A Model Escort Page 2

“Like me?”

  “I was going to say Kendra in Accounts.” Dick’s insufferable deadpan irked Cal like few things could. “But I realize your time is more precious than the rest of ours.”

  Crossing his arms over his tailored suit, Cal stood his ground. His greatest selling point to clients was his precise nature—not to say his looks weren’t an asset. “Don’t bullshit me, Dick. I told Lara I was dropping him. Shouldn’t the paperwork be her responsibility?”

  “It is. You still need to sign it. And put something in the dismissal report other than you get a ‘bad feeling’ about him.”

  Cal thought back to his latest encounter with Merlin—a man of sizable means and expensive tastes, recently forty, dripping with poise and sarcasm, much like Cal himself—and grimaced. “It’s a feeling. What more is there to explain? Have my instincts ever been wrong?”

  The continued stare from Dick proved he hadn’t forgotten the clients Cal had demanded the agency dismiss in the past, and not always because they were his, who’d turned out to be unsavory for one reason or another. “No, but rather than cut ties with Mr. Merlin outright, I would like to give other escorts the opportunity—”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

  Dick sighed, but Cal was not going to budge. Atlas City was large enough that the agency could afford to drop rich assholes like Merlin without missing any quotas. Cal had never had trouble with the man. He treated him well, carried on a good conversation, followed the rules when things got intimate, but Cal couldn’t shake the feeling that something was funny about him.

  “Get him off my schedule, and off the roster.”

  “Of course, Mr. Mercer,” Dick conceded. “Comfort for my escorts first and foremost, always.”

  He meant it, Cal never doubted that, which was the primary reason he remained loyal to the agency and always would, even when the rest of the time the CEO was a prick. “Thank you.” Turning briskly, he made to take his leave.

  “And do fill your vacant spot within the next few weeks, if you would. We are getting a bit full up. Perhaps you’d consider taking on a new regular.”

  Cal bristled as he reached the door and shot an icy expression over his shoulder. “I’ll see what comes up.”

  Nick of Time allowed their escorts to vet and refuse anyone who chose them for a night—especially if a night turned into a regular occurrence. The client wouldn’t be told they were refused, just that the escort was unavailable. Cal had a full schedule of regulars and very rarely took on new clients. He was picky about who he spent his time with, especially if that involved joining someone in bed, and it always did where work was concerned. He didn’t take clients only looking for arm candy; he knew where his strengths lay.

  The healthcare for Nick of Time was bar none as well, and clients had to go through an approval process with up-to-date medical records just like the escorts. After being accepted onto the roster, clients could have first pick of who they wanted for a night, though they were encouraged to choose second and third options since first-choice escorts were often popular and already booked. If an escort was fully stacked for their schedule, they were removed from the catalog until they became available again, but the final decision always came down to whether the escorts themselves were willing to accept who’d chosen them.

  Still, there had been times when Cal agreed to see a client, saw them for a night, but even though the man or woman desired his company in the future, he deemed them unfit to become a regular. He’d kept Merlin on his calendar for far too long.

  Making a quick left out of Dick’s office, Cal headed for his handler—Lara Tyler. In a pinch, she was more bodyguard than secretary, but that part of her resume wasn’t on the books. Cal had never used her services in that regard, but a few escorts had, and the stories they told were part of why so many gifts and flowers stacked up on her desk come Christmas.

  Cal’s mouth was already open in preparation to speak when he rounded the corner into her office and was interrupted by a stack of papers being smacked against his chest. He coughed as he looked down at the well-manicured hand attached to them.

  “Those would be the forms I neglected to sign?”

  “What gave them away?” Lara said with mild scorn bleeding through her smile—a deadly smile, made all the deadlier with red lips framed by a pretty face. Lara would have made an excellent escort herself, not that many people would dare tell her that. “I’m assuming you already gave Richard an earful?”

  “What can I say, I hate the bureaucratic side to the job,” Cal said, accepting the papers and following her to the desk. “I prefer to be more… hands-on.”

  Unmoved by the waggle of his eyebrow, Lara pushed a pen at him next, said “Put your hands to work with this then, Calvin,” and spun her computer to face her while she perched on the corner of her desk. “Need an updated schedule with Merlin removed?”

  “Please.” He started to peruse his paperwork; it was a very thick stack in his opinion.

  “Piper’s back from vacation. Wondered if you could pencil him in tonight.”

  “Gladly.” The client Cal had dubbed Piper because he played principal clarinet in the Atlas City Philharmonic tipped well and was easy to please with the right praises for his playing and condescending talk about the art his parents bought that he therefore despised.

  Cal loved art and music, and Piper, while young, was worthy of every bit of praise Cal had ever given him. But much of high society, which was the majority of Cal’s clients, revolved around trash masquerading as treasure, and that he couldn’t stomach.

  “Also, Prince had to reschedule for Wednesday. With Merlin out, you’re free that day, so I gave her a maybe.”

  “You can confirm. Have you seen Rhys around—”

  “Where’s my damn bonus, Tyler?” A booming voice preceded one of Cal’s dearest friends and fellow escort, Rhys Kane. He could slap on the charm on a dime and be whatever a client wanted, but he was surly and blunt when himself. Cal found it refreshing.

  “Your referral bonus will be in the next paycheck, Rhys. I told you,” Lara said. “End of the month.”

  Rhys grumbled. He stood a good inch taller than Cal’s six-foot-one and was nearly twice as broad. His larger, muscled form attracted a narrower group of clients, but he was never without a full schedule. “I should get a bonus straight from Johnny for this one. You shoulda seen his face comin’ back from his first night with this chick.” He smirked at Cal. “I think the poor sap’s in love.”

  “What’d he dub her?”

  “Jane.”

  “Bit dull, isn’t it?” Cal frowned.

  “Like Tarzan and Jane. Apparently, she’s got a thing for safaris, and you know how Johnny likes to travel.”

  “Rhys,” Lara interjected. “We aren’t a matchmaking service. Stop setting up referrals with ulterior motives to knock out your competition.”

  “Who’s got ulterior motives?” Rhys shrugged. Johnny wasn’t as large as Rhys but he did fill a similar demographic, and several past escorts had quit after Rhys handed them referrals. Rhys swore it was coincidence, but sometimes Cal wondered. “I just figured she’d like the guy, so I passed her his card at a party. That’s what referrals are for. Whadda you got goin’ on?” He returned his attention to Cal.

  “Piper and Prince this week.”

  “Merlin too?”

  “Out,” Cal said, signing his name with a flourish on the last page.

  “’Bout time,” Rhys huffed.

  “You’ve never even met the man,” Lara said, taking back the signed forms and her pen.

  “Cal’s word’s good enough for me.”

  Shaking her head at them, Lara set the papers in her outbox. “You know how Richard frowns on this shop talk.”

  “That’s why we use codenames for clients,” Cal said. “All in good fun. No identities lost.”

  “Why do ya call him Merlin again?” Rhys asked.

  “Coz he’s a magician, Rhys. I can never figure out his secrets.”
With most of the day free and his evening newly planned, Cal decided to make the most of running into his friend. “Breakfast?”

  “You’re on, pal. But till I get that bonus”—he poked Cal pointedly in the shoulder—“yer buyin’.”

  Cal expected as much. Heading out of the office, he turned to say his farewells to Lara, but she was already in front of him, pressing another paper to his chest—the schedule he hadn’t noticed her print.

  “Since you prefer ‘hands-on,’” she said, even though she’d email and text it to him later. “But next time… paperwork first.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cal said with a bow. “You know, you don’t rag on Rhys about these things.”

  Lara’s eyes always had a sparkle of danger in them, especially when she was in the right. “Don’t let the loud bark fool you, Calvin. Rhys is the most reliable one of the whole bunch.”

  “But I’m still the most popular.” Cal winked, priding himself on the smile he wheedled out of her before he followed after his friend.

  Chapter Two

  OWEN had clearly made a terrible mistake.

  He wasn’t cut out for the spotlight, high-society hobnobbing, and being catered to like a celebrity just for walking in the front door for a meeting with the mayor. He was a data scientist who was wearing his first of only three good suits amid a closetful of graphic T-shirts and jeans, and his one pair of nice glasses since contacts dried out his eyes, and his other pair was several years old and one prescription behind.

  Alyssa had told him to make a list so that every time he realized there was something fundamental he needed, he’d jot it down to get later, since now he could actually afford to do so.

  He quickly typed EXTRA PAIR OF GLASSES on his phone below NON-BLUE SUIT COAT and SHOES THAT AREN’T CONVERSE. How had he missed that all three of his blazers were just different shades of blue? Hopefully no one would notice over the next few days.

  He’d purposely not worn a tie because he (1) hated them, (2) owned one and really hated that one, and (3) was supposed to be a cool young Silicon Valley type for coming up with these algorithms and so many worthwhile patents at twenty-five. The only “type” he was portraying right now in one of his few plain white T-shirts beneath his blazer was übernerd.

  “The mayor is expecting you, Mr. Quinn. Right through here.” The young woman who’d greeted him gestured to the door at the end of the hallway. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

  “Oh, uhh… coffee? But with like three sugars and lots of cream till it barely even resembles coffee anymore, if… that’s okay?” Why was he ever allowed out in public? “Please?”

  The woman smiled. “I take it the same way. Only Mayor King is the crazy one who takes it black with no sugar. You’ll do fine.” With another smile, she moved back down the hallway.

  Wait, the mayor was crazy? Or was that meant to be an endearment? Owen had only talked to him through proxy until today.

  Shoving his phone into his pocket and adjusting the brand-new leather shoulder bag Alyssa and Casey had given him as a going-away present, he knocked on the door before peeking inside.

  “Mr. Mayor?”

  “Owen! So good to finally meet you in person. Come in.”

  The mayor stood from his desk and came forward to meet Owen halfway, shaking his hand vigorously. He was young, especially to be running such a large metropolis, but still older than Owen. Definitely a politician with his firm handshake, direct eye contact, and smart suit to compliment his—wow, he was attractive.

  Which was the last thing Owen should be thinking about his married boss. But he was. Tall, well-built, strong jaw.

  “Hi!” Owen stammered as he snapped back to attention. “I mean… nice to meet you too, Mr. Mayor. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.”

  “Please, call me Wesley. My staff never takes that to heart, but you’re a special case, aren’t you, Owen? You’re more like my boss in this, so let’s make sure we do your work proud. Have a seat.”

  Owen was the boss? He was so in over his head. “Sure! Thank you… uh, Wesley.”

  “There you go. Drink?” Wesley asked as he returned to his desk.

  Owen sat in the seat across from him. “Miss McCabe is getting me coffee.”

  “Good, good. Now, we’re not jumping into anything before we’re ready with this new program. While my team has been looking into your recommendations for reorganizing our officers, there are other things to consider.”

  “Right.” Owen forced himself to remain skeptical of where the mayor might go with this. He couldn’t be a yes-man. He would not be bullied into letting anyone use his models in a way he didn’t approve of, and his shoulder bag was full of suggestions for how to make sure that didn’t happen.

  “Once things get put into motion,” Wesley continued, “there will be a lot of press around this, around you and my office, and the last thing we want is to have it blow up in our faces. As you know, Atlas City has seen a severe increase in criminal activity over the past few years. It’s part of why I was elected, because I promised to do something about it. But placing more officers in the neighborhoods most likely to see criminal activity could lead to profiling and general unrest among the citizens.

  “My people want to feel safe, Owen, not targeted, so we’ll be looking to you to help us prepare our officers appropriately to ensure this is a seamless transition that takes every citizen, especially those living in high-crime areas, into account.”

  Owen’s mind somersaulted as he realized Wesley was telling him exactly what he’d been hoping to hear. He’d prepared so many fumbling speeches for this, but the mayor was already ahead of him.

  “Do you understand what I mean, Owen?”

  “Yes!” Sitting up straighter after realizing Wesley had been waiting for a response, Owen began pulling research notes from his bag. “Yes, sir. I couldn’t agree more. I have several additional preliminary models I’d like to discuss concerning police behavior based on available equipment, like body cameras, group mentality versus single officer or partner deployments, and numerous other things, which should help us prepare your officers to keep everyone accountable.” He took a breath to slow down—sometimes he forgot the rest of the world didn’t move at his speed. “I want to help people, Mr.… Wesley. Not make them fear the police more than they fear criminals.”

  For a politician, Wesley’s smile certainly seemed genuine. “Music to my ears, Owen. You keep us accountable so we can better keep our officers accountable to protect this city—together.”

  “Thank you,” Owen said as the buzzing nerves in his stomach started to shift into excitement. “This is why I chose Atlas City, you know, out of everywhere that vied to pilot this program. Because of you.”

  “Me? Not because our crime rate’s so high?” Wesley grinned.

  “Well… that too, but you accepted my proposal without trying to change any of my requirements. I researched the different officials I’d be working with in each city, and you were the only one who seemed like you really cared and wouldn’t abuse what I’m trying to do, or look the other way if someone crosses a line. It’s good to see that wasn’t just fluff for the election. N-not that I assumed—”

  Laughter bubbled out of Wesley. “Oh, I like you, Owen. I’m glad you’re willing to speak candidly. I want to do this right, so that come next election year, I’ll have proven my platform wasn’t just fluff. So.” He slapped his thighs before rising from his desk. “Let’s meet my team so they can show you what they’ve been working on and you can show them your reports. We have a lot of work to do before we get to the major press coverage in a couple weeks. Though of course I have given a few statements to the papers in preparation of your arrival.”

  “R-right.” Owen tried not to trip as he clambered out of his chair.

  “Not used to the attention?”

  “Not really. I usually prefer hiding behind the data.” Clutching his papers to his chest, Owen realized he was literally hiding and shoved t
hem into his bag. “At my previous job, I… someone else was always the front man.”

  Harrison. He’d first been interested in Owen’s body when they met, then his mind after learning their interests aligned. Harrison was chief technology officer for the software component of Orion Labs, where Owen had also worked—after Harry got him a job. So many of Owen’s ideas had helped grow that portion of the company in recent years, and Harrison had taken credit for every single one.

  This, finally, was Owen’s. He wouldn’t let his anxieties take that away from him.

  “You’ll do fine,” Wesley said, leading Owen out of the office. “You’ll do great. I can already see it.”

  Everyone kept saying that, which either meant Owen was an obvious ball of stress that people felt sorry for or they honestly had faith in him. Probably both.

  “Let’s get that coffee from Miss McCabe. You’ll need it. It’s going to be nonstop from here on out, just to warn you.”

  “That’s okay,” Owen said, more relaxed than he’d been the first time he walked down this hallway. “I prefer when things move fast. I’ve never been good at sitting still.”

  “Wait till you meet my wife after lunch.” Wesley chuckled. “She’s the same way.”

  “Oh, uhh… I have a meeting with the CEO of Nye Industries—”

  “Owen.” Wesley laughed harder. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Keri Nye is my wife.”

  Owen had been so focused on researching Wesley’s political career, he’d obviously bypassed important personal details—crucial ones. “For real? Wow, you’re like a serious power couple.”

  “So they say—especially her. Ah, here we are.” Wesley intercepted Miss McCabe carrying coffees for each of them. With only a glimpse, he easily guessed which one was Owen’s. “Thank you, Cynthia. Owen, ready to get to work?”

  Owen expected the buzz of nerves and excitement to taper off after that, but it remained constant, especially once he headed to Nye Industries in a car Keri had sent for him and he got to meet the First Lady of Atlas City in person.

  “Owen! We are going to impress the pants off you today.” The woman shook his hand almost more fervently than her husband had. They were like Business Barbie and Ken, Owen noted—she was stunning. “Not literally of course.” She winked. “Crap, did I just give a first impression of sexual harassment? Coz we can start over.”