Page 6 of Escorting the Mogul

“Ihiredher to be my date,” he growled.

Huh?“She’s not your girlfriend?” I was so confused.

“No,” he said.

I glanced back down the hall, where Audrey had disappeared. “She sure seemed like it.”

“I just met her this afternoon. I picked her up from an escort service,” James said.

I almost choked on my beer. “Shut the fuck up,” I said.

“It’s true. I couldn’t face my family alone, and I broke up with Logan a while ago.”

I shuddered. James’s last girlfriend was horrible. “Logan sucked ass.”

James rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m the one who broke up with her.”

“So this one’s just for sex?” I asked.

“She’s not even for sex.” James frowned. “I’m not going to fuck her.”

I gaped at him. What the hell was he talking about? “She’s a fuckingescort, bro.”

“I know,” he said. “But she’s just for show. I don’t want to get involved with her any more than that.”

“You can still fuck her. That’s why you’re paying her. It’s about as clear-cut as it can get,” I said.

“It’s not clear-cut.” He shook his head.

We watched as Audrey emerged from the hallway and smiled at James. It looked like a genuine smile.Not clear cut, indeed.

“She’s gorgeous,” I said. “It’s a fucking waste, James.”

“I’m making it worth her while,” he snapped. “Now, please, finish your beer and come over to see my father with us. I’ve put it off long enough.”

“You’re the boss,” I said. But I wondered if, for once, my buddy actually knew what he was doing.

An escort.Huh. Life didn’t often surprise me, but this was a notable exception.

JENNY

I madea date with Loopsy and then got ready for it at the office. I wore black leather leggings, a black tank top, oversized hoop earrings, and spiked heels. I put on more lip gloss, shook my curls out, and sprayed myself with my favorite coconut body spray. I either looked like an extra fromGreaseor a hooker; I wasn’t sure. But I’d worn a similar look for a client the week before and won rave reviews. Conscious of the fact that my rent was due in a few days, I was hoping for a large tip.

Loopsy picked me up from the office. He was in rare form, which wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. He wanted to take me out to a bar and show me off. It was some dive in Southie—Loopsy wasn’t exactly cultured—one of the few places left on earth where you could smoke inside and not get in trouble. Which is to say, it was a place for drunks run by drunks.

My father would’ve loved this place…if he hadn’t already drunk himself to death.

Loopsy didn’t smoke, thank God, but we still reeked of cigarettes by the time he was ready to leave—which was after nine beers and three shots of whiskey. He was a short, wiry guy, and he could’ve been anywhere between forty and a hundred years old. It was hard to tell; life hadn’t been kind to my client.His face was pitted and wrinkled, just as likely from booze as from age. He worked in construction and had a limp from an old injury. He was in consulting now, or so he said.

But Loopsy said a lot of things. And although he always requested me, a lot of those things turned real nasty on me once he started drinking. And he was always drinking!

Some guys hired hookers for the sex; some hired them because they hated women, and some hired them because they hated themselves. With Loopsy, it was a little bit of everything. I’d come to think of our “dates” as some sort of play he had to act out over and over. It was real sad. Our time together always started out the same: he’d have his arm around me, talking and laughing, telling me grand stories about his past and all the deals he’d supposedly done. He’d tell me I was beautiful and that he was so glad I spent time with him.

Then he would get shitfaced. Sometimes at a bar, sometimes at his condo. But what happened next was always the same. He’d start cursing at me, calling me names. Some pretty bad ones—you had to give it to him, he could get colorful! Sometimes, I didn’t even think he was talking to me, like maybe he was thinking of somebody else. Somebody who, in his mind, had done him wrong.

Then there was the sex. Or what was supposed to be the sex. Loopsy demanded it.

“Get on the bed,” he snarled. “I want to see that body! I paid for it!” But even with my hot lingerie and banging body, Loopsy couldn’t always get it up. Nine beers and three shots of whiskey did that to you! Loopsy’s limp dick frustrated him. “This isyourfault, you whore! How can a decent man get it up for a whore, huh?”

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