Rachael stared at the ceiling, wishing she could pick her clients. Money wasn't the issue—she'd never have chosen Osa. His sweat had drenched the sheets last night, leaving a sour stench on her skin.
Osa's snoring cut off. He cracked open bloodshot eyes and glanced at his wristwatch. "Gotta go," he mumbled, rolling out of bed, his white boxers clinging to his bulky frame. "Rachael, you're mine. No other guys."
She rolled her eyes, clutching the thin sheet. "It's my job, Osa. I work for Noah. How do I survive otherwise?"Her voice carried the weight of a life far from her dream of strutting runways as a model. Instead, she was trapped as an escort, stuck with Noah, the most thoughtless man alive, who never bothered to pair her with anyone decent.
Osa tugged on a T-shirt, the fabric straining over his gut. "I've got cash to cover you. Trust me." His tone hardened. "Jared owes me big. If he doesn't pay, I'll beat the shit out of him."
Rachael slipped into her colourful dress, desperate to escape the room's stale air, thick with the acrid haze of Osa's crack smoke from last night. She longed for a hot shower to scrub away his odour and the memory of his touch. Glancing at the door, she wanted to slip outside the crack out of this life.