By no stretch of the imagination is this the nicest apartment ever, but it’s homey and comfortable at least. My little shoebox has hardwood floors, a half kitchen, and most of all, an in-unit washer/dryer. In New York, it’s significant because I means I don’t have to trudge back and forth from the laundromat with loads of dirty laundry. Instead, I can do wash any time I like, even every day if needed.
Further, I’ve worked my ass off to afford this studio, and I’m proud of it. The walls are a warm, off-white and my furniture is muted shades of tan and beige. My bed is cleverly hidden behind a Japanese tatami screen, and the only pops of color I have are from a few of my own art prints and the green of my houseplants.
With a sigh, I settle onto my couch, the steaming breakfast burrito in hand. There are a few unboxing videos on YouTube that I want to watch, and I search for them before locating a jewelry one. Sweet! The girl on screen pulls out a pair of silver cufflinks that she bought for her boyfriend, and just like that, James is back on my mind.
Girl, your client doesn’t need you to buy him cufflinks, the voice in my head scolds. He probably has a hundred pairs already! I grimace. It’s probably true because my date was dressed expensively, and his attire was subtle and refined. I wonder just how wealthy James is, and what he does for a living. Then, I think back to the raven black of his hair, the mischievous gleam in his eye, and the hardness of his body pressed against mine. If we’d met normally, like at a bar or a party, would he have talked to me?
I shake my head and pick up my tea, which is finally cool enough to drink. I shouldn’t even bother wondering about things like that because it’s not going to do any good. The fact of the matter is that we didn’t meet each other organically, like a normal couple would. It was set up by City Girls, and facilitated by the money in James’s bank account. It was a transaction, and for my own mental health, I need to let it go.
Suddenly, a shrill ring disturbs me and I jump up. Oh shit, that’s my phone. Tea sloshes over the side of the cup and splatters into my lap, making me hiss at the sting. I quickly put down my tea and jog over to my bedstand before snatching up the phone and getting tangled in the charger. Goddamit. I practically rip the wire out of the wall before hitting “Accept.”
“Hey Margaux,” I greet before sinking onto my bed. “Good morning.”
“Hey hon,” the middle-aged woman replies, smiling her blood-red smile. “You’ve got a little…” she points to her cheek.
I wipe away a stray crumb with the back of my hand. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” she shrugs with a smile. “How are you?”
I sigh. I know what I look like: a witch. There’s not a bit of make-up on my face, and my hair’s a wreck. Meanwhile, Margaux looks perfect as usual, with her bob sharp and her make-up applied with almost geometric precision. Even her eyebrows are drawn on perfectly in thin black arches. Sourly, I wonder if they’re actually tattoos since they’re a bit too symmetrical.
But Margaux’s in a good mood.
“Did you have a good time last night?” she hums. I purse my lips, frowning, but my manager doesn’t stop to listen. “It must have gone well because the client called not ten minutes ago. He wants to see you again, and on top of that, he also wants to book your time for the next three months at triple the regular rate.”
I gasp out loud, which catches in my throat and sends me into a coughing fit. “What—?” I pause, hacking away again. “Are you serious? Triple? Really?”
My manager nods with satisfaction, her red lipstick gleaming in the video.
“That’s right. Whatever happened last night, well, let’s just say Mr. Montlake was extremely impressed and has requested your services exclusively for the next three months.”
My face heats up all over again. It sounds too farfetched to be true. I can’t believe that James actually wants me, and is willing to shell out a fortune to make it happen. Meanwhile, Margaux continues to speak.
“Simona, of course you’re going to take it. Requests like this don’t come around every day.”
I frown and pause.
“Well, you know I’ve been thinking about getting out of the business. I mean, I’m twenty-five now, which isn’t exactly young in this industry.”
Margaux pshaws, waving an elegantly manicured hand in the air.
“First of all, you’re not an old lady. Penelope, who’s thirty-two? Now that’s old. But I understand where you’re coming from, Simona. Not all of your dates have been stellar lately, but you have to think about that as a sunk cost. Those are already over and done with, and you can never get that time back. But now, you have the opportunity of a lifetime, and it’d be silly to turn it down!”