“Essentially,” Vincente agrees. “Make sure you cross paths with him, or Manuel, as soon as you’re inside so they know you’re there. Then just do what the other girls do.”
“What other girls? How will I know who to copy?”
“It won’t be difficult, most of the women in attendance will be escorts. Just join the line, and copy the rest of them. Make a friend, chat a bit, circulate. Which reminds me,” Vincente reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, withdrawing an ID card. “Here, this is your ID for the evening. Leave your real one, and anything else with that name on it, in the car.”
I take the ID, and discover my new name is Summer Marx. They have somehow managed to get my actual driver’s license photo, which sends a wave of distrust coursing through my system.How the hell did they get access to that?
Regardless, now is not the time to question. I do as instructed, removing my card carrier and sliding the fake into my slim purse. The limo glides to a stop in front of a glitzy hotel lobby.
“The party is in the penthouse. Just follow the other girls,” he indicates a stream of elegant women in cocktail dresses, “and do what they do. You’ll be great.”
“Okay,” I reply stonily, my stomach sloshing.
“I’ll be close. As soon as you send me a text that you’re done I’ll swing by to pick you up.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
“Hey Sloane…” Vincente’s hesitant tone finally captures my attention. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. I didn’t want this to cause an issue with your family. But I mean it when I say this is one time you absolutelyhaveto keep your word. I’m sure in the future you won’t have many conflicts like this.”
“I know, it’s not your fault,” I sigh. “It just feels like my life has veered completely off the rails and I still don’t know if I’m going to crash or just get on a new track.”
He strokes my cheek with a warm thumb. “It’s a new track, and hopefully a better one, than you were on before. The territory is just a little unfamiliar.”
I nod, offering more agreement than I feel. “You’re right. Well, I’d better get moving.” I push open the door, and the valet steps forward to help me out. “Wish me luck,” I mutter.
“You don’t need it, my darling,” Vincente’s voice is warm, and it bolsters my resolve.
Without glancing back, I sling the thin strap of my purse over my shoulder and join the stream of elegant young women passing through the doors into the glimmering hotel lobby.
Once inside, we make our way back toward a bank of elevators. A man, obviously some kind of private security, is standing in front of an elevator, checking IDs and comparing them to a list before allowing the girls to ascend.
I do my best not to fidget despite my overwhelming fear that this is about to go terribly wrong, I’ll get arrested, then disowned. My fingers repeatedly stroke the jewels around my neck and wrist, verifying they’re still there, as we creep forward.
Finally, I reach the front of the line and my fake ID is quickly verified before I’m shooed onto the elevator.
Once the door closes, and it’s just me with five other similarly dressed girls, I pull in a few quick breaths to ease my nerves.
“It’s okay, honey,” the girl to my left flashes me a reassuring, mega-watt smile. “All you have to do is drink champagne, flirt, and be pretty. Anything else is up to you. That’s a great necklace, by the way.”
Bless her, she thinks I’m nervous about escorting.“Thank you, I’m okay. I’m just worried my ex might be here. He’s… rather jealous.”
A murmur of sympathy echoes from the other passengers. “Well, if you need help, just let me know, okay? I’m Tara.”
“Thanks Tara, I’m Summer,” I reply. “And I will.”
When the elevator unloads us, I’m slightly more relaxed. Tara leads me to the bar, where we collect champagne glasses, and I get a quick wink from Diego before he ducks out of sight.
Confidence continuing to grow, I set to work milling around.
As Elian and Vincente promised, the party seems to be full of young, beautiful women, all chatting with animation to much older men. I circulate for a while, and just as I’m settling into the scene a rough hand grabs my elbow.
“Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you.” Emiliano’s voice, even when speaking English in a low tone as opposed to shouting in Spanish, is unmistakable.
My heart immediately begins to race.
“Vincente just dropped me off fifteen minutes ago,” I answer through clenched teeth. “He told me to circulate and look for you, which is what I’ve been doing since I arrived.”
Emiliano swears under his breath in Spanish. “You had time to get a drink, though, I see.”