Page 5 of Their Courtesan
Chapter 3
MIGUEL
Night sure fell early in this part of the world. That’s what Miguel Bolivar thought every time he came to America and attempted to drive anytime past six. If he came in the winter? The good Lord help guide him, because American road signs were so damn tiny and made it difficult for a guy to get around.
And get around he liked to do. When Miguel wasn’t overseeing the expansion of his family’s casinos back in Europe, he was on the test tracks taking every newest model under the sun out for a spin.
Here in America, he had one favorite car that he always drove: a 2015 Aston Martin Vanquish Volante, the sleekest,sexiestcar a country north of France had ever put out. Miguel didn’t concern himself with American cars. In Europe? He was beholden to Italian and German cars, mostly. America was an excuse to strut his Vanquish up and down every street he could get himself on.
Tonight he had only one destination. High in the lofty mountains of the countryside was a legendary place he had heard of all the way in France – or more specifically, his home country of Monaco. There, billionaires and their heirs whispered over cigars and drinks about theonlyplace a man should go to in America if he wanted some high quality… attention.
Miguel always snorted to hear it. Now that he officially split his time between Monaco and America? Moving to the region’s busiest commercial district meant he had the time to check out a little abode called Le Château.
He didn’t know much about it, besides that it was extortionately expensive (not a problem when one was heir to an established European fortune) and the women trained in every kink and wonder. True professionals, offering any experience a man could dream up.
Miguel had many experiences he wanted to do with beautiful women. However, there was one thing that often came in the way of achieving that sort of dream, and it stirred in his pants right now.
“Down,” he grumbled, switching gears as he ventured farther up the mountain. His GPS said he was about five minutes away. “We’ll see if there’s anyone who can take you on tonight.”
He felt no shame in admitting he had frequented many such establishments all over the world. He had hired his fair share of escorts and other so-called professional working women. Perhaps more than most men he knew. For Miguel, it was a practicality. They weren’tmessy,like common women were. Professionals knew to be discreet. They also had more experience in handling a man like him, and at the end of the day, that’s all he cared about.
“Turn right fifty meters ahead.”The GPS had a silky, feminine voice, custom created for Miguel. Sounded like his old girlfriend, Rosa. Thinking about her always panged Miguel’s heart. Not what he wanted on a night like this.
The long private roads leading to Le Château were probably impressive in the daylight, but at night all Miguel could see were strings of Christmas lights and the occasional lamp burning a dull, soft yellow in the night. The guard patrols waved him down this driveway and that until he came upon a sizable manor glowing on top of a hill.
Exquisite French architecture at its finest. Miguel was used to hearing places be called Châteaus and then discovering that they were… well, not what he pictured. His family owned four French Châteaus as it was. This one, while still quite American in its sensibilities, could pass. Now, to see what French wines he could get…
First things first. An attendant smartly dressed in a heavy suit pointed out a parking spot beneath a dormant cherry tree. There were other cars lined up, including some of Miguel’s favorite Ferraris, Porsches, and Jaguars. He took a moment to admire them in the chilly night before seeing himself to the Château entrance.
“Your name, sir?” asked a doorman, who looked like he could well turn into a formidable bouncer at any moment. “For the announcements.”
“Miguel Bolivar, of Monaco.” He handed the doorman one of his business cards. The attendant glanced it over with careful eyes. “I have an appointment with the madam, although I’m a few minutes early.”
“Very good.” The doorman stepped into the foyer. Within a second, a loud, booming voice declared Miguel’s arrival. A maid popped out of a side room and hustled to the door, where the doorman whispered that Madam Monica had a special guest. “Do come in, sir. The lady will be right down.”
Miguel assumed he would be ushered into another room to sit and wait. Maybe receive a complimentary glass of something. That’s how it usually worked in these places. If it was a particularly seedy place, a young woman might show up with the intent of getting ready to get off. Those places were always about the high turnover.
None of that occurred. Before Miguel could inquire where his coat was going, a woman came down the stairs and extended her hand to him.
This is a sight.The woman was small in all ways but one: her giant stomach bulging out in maternal wonder. Miguel had seen plenty of pregnant women in his life, but this was a feat.How is she not falling over? Is she going to pop at any moment?Regardless of his thoughts, he smiled graciously and shook the woman’s hand. The finesse with which she moved told him that this was more than a lady – this was a madam.
“Pleasure to have you in our abode, Mr. Bolivar,” the woman greeted with a sweet voice. “I’m Monica Warren. We spoke on the phone.”
If it weren’t for the rock on her ring finger, Miguel would wonder how the madam had come into such a state. “Miguel Bolivar. Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Monica gestured to the room immediately to their left. “Come, have a drink and a seat. We’ll discuss what you’re looking for this fine Sunday evening.”
He followed her, a maid fluttering by Monica to receive orders in her ear.Where are the ladies?So far the only people Miguel had seen were the madam and the staff. Notthatkind of staff. He was under the impression that some gorgeous women worked here. Certainly, he would like to see them.
Or maybe this was the kind of sophisticated place that kept them behind closed doors, only to be seen by staff and their client of the night.
Miguel sat in large armchair made of Italian leather. He knew this because the same exact leather adorned the furniture in his father’s office back in Monaco. Javier Bolivar liked his furniture as masculine as himself.Nice selection.Sure enough, a maid offered Miguel either brandy or wine. He took the brandy.
Monica sat in a chair across from him. Although heavy, she managed to strike an elegant pose, one leg swung over the other while her elbow rest on her knee and her hair fell softly against her face. It wasn’t until now that Miguel noticed pearls dangling from her ears.My favorite.His mother and sister had an extensive pearl collection between the two of them. Always made Miguel think of the comforts of home.
“How may I help you this evening, Mr. Bolivar? You were quite insistent that we converse first.”
“Yes, well…” Miguel waited for the maid to leave the room, latching the door behind her. He continued. “I will be upfront with you, Madam Warren.”
