Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
So it’s been a week now, and there’s been no progress on my alleged date. If it ever happens. I’m stuck here editing articles about goofy celebrities who do wacky things while sitting in my tiny eight by eight cubicle. The walls are beige, the carpet is beige, and even my computer is beige. I’m stuck in a sea of all beige, and my vision’s going blurry as I read another item about the “Most Shocking Divorce of 2018” or “Did He or Didn’t He Cheat?” Oh god. I desperately want to be relieved of this life, but how? I already took dramatic steps, and yet Gold Medallion isn’t coming through.
But after ten days passed, I finally got a call on my cell. Oddly, the number was from an unidentified caller and I almost hit skip on my phone. After all, as a single woman in NYC, I don’t pick up calls from numbers I don’t recognize. But after staring at my phone as it rang, on impulse I seized the handheld and picked up.
“Hello,” was my surly greeting. “This is Bridget.”
The voice on the other line was smooth and polite despite the rude way I answered.
“Hello, Ms. Martin. This is Brianne. I’m an agent at Gold Medallion and we’re here to confirm your date with Robert.”
“Um yes,” I said, lowering my voice and looking around. Of course, the walls to my cube prevented anyone from seeing me, but I was aware that my co-workers could still hear my voice. “I’m sorry, could you wait a moment? Give me a chance to go outside.”
And with that, I ducked out of the building, going down ten stories until I was out on Park Avenue on a drizzly gray day.
“Hi,” I said, cupping the phone to my mouth. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”
“Oh no problem,” the woman said smoothly. “Like I said, my name is Brianne and I’m here to set up your date with … um, Robert.”
Okay. This was good news. At this point, I was happy to hear about any progress at all.
“Great,” I said, standing up straight with sudden verve. “I’m free this weekend.”
The woman laughed a little.
“Yes, but Mr. Half is currently out the country, and won’t be back until February. Are you available either February 6 or February 22?”
I squinted, confused. This guy was only available four weeks from now, and only two days at that?
“I’m sorry, but I have to check my calendar,” I said. Of course, I knew that I had nothing planned. Who does so far ahead of time? I stood there, breathing heavily and tapping my foot for a few seconds before saying, “Yes, those dates work. I’m available.”
“Perfect,” said Brianne smoothly, although I suspected she knew I’d been fibbing all along. “We’ll be in touch with the details. But please have a cocktail dress and heels ready. Robert is very particular about that.”
And without saying goodbye, the woman clicked off. I stared at the phone in my hand. What in the world? This was so crazy. I was the client after all, not him. I should be able to show up in grungy sweats and my hair in a ponytail if I wanted. It was his job to pleasure me, and not the other way around. So why these demands about a cocktail dress and heels? And why was it taking so long to even book a date with this man?
Suddenly, my heart plummeted because the answer was obvious. Robert was clearly a highly sought-after male escort, and he probably had women stacked back to back in his calendar. See? The voice in my head went. You can’t get ahead of yourself. This is a business transaction, nothing else. You booked it on a whim, and that’s all it is. A flight of fancy that has no meaning.
Resolutely, I sighed again before making my way back to my cube. Because I’d already invested so much: my time, my money, and my emotions. And now that I’d managed to secure a date with the gorgeous Adonis, it was too late to back out … nor did I want to.
CHAPTER THREE
Bridget
I’m waiting on the couch in my apartment, pulling my skirt down over my knees.
Calm down, the voice soothes in my head. Everything’s going to be okay.
Of course it is, I remind myself in disgust. After all, I’m the one in charge here. I’m the client, and as a result Robert has to please me and not the other way around. But somehow I have a severe case of the nerves and can’t help but to glance at the clock again. It’s 7:05 p.m. already, and he said he’d be here at seven. Where is he? I almost reach to call Gold Medallion to make sure he’s still coming, but then I stop and breathe deeply. There’s no sense in getting worked up about five minutes.