"Let me guess. You imagined patent leather or some vinyl shit." She gives me a droll stare.
I bite my bottom lip, guilty. "Kinda. You can't blame me. People don't usually think classy and sophisticated when they think escort. They think prostitute, and they think trash with no morals."
"That's because this is New York and we're a different breed. Prostitutes are strictly for sexual satisfaction. Escorts are for entertainment purposes with a glamorous look that just happens to come with the sex benefits. Now, listen. When we get there, I want you to walk in with your shoulders back and your chin up, but no resting bitch face. You want to look tantalizing and juicy and feel comfortable in your skin. Shy is fine, we don't want insecure, which you're not, so do not cower when she starts to grill you. Got it? Good."
I feel my nerves climbing again, but I push them down. I can do this.
"What's she going to say to me?"
Natalie hands me a coat and then puts one on herself.
"She's different with everyone. No two people are the same, so I can't really say." She checks the time on her phone, then looks at me and says, "Let's roll. Our car is waiting."
Here goes nothing.
Fourteen
Posh. Opulent. Rich.
Sanctuary Cove is nothing like what I anticipated. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but this was definitely not it. I guess I expected to feel sleazy when I walked in, the air to smell like sex and sweat. Despite Natalie's constant reassurance, I still wasn't sold…until now.
Our coats are taken at the door by an older man who resembles a bouncer, and when the door closes behind us, I can’t hear any of the noise from the busy New York City streets. Soundproof, we’re immediately plunged into a world of decadence.
The air smells of jasmine and caresses my senses, with just a hint of cigar smoke. I recall Natalie telling me there's a cigar lounge somewhere in here but it’s one of the areas where women aren’t allowed. Probably a good thing. I think I'd feel like a piece of meat with lion's preying all around me waiting to attack if I walked in there.
Taking in my surroundings, I revel in how beautiful this place is, and it helps ease the nerves in my stomach. The floor is white marble, and in the center of the entrance is a circular table with a beige tablecloth of thin chiffon ruffles draped to the floor. It's gorgeous and catches my eye immediately. There are mini tea lights on the gold table top and a massive flower arrangement. It looks like a tree but moss curves around the branches and there are tons of white orchids drooping over, giving it a romantic feel. White hydrangeas finish off the arrangement at the base. It's elegant, and if we were anywhere else, I would've taken my phone out to snap a picture of it.
"Remember what I told you," Natalie says quietly under her breath, and I nod. "Act like you're worth the two grand an hour," she says. "Madam Christine loves a confident woman."
I mimic Natalie, walking like she does—my legs crisscrossing one in front of the other, the way runway models do—into what looks like a private room.
I swallow the giant knot in my throat as we step inside where Natalie’s boss is waiting for us. Our eyes lock and anxiousness washes over me. My heart is seconds away from jumping out of my chest and I'm afraid I'm going to slip in my heels, something I never do. Exhaling a heavy breath, I blow out all my fear and let the liquor soothe my nerves.
Christine immediately rakes a hard stare down my body, taking in every inch of me, including my chest and the way my breasts bounce subtly. She watches the way I walk, and how I look her straight in the eye. Her gaze gives nothing away and I have to say, she plays her part well. We stop in front of the high top table she's standing at.
"Madam Christine," Natalie says, her voice raspy, "I'd like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Aubrey Abrams."
While she's not as tall as me, I can tell by looking at her she's someone you don’t want to fuck with. Her hair is jet black and parted severely down the center, but it's her eyes that make me want to cower like Natalie said not to. And I don't. It's like they've seen too much and she already knows everything she needs to know.
"Aubrey, it's a pleasure to meet you." Her voice is soothing, kind of erotic.
I give her a demure smile. "You as well."
"Tell me something about you that no one would know."
"I love jazzy blues music."
"Something else."
"I like reading stock trading books."
She raises a brow. "What else?"
"I'm not a huge fan of tattoos."
"Why not?"
"They're a waste of money and half the time they look like shit."