The waitress dropped off the appetizer and made sure they didn’t need anything else before leaving them alone again. Elle stared at the food. The artichoke balls were their specialty and a New Orleans mainstay—little baked bites of mashed artichoke hearts mixed with parmesan, egg, and breadcrumbs. They smelled delicious, but Elle doubted she’d be able to eat anything tonight.
Isaiah nodded, tossed his straw aside, and sipped his drink. “Not a problem. It’s up to you to decide what you want me to know and what you don’t. But for what it’s worth, my job is built on discretion. I wouldn’t have it anymore if I couldn’t keep people’s secrets.”
She smoothed her napkin on her lap. “How long have you been doing this?”
His lips hitched up at the corner. “I’m getting that you don’t want to play the game of we pretend we’re just two people on a date.”
The let’s-put-the-cards-on-the-table response soothed her some. “No. This whole thing is only going to work if we go the straightforward route. I’m not fooling myself that this is something other than it is. And I’m not so delicate that I can’t handle the idea that you do this for a living. This is a business exchange. I want it to be a mutually agreeable one. So we talk, lay it all out there. Then, if you’re not into what I’m suggesting or if you find me unappealing in some way, we end it here and move on.”
He leaned back in his chair, easy and comfortable. “You’re a beautiful woman who knows what she wants. I have a feeling I’ll be into that. And to answer your question, seven years.”
The accent was gone now, the façade dropped. “Wow. That’s a while.”
He laughed. “That surprises you?”
“A little. I guess I imagined it’s a job someone does in the interim to make money for the next thing.”
He shrugged. “It started that way. I became a dancer—a stripper, if we’re going to be no bullshit about this—to earn money for grad school. But then I got the opportunity to go this route, and it stuck. I still have my degree. I could do something else. But I’d take a pay cut, and it’d be a hell of a lot less fun. I’m not here under duress, if that’s what you’re wondering. This is my choice. I’ll stop doing it if it ever feels like it isn’t.”
The words settled something inside her. Part of her had been worried about that. That she was taking advantage of some guy who was forced into the role either by need for money or by someone else.
“Thank you. That’s good to know.” She took one of the artichoke balls and put it on her plate, splitting it in half and thinking.
“And you’re not here because you can’t find a man willing to sleep with you.”
She looked up, surprised. “What?”
He had popped a bite of food into his mouth and he waited until he was done to explain. “I’m just letting you know that I’m aware of that. I’m not sitting here thinking you’re desperate. You’re an attractive, intelligent woman who I’m guessing has a pretty high-powered career. It wouldn’t be hard for you to go out and pick up an equally successful guy. So you’re talking to me for other reasons. Maybe we should discuss those, so I can know what you need from me.”
She appreciated that he was so matter-of-fact about it, but him asking what she needed from him didn’t settle right inside her. He was telling her he could be whatever she wanted, and she knew that was how it worked. She was paying, and as long as she didn’t ask for something outside of the parameters of what he was willing to do, he could be what she asked. The doting boyfriend. The kinky lover. The sexy stranger. That was his job. To play the role she wanted. And God knows, he was hot enough to inspire fantasies. Everything she could want—good-looking, intelligent, straightforward,
good sense of humor.
But she was having trouble imagining him sparring with her in the way she craved. He seemed so nice. And nice was great for a friendly chat, not so great for what she needed. Though, she hadn’t really given him a chance. He could be a wild sadist behind closed doors. He’d been an escort for seven years. There probably wasn’t much he wasn’t capable of. She needed to keep an open mind and be honest about what she was seeking. She also needed to accept that it’d be a role for him. There was nothing authentic about this arrangement. That was the trade-off for the neat, clean boundaries.
She smirked and shook her head. “To be honest, what I probably need from you is for you not to like me.”
His eyebrows lifted at that. “All right. Explain.”
She rubbed her lips together and tried to figure out how to word it. “I don’t like to be doted on. I don’t like romantic. I…my ex-husband was really good at that. And it was a lie. I don’t react well to…sweet. I know it probably sounds screwed up, but sweet can trigger panic in me and ruin the moment.”
“Because you always think it’s bullshit?”
“Because, in my experience, it usually is bullshit.”
He considered her. “But what if it’s not? What if a guy would genuinely enjoy taking care of you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure that guy exis—”
“Excuse me.” The smooth, cool voice cut right through her words.
Elle’s attention flicked upward, the familiar voice sending a dart of alarm through her. Lane was standing a step away from the table, his gaze fastened on her and his eyes full of challenge. Her thoughts scattered like a strong wind had hit them.
“Uh…”
“Cannon?” Isaiah’s voice pulled Elle out of her two-worlds-colliding stupor. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Lane’s attention slid to the other man, a devil-may-care smile touching his lips. He stepped closer and put out his hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”