I have done a lot of shitty things in my lifetime, but today? Today takes it to a whole new level of shit. But desperation is the color black; it fucking goes with everything.
I stood in the lobby of the Aura Hotel, a place that screamed money. Marble floors, soft lighting, and imported cheese that tasted like... well, imported cheese, I suppose. I wouldn't know. I wasn't exactly born with a fucking silver spoon. If I had been, I wouldn't be standing here, nillywilly, trying to figure out what imported cheese tastes like.
I clutched my small purse. Inside were the essentials: just my phone, a lip balm, and a sick feeling in my stomach.
Then he approached me. The devil I'd sold my soul to. He was tall and thin, dressed in an expensive grey suit. He would make a perfect grim reaper, but he was conveniently missing a pitchfork and two tiny red horns.
"Miss James?" His voice was smooth. Cold. "I am Obsidian. You can call me Mr. Vale."
He gestured toward a secluded alcove with beautiful chairs. We sat.
He placed a slim leather folder on the low table between us but didn't open it.
"So what now?" I asked. "What's the process, Mr. Vale?" I smiled; it didn't quite touch my eyes. "How do I whore myself out?"
"Discretion is paramount," he began, ignoring my comment. He stated facts, his tone impersonal. This wasn't his first rodeo. "You will be escorted to a private suite shortly. Your acquirer is already en route."
Acquirer, huh? He made it sound like I was a gorgeous painting. Or perhaps a horse. I guess he could have used something far worse. He could have called him a John, but that would make him a pimp, not the "Executive Facilitator" on his business card. And it would make me a hooker, not... wait. I guess, no matter how I flip it, I am a hooker.
Let's go with escort. Less crime-y.
"I need to know you will do a good job. This is a business. I acquire things for people who need... things."
Again with that word. Acquire.
"I have reviewed your… profile," Mr. Vale continued, his gaze impersonal. "Your acquirer doesn't know that a friend of his bought you for him. You are a gift. Do you understand the context?"
I didn't. It was my first time at hooker-y. It wasn't like I took a crash course on whore-ism.
I shook my head.
"It means I need the desire to feel real. We need authenticity tonight. The girlfriend experience."
The girlfriend experience? I blinked, clearly not following.
"What does that mean?" My voice was barely a whisper.
"It means when you fucking suck his cock, put a little enthusiasm into it. When he fucks you, moan like it's the best damn cock you've ever had! It isn't rocket science, it's sex. You are a virgin, not a moron."
"Aha! Got it. Suck cock enthusiastically. Try not to be a moron! Any other pointers, Mr. Pimp... I mean, Mr. Vale?"
Mr. Vale opened the folder. He slid a single sheet of expensive cream paper towards me. It had my favorite kind of bullet... bullet points.
I scanned through it.
· Greet him warmly at the door with a genuine smile. Use his chosen name: Kieran.
· Engage in light conversation. Ask about his day. Listen attentively.
· Share details about your own day (keep it positive/neutral). Your music, perhaps.
· Accept a pre-dinner drink. Sip slowly.
· Dinner will be served in the suite. Maintain pleasant conversation.
· Express physical affection appropriately. Hand on his arm. Brief kiss if initiated.
· The evening culminates in the bedroom. Consensual intimacy. He prefers… enthusiasm. (Of course).
· Stay the night. Depart discreetly after breakfast tomorrow morning. A car will be provided.
I stared at the list, at the instructions. It was a script for a terrible movie, directed by a talentless hack. I sat there, quiet. There was no retort, no snide remark.
Mr. Vale watched me curiously. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Ms. James?"
I thought about it, blinking back tears. "Yeah, I'm sure." My voice was flat. "It's been a lifelong dream of mine to be a hooker. So, yay me." I shoved the words and the big feeling down behind a smile.
"Any questions?" he asked.
"Three," I answered.
"Go on."
"Do you think he's a doggie-style man or missionary? Two, I hope he's not a butt man; no one is putting anything there. Three, when do I get the money?"
He conveniently ignored the first two questions. "The agreed sum will be transferred in full to you by morning."
He pushed a plain white key card across the table. Room 4202.
"The escort will arrive shortly to take you up. Do you understand the expectations, Miss James?"
I looked at the key card. At the list. At the engagement ring on my finger.
"You should probably lose the engagement ring," he told me.
I picked up the key card. It felt cold. Heavy. But my hand didn't shake. I took off the ring and placed it in my purse.
"Okay," I said. My voice was flat. Dead. Like it belonged to someone else. "Let's go fuck a stranger."