3: In Which She Has a Tea Party

3: In Which She Has a Tea Party

*****************

“He’s cute,” I said slowly. “Plus he seems intelligent.”

Montgomery smiled, taking the photo from me. “Oh yes, that’s Rocky. He’s Spanish. And he has a degree in English.” She paused. “But he’s in Milan right now. Someone’s snapped him up on a long-term.”

My face fell. I didn’t want to have come to the agency today for nothing. “What about him?” I paged through Kiefer’s portfolio. There were various pictures of him in various provocative poses and he resembled a young Colin Firth. “I know him. Barb Showalter said he’s good at being the quiet strong type. I need that, especially a guy who can handle work-related functions.”

Barb, a local socialite I’d met through Rox, was the person who’d turned me onto Eden Escort Agency a year ago. I had been stranded without a date – yet again – and she’d slipped me Eleanor Montgomery’s card.

“Between you and me, Barb tried to rape him. He didn’t press charges – how humiliating would that be? – but he’s gone back to accounting. Sorry.” Monty’s face was heavy with concern. Clearly, she was thinking about why I was unhappy with one of ‘her men’. “Is there a problem with Ash?”

There. She’d said it.

“He’s just...he’s not my type.” Isn’t that diplomatic of me?

What I really felt like saying was that he was a complete and utter arsehole. But that would make Monty mad, and I didn’t want to make this kind older woman mad. She considered all the escorts her multiracial sons.

She leaned across her desk, her mildly Botoxed face grim. “Amor dear, he fit all your requirements. Educated – highly educated – tall, intelligent, interesting, goal-oriented... He might as well be Victor.”

Yeah, right. “How is Victor, by the way?” And can I please have him back?

Monty huffed out a breath. “He’ll be off both his legs for quite a while, I’m afraid. And, apparently, he’s found Jesus. Says he was nothing short of a prostitute. Vic, I mean. I don’t want to blaspheme here.”

I felt the last shred of hope inside me wither away and die. “Of course. So...about another replacement...?”

“Ashton’s the best, darling. And besides, all my men are involved with other women. The escort business has become extremely hectic.” She broke into a smile. “All my men are busy for at least six months. You’re lucky to have Ashy, just so you know. He’s quite a hit and he isn’t even a gigolo.”

I winced at the term. There was a massive difference between men who were paid to go to parties and men who were paid to sleep with women. Ashton was, apparently, the former. It didn’t matter to me. I just couldn’t be stuck with a man like him. Inked, derisive and dripping so much sex appeal it was unnerving...

The stars are conniving against me. Monty’s office had suddenly become very small.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she continued, taking a sip of her green tea. Monty claimed this was the key to looking youthful. She never mentioned the Botox. “I hear you’ve caught Ken Lesner’s interest, you little fame monster.”

What’s so great about this man? “Oh. Yes. Thanks.”

“You don’t seem happy, dear.” Monty gave me a motherly look. “Hang onto Kenny, sweetheart. He’ll take you places.”

Places. I didn’t want to go places. I didn’t want things to change. Why couldn’t people ever be happy with what they had in life? Why did they want more?

“I’m fine where I am,” I said sharply, getting to my feet. It was almost ten and I had to get to work for my ten-to-three-o’clock slot. Once again, my show had been moved around.

“Of course, of course.” Monty rose, seeing me to the door. “I do hope you can see that you’ve got yourself a bargain with my Ash, Amor.”

I didn’t see a single thing.

*

Ashton was outside my door when I got home from work. It was the first time I’d seen him out of a suit and I couldn’t believe how snug his T-shirt was. It clung to his chest like a second skin, hugging each and every muscle, and only serving to highlight how completely pretentious he was. Was that kind of fit even legal?

Annoyed at my lascivious thoughts, I snarled a, “What do you want?” and waited for an answer.

“Why so hostile?” he asked, waiting for me to open my door.

“This isn’t the way things are done, in case you’re confused about your job description,” I fumed, fumbling with my key in the lock. “You’re an escort and I don’t need you to escort me anywhere.” I felt him behind me and that only served to piss me off. His presence was a curse.

“This isn’t about you, Queen Elizabeth. I’m just making sure you didn’t tell old Mont that I spent the night here,” he said, following me inside and amazing me by plopping onto my couch. He pushed aside my throw pillows.

“Excuse me? Why are you making yourself comfortable?” My handbag fell to the carpet. “Get. Out.”

“Well? Did you tell her?”

“No,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I don’t want anyone to know. I’m ashamed just thinking about it.”

“It’s not like we slept together.” Ashton’s feet were now on my coffee table. Flakes of dirt from his Converse peppered onto my magazines. “Despite how much you begged.”

I shoved his legs off. “Begged? Right. You wish.”

He cleared his throat, promptly returning his feet to the table. “Oh Ashton, you’re so sexy and I’m so lonely. Just one little fúck, pretty please?” His voice was a mock falsetto; a voice that was supposedly mine. “I know I’m such a big-shot but I haven’t gotten some in so long!” he continued, bursting into a fit of laughter.

I felt heat creep up my neck, wondering if, in a drunken stupor, I’d actually said that. “Whenever I’m in your company, I feel like I’m back in grade school. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I might have heard words to that effect.” He leaned forward and picked up one of the novels I had stacked in one corner. “How to Manage Your Money: A Guide for Singletons,” he read aloud. “The fuck?”

I snatched the book from him. “Out.”

It was just my luck that my mother chose that exact moment to shuffle through the open door, my sister right behind her.

“She wanted to see you,” Grace said by way of explanation, shaking her head and closing the door. “Don’t you worry about safety? Haven’t I told you to lock your door? Are you begging to be robbed?”

“Ashton!” my mother exclaimed excitedly when she saw the unwelcome presence in my living room.

Ashton instantly sprang up and helped her sit down. “How’s it going, Angie?”

Angie?

“You’re on first-name basis with my mum?” I asked in disbelief.

“Sure he is,” Mum said, a big grin on her face. “We bumped into him in the frozen food section of Morgan’s the other day. Didn’t we, Gracie?”

Grace gave a small, tight smile as she slowly sat down, clutching her belly. “Indeed.”

“And that makes you best friends?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

“Amor, don’t you want me to like your boyfriend?” my mother asked, her face a picture of confusion. Sighing, she leaned back in the armchair. “We had lunch, too.”

“What?” I forced a smile when Grace gave me a puzzled look, obviously wondering at my horror. “I mean, really? That’s lovely! Honey, could you help me make the tea?” I glanced at Ashton, the fake smile still plastered on my face.

“Sure, babe.” With no preamble, he followed me into the kitchen.

I closed the kitchen door behind us and stared at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hmm... Let me think. My job?”

“One of the most important rules is that you never see any of the client’s friends or family without said client!” I hissed, smacking his arm. He barely flinched. “So what did you think you were doing, taking my mother and sister out to lunch?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he snapped, his emerald eyes suddenly blazing. “Run in the opposite direction when I saw her coming at me? Or play dead, perhaps?” His sarcasm was pinching at my skin. “I like your mother, okay? She’s a sweet person. Your sister’s just like you though – only pregnant.”

“What does just like you mean?” I was going to hit him. Again.

His eyes turned to slits. “I think you know exactly what I mean. Babe.”

I was beginning to hyperventilate all over again. Firstly, Ashton knew where I lived. Escorts were never to be brought to clients’ homes – even gigolos. Secondly, he’d even spent the night, although gritty self-examination showed no sign of sexual intercourse. Thirdly, he’d become BFFs with my poor naïve mother, and lastly, he was one of the most immature men I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. I was stuck in a rut and it seemed as if he was determined to keep it that way.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, this is what’s going to happen. We’ll go out there and I’ll give them the tea and you’ll make a good excuse to leave. Got it?”

“I think so, Hitler.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how Victor survived with you. The poor sap probably threw himself in front of that bike.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, putting the kettle on and grabbing two teacups.

“Physically impossible,” he retorted, leaning against my refrigerator. “You know, you don’t sound like a total bítch on the radio. Must be the sound quality.”

I shot him a dark look, belying the hurt I felt inside. I should’ve been used to being called a bítch but it was doubly painful hearing it from him. “I’m not desperate enough to settle for this; for you.”

His face lit up like a firecracker. “Aha, so you are desperate! I knew it,” he said excitedly. “What is it, no man can thaw your heart? No man is romantic enough for you? Or are you an undercover dominatrix who enjoys controlling a man with her purse instead of a whip?”

I blushed. “Go to hell. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m far too busy for a relationship.”

He snorted. “Why don’t we just go with ‘too cold-blooded for one’?”

“Since we’re analysing each other here, what does your chosen profession say about you?” I was two seconds away from flinging the hot water at him. “You’re nothing short of a male prostitute. I’m sure your financial position called for it.”

“My finances are good, babe,” he cheerfully informed me. “That’s not why I do this. Not that it’s any of your business,” he added, mimicking me.

“Need any help in there?” Grace called from the living room.

“No,” I yelled back, setting the cups on my best china tray. “So why do you do this?” I suddenly genuinely wanted to know. “Victor was trying to pay off a debt and sort of got stuck in this business.”

“Victor this, Victor that,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Pushing himself away from the fridge, he gave me a sly look. “Something tells me you might have thought about fúcking him.”

“Excuse me?” I sputtered, amazed at the accusation, at the crassness. I was trying and failing to keep my voice down. “If you think I –”

Ashton’s finger was on my lips, sending a bolt of electricity zinging through my skin. “Shut the hell up, Amor.” His finger slid down my face, over my neck and onto the soft flesh of my cleavage.

The kitchen suddenly felt like one big oven. I was frozen, the tray of tea shaking in my hands. I barely registered the clanging of the cups against the tray.

A slow smile spread across Ashton’s face. “Babe, I can hear your heartbeat from over here. Is there a problem?”

“My mother’s waiting,” I said quickly, my breath coming out in short starts. Be cool, Amor. You’re a grown woman and he’s nothing more than a boy.

“Yeah. You’re right.” His fingers twirled around my nipples. My shirt was thin, my bra even thinner. I grimaced when the little nodules betrayed me by hardening. “So the Ice Queen does have nerve endings,” he said softly, before retracting his hand and stepping aside. “You may go.”

You may go? “This is my house,” I spat, after gathering my hormones and bottling them up.

“Is everything all right?” Grace was standing in the doorway, looking from me to Ashton.

“Just peachy,” said Ashton. I nodded my agreement. “Here. Let me help you with that, kitten.” He took the tray from me and strode into the living room. Like a mouse, I followed him, shooting daggers at his broad back.

“Thank you, Ash,” said my mother, accepting the proffered cup.

“Sweetheart,” I began, once Grace was seated, “don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Ashton tilted his head to one side and I saw what was coming. “Somewhere to be? Nope.”

Sonofabitch, I thought, then flushed as if everyone could hear me.

“The work thing?” I pressed. “You said it was urgent.”

“Nah. Don’t recall that.” He promptly made himself at home on the couch again, grabbing the remote.

Leaning forward, I whispered in his ear: “I hope you don’t think you’re getting paid for this.”

“The look on your face, Amor, is payment enough.”

I said a short prayer to God asking Him to hold my fists. It wouldn’t have looked right for it to get into the papers that I’d caused grievous bodily harm to a male whore.