Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 42088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
I glance down at my watch. It’s just a little after ten in the morning. I’m free until later, so coffee isn’t out of the question, and La Colombe is a large, public place. Although he’s calling out of the blue, he is following the rules.
I always meet new clients at public places, and always in the middle of the day. I need to make sure that they’re safe, sane, and that we’re a good fit. I don’t take every client that gets sent my way, and not always because I don’t like them. Usually, it’s because we’re just not a good fit.
I can’t do that I do if we don’t mesh. If the conversation isn’t there, if something feels off, it just won’t work. What I do is so based on personal relationships that if I can’t forge a really meaningful one with someone, it’s just not worth their time or money. I’ve gotten the reputation I have by being selective with my clients, and I’m not about to ruin that.
Still, I did lose a client recently, and Michael has been a good person. I trust his judgment if he’s sending me this man. It’s a little unorthodox, sure, but it’s not breaking every single rule.
“I can meet you in an hour,” I tell him. “I’ll be wearing a light blue sundress.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding pleased. “I can do that. I’ll be in a navy suit with a flag pin on my lapel.”
“Fine,” I say. “And just to be clear, Mr. Price, I don’t take every client that gets recommended. We need to make sure that we’re a good fit before we move forward with an arrangement.”
“That’s fine with me,” he says. “I have a feeling we’ll be a very good match.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m incredibly charming.”
I laugh a little, despite myself. “I’m sure you are.”
“I’ll see you in an hour, Aria.”
He hangs up the phone. I bite my lip again and slip my phone back into my pocket.
I planned on heading home, having a long bath, and destressing from my session with Louis, but that can wait. I’ll meet with this new, cocky guy, and figure things out from there. If he’s a jerk, I’ll just ditch him and tell Michael never to give my number out again. Heck, I can even change my number if I have to.
I’ve had to in the past. Sometimes, clients blur the line between reality and fantasy, and that’s when things get difficult.
I hurry down the block and flag a cab. I planned on walking, but now I don’t have time.
I need to meet a total stranger and decide if I can become his paid emotional companion.
What a weird job.
La Colombe is right near Rittenhouse Square, a big, glass-windowed front café with a modern, industrial-chic décor. The coffee here is good, and it’s got a pretty good crowd for the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.
I scan the guys, looking for my prospective client. There are lots of men here, some of them older, and lots of them in suits. Men with dark eyes, light skin, bald, fat, skinny. Men in suits, shorts, jogging pants, jeans. It doesn’t matter to me all that much what he looks like, since I don’t need to be physically attracted to him for this to work.
It helps though, of course.
I don’t spot him. No flag pins anywhere. I grab a coffee and sit at an empty table toward the front of the place, a bit away from the crowd but not secluded. I cross my legs, sip my drink, and wait.
I watch the crowd, feeling nervous. I’m normally in control of my sessions, but situations like this always get to me. I don’t know how I found myself here, working this job. It all happened by chance back in college.
I knew this girl named Trina. I think that was her real name, at least. She was a senior when I was a sophomore and we were both English majors with history minors. I wanted to get into law school while she wanted to get her doctorate in creative writing. She’s the one that got me into this, one sunny afternoon after telling her about being so broke I could barely afford lunch.
“You’re cute,” she said to me. “And friendly. I think I know a job you’d be good at.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “I’ll do anything.”
She raised an eyebrow, grinning. Trina was beautiful, light brown skin, light blue eyes, curly hair. She always made me feel so plain in comparison.
“What do you know about being a companion?”
I laughed, figuring it was a joke. “You mean, like a hooker? I’m pretty desperate for money but I’m not sure I’m there yet.”
“No, not a hooker. An emotional companion.” She leaned toward me, speaking softly. “You’d meet with older men, listen to their bullshit, make them feel special and happy. But you wouldn’t fuck them.”