2
Brent
I’m waiting for my date at the bar of the Hotel Verve. I’ve heard about this place from friends, and I have to say I’m even more impressed than I thought I’d be. The bar is made from a huge live-edge piece of oak, and the intricate grain is brought to life by the soft glow of low-hanging chandeliers. Meanwhile, the general seating area is fitted with plush red-velvet sofas which encircle a large stone fireplace, as elegantly-clad men and women sip cocktails. Lounge music is piped in, both discreet yet catchy at once.
I smile to myself because while I definitely belong at venues like this, I’m here to conduct a certain type of business that would probably get me kicked out if they knew. After all, I’m here to meet an escort. Then again, this entire room could be filled with escorts because the high-end ones don’t appear any different from regular women. They’re not like the street hookers with their make-up caked on, and ratty, wild-looking hair. High-end escorts blend in, and are discreet and subtle in the best of ways.
But tonight isn’t just about the escort. Tonight, I’m hoping to make her my wife. I know it sounds crazy because “escort” and “wife” don’t usually belong in the same sentence, but it’s a tricky situation, which is why I’m turning to professional help. After all, my dad has pushed me into a corner. Frank’s made it clear that I’ll only get the CEO position at Carter’s Sporting Goods after I get married first. At first, I was fucking pissed.
“What the fuck?” I sputtered when he told me. “What does being married have to do with being CEO? The two couldn’t be less related.”
My dad just shrugged.
“We need someone with responsibilities, who’s stable with deep roots. Marriage to the right woman does that to a man.”
I gawked at him.
“Are you kidding? There are so many guys in unhappy marriages, and who get divorced in two years! How could you want that for me?”
Frank just shrugged.
“Then make sure you find a fiancée who makes you happy,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can do it, son.”
And that was that. To be honest, I still don’t get it, and it seems fucking backwards to me. After all, why does a man need to be married before he assumes the helm? If anything, a woman at home is a distraction. A single man can give his all to his work, without constraints like keeping a wife happy and making sure she’s occupied. And it isn’t like I haven’t proved myself. I’ve worked for Carter’s Sporting Goods since I was sixteen, stocking shelves in the back. That means I’ve spent two fucking decades slaving away for this joint. And yet it’s still not enough because that just isn’t how my dad sees it. Frank thinks I need a bride to “prove my maturity.” Bullshit. If you ask me, Frank’s the one who’s gone off the reservation.
But you know what? I’ve decided not to fight it. It would be wasting the air in my lungs, not to mention precious time. So instead of engaging in a useless battle, I’ve decided to acquiesce. He wants me to find a bride? Fine, I’ll give him a bride.
Of course, it’s not going to be a real marriage. After all, there are no rules when it comes to this kind of thing. All that’s required is a marriage certificate with my name on it, and her name on it too. Plus, no one said we had to stay married forever. As a result, I need someone sane. Someone attractive, so that it’s believable, but who’s willing to divorce after a suitable amount of time has passed. In short, I need a professional.
Why not, after all? A professional just wants the money, and I’ll make sure she’s handsomely paid. She won’t think that we’re really “married” because I’ll make things clear from the start: a divorce, as soon as I’m elevated to CEO. At first, I did in fact consider asking a lady friend to help me out because there a lot of women in this city who would be only too happy to become the next Mrs. Carson. But then I nixed the idea because what if she falls in love with the lifestyle? Even worse, what if she falls in love with me? I know what I look like: with my jet black hair, handsome features and athletic bod, more than a few very eligible young women have thrown themselves into my path. But that’s the thing: I don’t want to stay married, so she’s got to be incentivized to walk away once it’s done. Again, a professional is the best solution. It’s strictly business, no offense.
As a result, I contacted a local escort agency: City Girls. I didn’t tell them my true reason for calling, of course, although they probably wouldn’t have a problem with it. I simply told the concierge that I was looking for someone special, a girl that was more than just a fun time in bed for the night. Someone intelligent, sweet, with a classy sophistication and a “believability” to her. To my surprise, the woman on the other line didn’t even blink an eye. Instead, she offered me the ‘girlfriend experience’.