig. Dress in something you don't normally wear. Be someone else for one evening. The confidentiality of our clients is as stringent as yours. I want him treated with the utmost respect and attention. If you're lucky, he'll be a big tipper. When hotshots like him want something, they'll pay big bucks to get it...and keep it. You know what I'm saying?”
Her voice suddenly softened. “This is a perfect opportunity for you, Amy. If he likes you it’s not uncommon to get slipped a thou.”
“ You mean, like in a-a thousand dollars?”
Patrice's cold monotone returned. “Do you want the job or not?”
Damn! I could work the rest of the semester and pay off my student loan s with money like that. Before her brain caught up with her mouth, she said, “Yeah, I'm in.” She did a frantic search in her knapsack and found a pen and paper to write down the time, hotel, and what he was expecting from her.
*~*~*
So here she was standing in the corridor on the sixteenth floor of the Regency, one of the city's most expensive hotels, wanting nothing more than to toss her cookies right there on the plush carpet. The money didn’t seem so attractive now.
She tugged down the tightly fitted black suit jacket and smoothed out a couple of imaginary wrinkles on the matching pencil-thin skirt. The final payment for the outfit had been less than a week ago from a year's worth of tips she’d earned at the diner. Her "power suit" she called it. She’d bought it to wear to her first interview with some high-powered law firm the day after graduation. Never in a million years would she have imagined she'd be standing here wearing it for this reason. She hoped the fake pearls around her neck added the perfect touch of sophistication. Patrice had instructed her to wear "classy business attire with a sexy edge". The red stilettos, no nylons, and matching handbag screamed risqué. She'd twisted her flaxen-streaked hair into a tight French bun, which was now giving her the biggest headache in the world. "Whatever the client wants, we deliver," she mumbled the motto. Personally, she thought she looked more like an uptight secretary with a bad case of gas than a paid escort.
Summoning up courage, s he ran her tongue over her lips, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“ Come in.”
The voice sounded like a mixture of English suave with a bark. Her heart kicked up a notch and began thumping a bongo number. Swallowing past the brick in her throat, she waited a few moments after hearing the click of the lock before entering.
As her eyes adjusted, she noticed thick brocade drapes covered the massive window that ran the length of the entire room. One small table lamp tried its best to supply light, but failed miserably. She squinted through the gloom. The second thing she noticed was that the air smelled amazing. She peered right. Sitting on the center of a coffee table that could have served as a desk was the largest vase she'd ever seen filled with freshly cut flowers. In fact, she noticed bouquets scattered all about the hotel room. A man who likes flowers can't be all that bad, right?
Movement on her left snagged her attention. She turned toward the entranceway of what she assumed led into a bedroom. No lights were on there, but the
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