Page 7 of A Mistake of Identity
“Yes, sir,” Ellis said, his voice a breathy puff across Gabriel’s face.
“Good. We’re almost there.” Gabriel abruptly released Ellis, settling back into his seat. He adjusted his suit jacket with practiced indifference, enjoying how his escort’s eyes followed the movement. The man was breathing hard from his little demonstration, a lovely flush creeping up his neck where Gabriel’s fingers had been moments before.
Ellis was slower to right himself in his seat, and Gabriel savored the wariness in those dark eyes. Not fear, no, his little bird wasn’t frightened. Just appropriately cautious now, as he should be.
“Did you still want me to call you ‘Sir’ as you requested?” Ellis asked, finally settling into his seat. Gabriel appreciated the deliberate emphasis on ‘requested’—just enough defiance to be interesting, not enough to require correction.
He caught the brief chortle from Lucas in the passenger seat before the man wisely covered it with a cough. Gabriel knew well enough why Lucas was amused—the last man Gabriel had picked up had practically mewled the word ‘sir’ at every opportunity, each utterance more grating than the last. He’d eventually gagged the insufferable twink just to shut him up.
A point that Lucas seemed to remember all too well.
“Yes,” Gabriel responded, his eyes fixed on Ellis. Something told him that Ellis wasn’t the whining type. Unlike the others who parroted the honorific without meaning, Gabriel suspected that when Ellis said ‘sir’, he’d mean it. Gabriel doubted he would ever tire of hearing this man address him as such.
“And I will get my phone back?”
“Of course. I have no use for it. I simply want your full attention on me, little bird. You’ll receive it when our time comes to a close, as I said.” Gabriel stretched out and ran his hand up the escort’s thigh, feeling it tense beneath his touch.
Ellis swallowed, and Gabriel followed the movement of his throat. “And when will this arrangement come to a close?”
Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. Was that not in the dossier Ellis received? Had he not seen it, or had Ellis’ client bought him for an extended period? Either possibility was interesting—one suggested his escort was careless, the other that he’d walked into something far more involved than a simple night’s entertainment.
“Whenever I say.”
Ellis opened his mouth, but then shut it just as quickly. Choosing instead to nod his assent.
His little bird was quite smart. Smart enough to recognize which questions weren’t worth asking.
Tonight was going to be fun.
Ellis
Ellis was silently panicking.
Gabriel had his phone, which contained all the information Ellis needed on the man. He wished he’d spent more time going over the packet Donovan had sent him instead of rushing to the Lumière, eager to prove himself. The details were frustratingly vague in his memory, and he couldn’t even remember if the contract was for a few hours or the entire night.
This was his last chance to prove his worth to Heart Court. If he screwed this up, Donovan wouldn’t just fire him—he’d blacklist him. No union house would touch him with his track record of “lackluster” reviews, and going independent meant working street corners again. The thought made his stomach turn. Heart Court might be a shithole, but at least it had walls and security cameras.
An awful thought began to twist in his mind.
Was this why someone like Gabriel Rohan sought out a nobody from a nowhere cathouse? Union escorts had protection—tracking devices, check-in protocols, bouncers on speed dial. Ellis had none of that. His disappearance would barely cause a ripple in the Fourth Cat’s endless stream of statistics.
Or maybe he was overthinking this. It was just as likely that Gabriel would put him through a few intense rounds of sex and then cast him off before sunrise. Somehow, that possibility didn’t feel as reassuring as it should. Either way, without hisphone or contract details, he had no choice but to follow Gabriel’s lead and hope he could earn whatever review would keep him off the streets.
All too soon, the Mercedes pulled up to what Gabriel had casually called his “apartment.” Ellis’ breath caught. This wasn’t just some fancy Second Cat high-rise—this was one of those untouchable Lafayette Square mansions, the kind where old money lived and died. Where people like him weren’t even supposed to walk past, let alone enter.
The house loomed three stories high, its weathered brick and carved stone speaking of a century of wealth. A wrought-iron balcony wrapped around the second floor like black lace against brick, and above the imposing burgundy double doors, the Rohan family crest watched over all who entered—that blood-red shield with its white diamonds and golden crowns that Ellis had seen splashed across countless society pages. Warm light spilled from tall windows, making the place seem both welcoming and forbidding at once.
“This isn’t an apartment,” Ellis said dumbly when the man Gabriel called Alain opened his door. “This is a whole house.”
Gabriel’s hand pressed possessively against his back. “It belongs to the family. I only occupy a few rooms on the second floor. My apartment.” He guided them forward, up a stone walkway where spring flowers were just beginning to bloom between ancient archways. The Rohan colors seemed to follow them—deep burgundy and gold catching the evening light through stained glass panels flanking the entrance.
“A few rooms,” Ellis repeated faintly as an honest-to-god butler opened the door. The man was older, with graying blonde hair and calculating brown eyes that seemed to catalog everything at once. Though average in height and build, hecarried himself with the kind of dignity that made Ellis swallow his initial urge to laugh at the cliché uniform.
“Good Evening, Monsieur Rohan. Will your guest be staying the night?” The butler asked, his gentle tone contrasting with his assessing gaze as the four of them stepped through the entryway.
The entryway knocked the breath from his lungs. The space was larger than Heart Court’s entire lobby, its burgundy walls climbing toward impossible heights. A massive crystal chandelier cast dancing light across marble floors laid in patterns so intricate that Ellis hesitated to step forward, as if his mere presence might somehow tarnish their perfection. To his right, a mahogany staircase swept upward in an elegant spiral, those same golden crowns catching light at every turn.
This wasn’t just wealth—this was history, power, privilege. Everything Ellis had only glimpsed through iron gates. And here he was, a Fourth Cat whore about to walk these halls like he belonged.
