Escort by Mistake (Contemporary BWWM Billionaire Romance)

  Escort by Mistake

  Published By Tiana Cole, 2015

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  ©2015 Tiana Cole

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  Table of Contents

  Escort by Mistake

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About The Author

  Escort by Mistake

  Chapter One

  It was one of those rainy New York nights when Cassidy Johnson wished she was home and tucked warmly in her bed. Instead she was behind the counter of a local coffee shop, Ron’s Good Beans Café, which was normally empty after 6 p.m., except that the torrential downpour sent pedestrians scrambling inside its warm interiors to avoid getting drenched in the rain.

  Cassidy glanced surreptitiously at the wall clock. 7:45 p.m. She had exactly thirty minutes to catch the 8:15 bus back to Queens. The next one would be forty-five minutes later, and she hated the thought of standing on the curb waiting. Rainy New York nights are havens to a bevy of thieves and other dubious characters, and lately the area around the cafe had seen a spate of muggings.

  “Thank God,” she sighed inwardly as the last group of customers started to collect their umbrellas and headed towards the exit. Cassidy made a beeline for the glass door, flipping the “closed” sign as she did.

  She tugged at the hair band that held her hair back and let the dark brown spiral tresses fall naturally to her shoulders. All she needed was to grab her notebook, stuff it in her purse, and she would be on her way to the bus stop.

  She pulled a plastic garbage bag from behind the counter and started collecting used paper coffee cups still scattered around the tables and the countertop when the familiar chime of the bell by the door jingled.

  “I’m sorry we’re closed…” Cassidy announced brusquely without bothering to look at the new arrival and wishing she had locked the door.

  “I know… the sign says so… but I was hoping you would let me have a cup. It’s really chilly out there,” a warm male voice replied.

  Cassidy turned around, her body language announcing her irritation. She had been on her feet for twelve hours, and right now all she wanted was a hot bath and her familiar, cozy flannel pajamas.

  “Look, mister…” But the words stuck to her throat.

  Standing by the threshold, uncertain about his welcome, was the most striking man she had ever seen. The disheveled hair hung damp just below the ears. The luminous grey-green eyes that seemed to plead, were framed by a chiseled face that was made more arresting by a cleft chin. He was wearing a white v-necked shirt under a leather jacket, a pair of faded designer jeans over sneakers, and was noticeably sockless.

  A series of inane thoughts run riot through her mind.

  He needs a haircut…

  Could those eyes be any more intense...?

  How can an imperfection on his chin make him look so sexy?

  “I... err-… I… sorry. We’ve run out of cappuccinos and lattes. I’m afraid all we have is plain coffee,” Cassidy stuttered, unable to gather her wayward thoughts.

  “I like mine black," the man answered as his eyes swept her body from head to toe.

  For some strange reason, Cassidy thought he was referring to her skin tone and a primal shiver ran up her spine.

  Don’t be stupid. Her common sense said. He means he likes it without sugar and cream.

  “Look… I was watching you from across the street and…”

  Stalker! Stalker! Stalker!

  The word repeatedly screamed in her mind as she scurried to the counter. She knew she had a baseball bat hidden under there somewhere, and she wouldn’t hesitate to bash his gorgeous head in.

  “Please, Cassidy? I’m not a psycho. I just really need my caffeine fix right now,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  Cassidy was dumbstruck. “How did you even know…?”

  She didn’t get to finish her sentence, interrupted as the stranger pointed to the nametag just above her breast pocket.

  “Oh,” she added feeling utterly foolish.

  Finally summoning some of her sensibility, Cassidy stammered, “It’s rather late… and… and…”

  Just then, the 8:15 bus whizzed by. She missed it. Shit.

  “There goes my bus!” she sighed.

  “Well, I promise I’ll keep an eye out for the next one. Now, can I have coffee while we wait?” he deadpanned as he approached the counter.

  Cassidy didn’t really believe much in destiny or good fortune. All that mystic nonsense happened to someone else, not her. But she did have another forty-five minute wait for the next bus… which was entirely his fault, and he’d better leave a substantial tip for being such a nuisance. Besides, he didn’t really look like a serial killer.

  She pointed to the coffeemaker that the house used for refills and handed him a mug.

  “Help yourself,” she gave in.

  The man walked over to the machine as Cassidy studied him furtively. He had a lean body under the leather jacket, and his easy stride told her he was athletic. His manner was casual as he slid onto a barstool in front of the counter. His presence made her uneasy in a mysterious, thrilling way. Hell, he was even better looking up close. She gave him a tentative smile as their eyes met over the rim of the coffee mug.

  “You’re my hero, Cassidy. Thanks for indulging me. My name’s Tristan,” he said with a warm smile.

  Tristan? Such a coincidence! That was Brad Pitt's name in the movie ‘Legends of the Fall,’ and Tristan Ludlow was her childhood crush. His poster still hung by her old bedroom back in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

  “Thanks,” Cassidy politely returned his smile as she brushed Brad Pitt‘s bearded face from her mind. “It’s a shitty night. I guess everyone deserves a break.” After a few seconds of pause she added, “So… what brings you to this part of town?”

  Small talk was cheap. Besides, she really wanted to know about her fluke of fate. He struck her as someone who would be more at home in the designer coffee shops of Fifth Avenue.

  “I like watching people out of the ordinary and there are pretty interesting characters on this side of town,” Tristan explained.

  “So, you’re a stalker then?” Cassidy joked.

  Tristan threw back his head in amusement, displaying a beautiful set of pearly whites.

  “No, no, I’m a photographer,” he added, inserting a hand inside his jacket pocket.

  He drew out a compact digital camera that fit perfectly into the palm of his hand. He pressed a button and the LCD screen came to life.

  “Here…” he said, leaning across the counter.

  Cassidy inched forward and watched as he flipped through a series of photos. There was a homeles
s man with a cardboard sign hanging from his neck, a kid with muddy sneakers riding a bike, a drunk in the act of tipping a whiskey bottle in a brown paper bag into his mouth, a pair of nuns walking hand in hand, a woman selling flowers by the sidewalk, and so on. His ability to capture images was so defined that they almost seemed to jump off the small screen.

  Desperation was written on the homeless man’s face. The boy on the bike looked bothered about his muddy sneakers. His mom would probably give him hell for it. Reckless dependence and thirst painted the drunk’s face. The two nuns looked happy and carefree to be out in the open. And the woman selling flowers had a resolute look on her face.

  “They’re beautiful…” Cassidy gushed. She could tell the story behind every shot.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Tristan replied, shutting the camera off and sliding it back into his jacket pocket. “It’s called physiognomy, or the interpretation of a person’s character or personality using the face as a canvas. I use the camera to capture those characteristics.”

  “What do you do with all the pictures you take? Sell them to a magazine or something?” Cassidy asked, genuinely intrigued.

  “Sometimes I do, but they’re mostly just for my pleasure. This camera’s just my little point-and-shoot I carry with me for when I’m strolling around town,” he explained as he patted his jacket pocket. “My professional camera’s back at my studio. I actually prefer this little camera here since I can easily fit in my pocket and snap a quick photo whenever I see somebody interesting while I’m out and about. Each photo is unique and allows me see a part of the person’s soul,” Tristan went on.

  Cassidy digested this information as she wiped down the countertop with a damp rag. So, he was a camera bug — a specialized stalker who wanted a glimpse into another person’s psyche. Of course, she didn’t dare say that aloud.

  “How about you, Cassidy? What makes you tick, aside from being totally beguiling and letting a complete stranger keep you from going home on a rainy night?”

  Cassidy was momentarily taken aback. Beguiling? No one had ever called her that before. Spunky, maybe, but only because she’d learned to deal with the variety of characters who came for their daily fix. Gritty, even, because she was determined to see her mother through chemotherapy for her recently diagnosed cancer despite their financial dearth.

  Well… she did have that other job, but it wasn’t something she was comfortable telling someone she'd just met. He might not understand. The stigma attached to it was widespread. No, she decided not to mention that job at all.

  “Me?” she asked, thoroughly abashed. “I... I just work here. There’s nothing exciting about me at all.”

  “Surely you have family? A dog? Cat? Friends you hang out with? Everyone has a story to tell,” Tristan urged her.

  Cassidy wrinkled her nose, still not sure if her story was worth telling, but he seemed sincerely interested in hearing what she had to say.

  Probably just being kind… considering that I could be home right now instead of waiting for the bus and racking my brain for a story to tell. The thought ran through her mind.

  “I’m from Alabama initially,” she began. “That’s where my mom and dad are. He owns a small cabin near Perdido River, and rents it out to tourists who visit the Forest Preserve. It was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, so my dad’s trying to build again. My mom stays home mostly.”

  She saw no need to tell him that much of her salary from the coffee shop was sent home to dad to help with the construction. Nor did she see the need to tell him that she was forced to get a second job months ago after receiving a frantic phone call from her dad. A painful call where he broke the news that her mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

  “So… your mom and dad, they’re okay?” Tristan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine,” Cassidy lied.

  She felt prickly with him staring at her face.

  “What brought you to New York? Do you have family here too?” Tristan asked.

  “No,” Cassidy answered briefly, then added, “A trip to New York was part of the prize money I won joining a local pageant. I found New York exhilarating and never wanted to leave. So that’s why I’m here. The people, the action, the art, the conversation. Meeting strangers...” She smiled at him with an arched eyebrow.

  Cassidy wished he would stop with the twenty questions. Thinking about her mom and dad made her sad.

  “This pageant you mentioned… was this one where you had to wear a bathing suit and pose in front of a huge crowd?” Tristan questioned with a smirk.

  “Yup.”

  “With prize money?”

  “Yup.”

  “Your friends dared you to do it, didn’t they?”

  “Yup.”

  How did he even know about that? Cassidy wondered as she continued to avoid his gaze by wiping down the counter.

  "You don’t say much, do you?” Tristan declared with a laugh.

  “And you ask too many questions,” Cassidy replied just as quickly.

  “You have a beautiful face. One of the most captivating I’ve ever seen. And I think you’re editing much of what you’re telling me,” Tristan fired back.

  Was he some sort of mind-reader?

  “Tristan, all you need is to leave me a dollar tip. Coffee is free. Flattery is optional. Besides, I have a mirror at home and know my looks are average at best. I have no expectations of landing a magazine cover, you know,” Cassidy answered deprecatingly.

  Tristan flashed her a look as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. He shrugged his shoulders as if some inner voice was telling him something was unique or different about this girl.

  “One more question. I promise it will be the last one, and then I’ll leave,” he swore.

  Cassidy felt a slight pang of disappointment at the thought. It wasn’t everyday that a handsome stranger came by the shop after closing time and peppered her with questions. Told her she was beguiling with a captivating face. Flattery always felt good, even if she knew it wasn’t necessarily true. Besides, this whole situation was so transient. She’ll never see him after tonight.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Tristan bluntly asked.

  Cassidy was taken by surprise. She was fully expecting him to ask a thought-provoking question, like what her goals were in life or her opinion on the economic climate. She laughed at his unexpected query.

  “Honestly? That’s your last question? I was expecting something more profound, like where I see myself five years down the road.”

  “I’d like to hear that too, but I promised it was my last question. So… maybe next time?” Tristan smiled, his face alight with his gorgeous eyes locked on to hers. “Now, about that boyfriend?”

  Cassidy’s brow rose slightly. Did he just say “maybe next time?” She stood speechless and trying to regain her composure.

  “So? Boyfriend? Yes? No?” Tristan prodded her with a grin.

  “No boyfriend, and, yeah, maybe next time,” was all Cassidy could manage to reply.

  Tristan stood up and Cassidy took it to mean the interview was over. She bent over the counter searching for the door keys.

  “Thanks, Cassidy. This was the highlight of my day,” Tristan remarked before he turned around and walked slowly out the door.

  Cassidy felt an unexpected moment of sadness at seeing him go. For some strange reason, the coffee shop suddenly felt empty. She shrugged away the thought and reached for the mug he used. It was sitting atop a crisp five hundred dollar bill.

  “What the fuck…?” Cassidy gasped, reaching for the bill and running to the door in hopes of catching Tristan. However, she found the streets empty except for a silver BMW that was turning a corner.

  Cassidy stood in shock, staring at the bill in her hand. Where could he have gone so quickly, and why would he leave her such a huge tip? Shit. Five hundred dollars couldn’t possibly be categorized as a tip, could it? Tristan had definitely struck her as a bit eccentric, so did he really mea
n to leave such a large denomination? She’d hoped he hadn’t foolishly left a five hundred dollar bill instead of the five dollar bill he’d intended.

  She reentered the coffee shop, grabbed her notebook and purse, and turned off all the lights as routine. She locked the door and stood by the sidewalk, waiting for the bus that was rounding the corner. She’d think about this later when she was back in her apartment in Queens. She had to admit, this was one of those nights she’d certainly never forget.

  Chapter Two

  When she got back to her apartment, Cassidy was too tired to have much of an appetite. She threw off her coat and headed into the bedroom where she slipped into her favorite pajamas. Back in the kitchen, she forced herself to eat some leftover lasagna she found in the refrigerator as she mulled over the disarray of her personal life.

  Her main concern was her mom. Cancer. The very word brought chills. It was like a death sentence. Her mom, so caring and good natured, struck by an inexplicable disease. Her dad, just as loving in his own way; driving Mom to her appointments, making certain her medications were correct and on time, and all the little things Cassidy knew he did.

  She felt a wave of homesickness. Warm, caring, safe home with people who loved her and would do anything for her. But, the reality was there were no decent jobs there anymore now that the paper mill had closed down. She was doing her part sending money from her two jobs to help with the medical expenses.

  Her two jobs. She loved the café. Ron was a great boss, and although the work was physically demanding it was still fun. And the people! She loved the majority of the clientele. She liked interacting with them, and even though they didn’t know it, they helped feed her notebook.

  She wrote down snippets of conversation and physical descriptions. She even collected names. She liked to play with them combining first and last names, then creating characters based on those “new” name combinations. Perhaps this is why she felt a mild attraction and curiosity towards the mysterious Tristan who’d tipped her so generously. They both seemed to have a fascination with observing people.