Escort by Mistake (Contemporary BWWM Billionaire Romance) Read online

  Her second job, the one she purposely avoided telling Tristan about, was very different indeed. She was there solely to make money, and that was it. She was in charge of screening applicants at a local escort service, and she was well aware that it lingered in the gray area between prostitution and legitimate business.

  Theoretically the girls, who were all young and gorgeous, were only there to provide companionship and conversation to men looking for temporary companionship. Sometimes they’d accompany the men to dinner, a cocktail party, or even the opera, but in the end all these men wanted was a good looking woman dangling on their arm for the evening.

  Cassidy knew that many, no… most, of the girls provided “extra” services not listed with the agency and whatever they earned was theirs to keep. No money was split with bodyguards or the agency, it was all their own and was to be kept as hush-hush as possible. While she tried her hardest not to look down her nose at these girls, Cassidy could never bring herself to offer her body to some strange man no matter what he was willing to pay. She needed an emotional connection to go with the sex. To her, it wasn’t just a physical act but a deeply intimate and personal one. It would never be a commodity to barter as far as she was concerned.

  She’d had a boyfriend in Alabama back in high school and he was her first love. They had kissed and engaged in some heavy petting, but hadn’t gone all the way. Since she’d come to New York she’d met and dated several men, and even had sex with a couple. One ended in a disastrous fight when she discovered she was one in a long line of many, and the other just didn’t hold up over time. They drifted apart. They ran into each other from time to time and remained friendly, but neither actively tried to stay in touch.

  She rinsed her plate and fork, grabbed her notebook and a pen out of her bag, and headed back to her bedroom. She turned on the lamp by the bed, placed the notebook and pen on the nightstand, and made her way into the bathroom for her nightly ablutions and tooth brushing.

  Now was her time — the time she kept secret. Someday she hoped to be a successful writer, and a well-known one at that. Each night before she went to sleep, she cleared her mind and dove into her notebook.

  She started with some name play. Chelsea De’Ath. There was one for a gothic tale, but that wasn’t her genre. She liked real people and made sure the characters she sketched were modeled after them. No gothic tales, zombies, ghosts, witches, or aliens… just real people. People like her. Ordinary people leading ordinary lives who got themselves into unusual situations.

  Easily the most unusual thing that had happened to her today was the handsome stranger who knocked on the door after closing: Tristan. Aside from Brad Pitt, he was also a Knight of the Round Table as he certainly looked heroic. She started scribbling in her notebook.

  Tristan Williams placed the nozzle back on the tank and turned his mahogany face toward Jake.

  “Okay, mister. That’s sixty dollars for the tank, and forty-five for your portables.”

  Cassidy had no idea where her stories came from. They just popped out of her head and flowed onto the pages of her notebook. That she couldn’t explain them rationally was exactly why she kept them secret for the time being. They just were there, and she wrote them all down. She used the people she met as story prompts. Look how a tall, tousled-haired, fair-skinned man morphed into an Alabama teenager from home in the blink of an eye. Mostly she was reality-based, and the stories just couldn’t be explained.

  Suddenly the extra long day, the missed bus, and her late return caught up with her. She was tired. She closed the notebook, turned out the light, snuggled under the bed covers, and closed her eyes.

  Then, bang! Her eyes were open, just like all the other nights lately. Thoughts of the escort service flooded in and made her feel horrible. If mom and dad knew about her second job it would break their hearts. Their beloved daughter working for an escort service. There was no gray area in their minds; it was prostitution and it was dirty. Cassidy would do anything to get out of there, but she hadn’t found another job that paid as well. She really didn’t have many skills for the corporate world. She was a decent writer, yes, but didn’t have a degree nor did she have any of her work published.

  At the escort service she primarily manned the phone, talking to the men who were shopping for a makeshift companion. Was Emma’s hair naturally blonde? Was that a real picture of Cindy? Were Kate’s boobs as big as they looked in her photo?

  She also did a small degree of data entry and filing. Everything was electronic these days, so it wasn’t very hard. It was just that, somehow, working there implied that she condoned women selling their bodies which she definitely didn‘t. She tried to imagine having sex with a total stranger, especially one that wasn’t physically appealing, and she couldn’t. She needed the chemistry.

  With two jobs, she really didn’t have time to pound the pavement looking for another line of work, nor did she have the time to actively pursue dating. Cassidy felt good that she could send a small but steady stream of money home, but knew her parents would probably refuse the help if they knew where she worked. It wasn’t as if she were one of the girls, it was just the fact that she worked there that would upset them. She never, ever wanted them to be ashamed of her.

  She was beating herself up again, as usual. Tomorrow, after working at Ron’s, vowed to spend at least thirty minutes looking for someplace else that was hiring. A bit of time every day was better than nothing, after all. She was sick of feeling guilty, and knew it was time for a change. With that resolution made, she finally drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  “Mornin‘, Cassidy,” Ron greeted as she entered the door the following morning.

  He always arrived earlier than his employees at the coffee shop. He’d jokingly said that it was to keep the staff on their feet. He was the proud owner of this small yet successful business and ran a tight ship.

  "Thanks for taking the slack yesterday. The rain usually drives them in. What time did you close shop?” Ron asked.

  “Around 8:30,” Cassidy replied.

  “Quite late, don’t you think?” Ron questioned in puzzlement.

  “Would have been earlier but some guy came in and begged me for a cup just as I was cleaning up. Then we got to talking and I missed my damn bus,” Cassidy explained.

  "You should really be careful who you let in at night. Some of these vagrants can be quite violent,” Ron warned with one raised eyebrow.

  Cassidy knew Ron’s concern was for all of their safety. He was okay about giving vagrants a warm cup every now and then, but the recent muggings, no pun intended, had made him understandably nervous.

  “He wasn’t a vagrant. His name was Tristan… but I don’t remember if he mentioned his last name. He said he was a photographer and he showed me some of his pictures. They were really beautiful,” Cassidy explained lengthily.

  She remembered something and dug into her pocket.

  “He left this for a tip, and I thought I’d put it in the tip box to share with the other employees.”

  Ron glanced at the bill in her hand and his eyes widened in disbelief.

  “He left a $500.00 tip? Who did you have here last night? The king of England?”

  “That’s what I thought myself,” Cassidy laughed. “I wanted to return it to him, but he was gone by the time I went outside. If not for this,” she said, holding up the money, “I’d think he was just a figment of my imagination.”

  “Tell me everything… don’t spare on the details,” Ron urged, his curiosity fully roused.

  She happily obliged, and when she finished Ron flashed her a strange look.

  “You must have made quite an impression on him,” he teased.

  Cassidy shook her head, not wanting to be drawn further into it. She was embarrassed to admit she'd hardly slept a wink last night. She’d never been that way before. The image of those grey-green eyes, the chiseled face, and the way he moved haunted her.

  She was certain Tristan didn’t ment
ion his last name, but she didn’t want Ron to think that it was anything but a casual incident. Men never impacted her the way he did. Not even with Ray, her high school sweetheart who qualified as a jock back at Central High.

  “I’m sure he was just being overly generous. Maybe he's not really a photographer. Maybe he’s a drug dealer or something,” Cassidy said dismissively.

  Ron’s attention was caught by a florist truck that slowed down and parked by the sidewalk fronting the shop.

  Cassidy scurried off to the back in search of her ubiquitous green apron. She tied it around her waist just over her boot-cut tan pants and black shirt.

  “Cassidy!” Ron hollered from out front.

  She was hoping to get a bite to eat. Ron normally handled the early birds before the morning rush hour. She usually didn’t let a man affect her so much that she didn’t eat, yet she’d skipped breakfast at home after her restless night.

  “Coming!” she called back as she made a dash to the counter.

  Her boss was by the door, signing a delivery form before handing it back to the guy holding a huge basket of mixed long-stemmed, white, pink, and red roses.

  “These are for you,” he said, with a sly smile on his face.

  “What? There must be a mistake. Who would be sending me flowers?” Cassidy asked, eyeing the bunch doubtfully. They looked very expensive.

  “Read the card, silly, and we’ll know who they're from.”

  With trembling fingers, Cassidy pulled the card out from the small white envelope that had her name scrawled on it. She had a feeling she already knew who they were from.

  In the card she read,

  Late night coffee + your company = a perfect way to end the day.

  There was no signature, but Cassidy didn’t need to be a detective to know who they were from: Tristan.

  She looked up to see Ron watching her intently.

  “He sent me flowers.” Her face suffused with heat.

  “Uh-huh… and left you a $500.00 tip. Sounds like someone is a tad smitten with you, Cassidy.”

  Cassidy wanted to protest. Guys like Tristan typically didn’t enter her world.

  “I’ll go put these in a vase. They’d look nice here by the counter,” Cassidy offered shyly.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Ron insisted with the wave of his hand. “You’re bringing them home with you tonight. And that tip? It’s yours. You were here alone last night. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks,” Cassidy mumbled, unsure of exactly how she felt.

  Incredulous… apprehensive… expectant… ecstatic…

  Perhaps more than anything, she was feeling unwilling to succumb to an overwhelming optimism that there was something more. She was reluctant to put herself in a situation where she would just end up disappointed if she never saw him again.

  Still, as the hours passed, she couldn’t help the slight fluttering of her heart each time the bell chimed announcing the arrival of another customer. She hated herself for feeling disappointed, a lump forming in her stomach every time it wasn’t him.

  She was tempted to extend her hours until closing time. Maybe he would come again at the same time he’d wandered in the previous night. However, she didn’t want to appear too keen. Besides, her fellow workers had already been ribbing her about the mysterious admirer.

  Clutching the basket of flowers, she felt silly as she said her goodbyes to them only to be followed by playful catcalls.

  “When we gonna meet this guy, Cass?”

  “Do you have a date? Are you meeting him tonight?”

  "If he has a twin brother, toss him my way!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Cassidy remarked with a chuckle as she headed for the door.

  “God, I hope he doesn’t come in after I’m gone,” she mused as she slowly exited the café.

  Cassidy remembered where she had to be tomorrow and the thought almost gave her a panic attack. It also broke her from her giddy cloud and sent her hurdling back to Earth. She had to fight the urge to run back to the café and wait… just in case her mystery man showed up again tonight.

  She wasn’t scheduled to work at the café for the next two days because of her other job. Ron knew about it. He encouraged her to go for it. He was aware of her personal difficulties and was decent enough to understand that she needed to supplement her earnings from the coffee shop.

  Most of her coworkers at the café didn’t know that she’d taken a job with an escort service agency four months earlier and was employed by them twice a week. They assumed the two days she was away were her days off, but Cassidy hadn’t enjoyed a day off since she started her second questionable job. She was lucky the agency agreed to two days instead of the regular five working days.

  Her job mostly consisted of answering phone calls from potential clients and taking down their personal information. It was important for the agency to check a person’s background against a blacklist database for the protection of the girls working there. There had been several instances when an escort complained of being beaten and abused by a client, and it was her duty to ensure it never happened again. She also answered e-mails and handled a bit of advertising via social media.

  When she’d first applied for the job, the manager had been skeptical of her skills. He tried to convince her to work as an escort instead. She had the looks, he said, but Cassidy was adamant. She knew the extent of the services the girls offered the clients, and it usually lead to some form of sex. They could refuse, but most didn’t and Cassidy didn’t have the guts to do the same.

  The escorts themselves were all young, beautiful, and basically had the same story to tell. Money was the primary incentive for becoming an escort, and it was classier than being a street prostitute. She had made friends with some of these girls and had grown quite fond of them.

  Cassidy often wondered how she could keep her focus, given what her duties entailed at the agency. Her entire being was at different ends of a pendulum, her moral compass being in diametric opposition to that of the agency’s. Her mind was back at the coffee shop, where she wondered if Tristan had returned to look for her. She immediately tossed this thought away, hoping he hadn’t because she wouldn’t have been there to see him.

  The hours at the agency crawled incredibly slowly and she was often assailed with an urge to call Ron and ask if anyone had come in looking for her. However, she knew Ron would see right through her no matter how casual she tried to appear.

  She just had to grin and bear it until Saturday came around. The agency manager could sense her unease and was giving her strange looks like she was a cat in heat.

  The escort service office was on the outskirts of Forest Hills, not that far from her modest apartment. She entered the discreet front door — no signage, only a number — and climbed the steps to the office. Her lackluster setup was located in the very back: a small room, an oak desk, a worn out leather office chair, a beige phone, an outdated computer, and one tiny window. That was it.

  She hung her coat on a hook and settled into her familiar seat. Before she could boot up her slow computer, her manager casually strolled in.

  “Cassidy, I need your help. Between calls, you enter these new guidelines onto the website, yes?” He handed her a printout from his computer.

  Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief. Another mindless task. This job wasn’t hard; it was just the business. She felt so uncomfortable here. She knew she was conflicted, and it was all about money. There was no getting around it.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Horvat,” she smiled politely.

  “Cassidy, how many times have I ask?” he said in his thick Eastern European accent. “It’s Edgar. Ed. Just call me Ed. We’re friendly here. Happy family. Girl friendly. Edgar friendly.”

  “Alright, Ed. I’ll get it done today. No problem.”

  “You still sure you don’t want other work? Make more money? Have good times?” Edgar asked with a hopeful grin. Edgar’s family had immigrated to America from Croatia when he was just a boy, ye
t his English was still quite broken. Cassidy found it oddly endearing.

  “No, I’m fine,” she replied flatly. “This suits me just fine. I couldn’t be… I couldn’t… I’m not…”

  Edgar shrugged his broad shoulders. “Okay. Just ask. You make good money.”

  “Ed,” Cassidy began firmly. “No. Don’t ask again, okay? I’ll come here help in the office and go home. That’s all I’ll do here.”

  “Okay, okay. You do good work. You good girl.”

  After he left Cassidy took a good look at the guidelines:

  Do not ever use her working name at the buzzer, and do not ever use it at her door. Providers generally want it to look like an old friend is coming to visit, so they need you need to be discreet. Buzz up and say something simple like, “Hey it’s me.”

  More directions like that, then:

  If you do not ask her for what you want and end up disappointed, do not write a negative review. That is very unfair to her as she is not a mind reader. If you do not ask for what you want and end up disappointed it is not her fault.

  Cassidy felt a shiver run down her back. This gray area, the crossover to sex, is what made her uncomfortable. She knew it was unrealistic to expect men to go out with a beautiful woman and then… just end the evening. How did they do it?

  She got back to answering phone calls and within a couple of hours she had the new guidelines posted on the website. She decided to send a notice to all the girls to check the updated rules so they would be up to speed.

  “Hey, Cass,” a southern drawl called through the door.

  “Hi, Kim. How’s it going?”

  “I’m fine, but I need to take a couple of days off. Can you take me off the schedule for Monday and Tuesday? It’s my little brother.”

  Cassidy realized the girls had lives and problems outside this world where they dressed to entice and wore makeup to enhance. She didn’t agree with what they did, but she was able to look past that had befriended the majority of them.

  “What’s going on with your little brother?” she asked with sincerity.

  “Well, it’s a mystery. First the doctors thought it might be ALS, but that’s so rare in children that they decided he needs to go in for some other tests. I want to be with him. All the hospital stuff and the doctors and crazy machines and needles. He gets so scared.”