“Who are you?” I demand in a slightly unsteady voice. “What are you doing here?”
A deep, low chuckle resounds from the man, and I can see his broad shoulders move with laughter. “I’m Peter, and I’m here for the same reason you are. I paid for your company tonight, what else?”
My eyes grow wide with shock. Did he miss the scene I just threw in that other room? The one where I screamed my outrage to the high heavens? I think I made it pretty clear I did not come here to be an escort, but obviously, City Girls doesn’t care. They know who has the money, and this Peter person is probably loaded. Hell, maybe he’d already chosen me before I found out what this place really is.
“I’m not an escort,” I storm, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s why I left that little viewing room. They tricked me into coming here. I had no idea!”
He chuckles, and my heart races at that deep tone.
“If you didn’t come here as an escort, then what did you think you were doing parading around in that dress?” he queries in a mild tone.
I glance down at myself and swallow. Give my exertions, the dress is even more scandalous than before. The slit in the thigh reaches almost to my pussy now, and discreetly, I shift it to the left to cover more of myself.
But still, I didn’t ask for any of this. I cross my arms over my chest again and pout.
“I was hired to be a model. Not an escort.” I glance at the bed. “Nor a prostitute, to be clear.”
He merely shrugs those broad shoulders again. “You’re playing with semantics, sweetheart. Modeling and escorting really aren’t all that different because with either job, you’re displaying your body for money, and eliciting an emotional response from the viewer. If you think about it, being an escort is actually better than modeling.”
I squint at him. Is he insane?
“And why is that?”
He shrugs again.
“Because as a model you would be displaying your body for a large audience. Anyone who saw your photos would have unlimited access to stare at your body, while as an escort, I will be your only audience. Not to mention, I pay much better than any modeling gig.”
The mention of getting paid makes my ears perk, even though I feel ashamed that it does. I swallow, pushing my pride down. “And how much do you pay?”
He lounges back in his chair, very much looking like a man at ease.
“Five thousand for the night.”
It takes a moment for me to absorb what he’s just said as I just stare, mouth agape. Five thousand dollars? That would be enough for fifty inhalers for Grams, not to mention a near-unlimited supply of medication! I came here hoping to make five hundred bucks, but this stranger’s quickly put new meaning into my mission.
But I shouldn’t. After all, I’m under no illusions of what I’m supposed to do now. This isn’t a modeling gig; this is an escorting assignment. I didn’t go to school to end up using my body to make money.
Yet, the allure of the money is like a siren call. Grams and I are living so humbly, and lately, I’ve suspected my grandmother of not eating so that there will be more left for me. My heart contracts at the thought, and suddenly, my mind’s made up. If this man is serious about paying me five thousand dollars for a few hours of my time, then I’ll do it.
“Are you sure?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “And how can I be sure that you’ll pay me? Maybe you’ll renege on the offer after we’ve already done the dirty. What guarantees do I have?”
Peter chuckles, revealing even white teeth.
“I can tell you’re a savvy businesswoman,” he says with amusement in his voice. “But I respect that.” Then, he shifts and pulls something out of his jacket, and flips it open before whipping out a pen. “Tell you what? I’ll pay you by check, and because I like your tenacity, I’m going to make it ten thousand dollars for your trouble.” I gasp, and he merely chuckles again. “I assure you I’m good for the money. You can relax. I just need your name for the check, sweetheart.”
Disgust is what I should be feeling, but I can’t wrap my mind around what’s going on. Five thousand was already lightyears more than I’d hoped to make with this so-called modeling gig, and now he’s offering ten thousand dollars for one night of my company. Is this really happening to me? I should run away. I should demand that they let me out of this room and report them all to law enforcement, but I know that’s not going to happen. Because even if this deal is utterly sordid, I can’t find it in me to tell this man no.