A Model Escort Read online

  It wasn’t from Nick of Time Escort Service or Cal’s direct account. It was from Harrison, with a blank subject line and the simple message:

  I miss you. Can we talk?

  Owen slammed his laptop closed.

  Chapter Five

  OWEN didn’t believe in violence unless there was no other option—partially because, up until a couple weeks ago, he didn’t know how to throw a punch. His trainer from the Knockback Gym was teaching him more than basic self-defense, which Owen had been thriving off since his first lesson, even though the last thing he wanted was to punch someone’s teeth in.

  Especially when, today, he couldn’t stop picturing Harrison’s face.

  “Watch your form, Owen,” Lorelei said, holding the punching bag tightly as he pummeled it. “Good. Much better. I think this is the first day I haven’t had to tell you to go harder.”

  Owen huffed, half out of breath and half in laughter. “Yeah, I… have a lot of pent-up energy today.”

  “Use it,” she said, smiling supportively, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, face sheened with sweat like his. She was the type of girl who cleaned up like a dream but had biceps bigger than Owen’s. If he liked women, he would have had a serious crush on her. “Nice. Stop there. Let’s do a few more defense moves before we call it a day.”

  Owen had been seeing Lorelei three to five times a week, usually in the mornings before work. His previous experience in Middleton meant he recalled the basics quickly enough, so she’d asked if he wanted to include additional training. Owen was glad he’d accepted. The workout cleared his mind before heading to the office, and successfully learning or completing a new move made him feel like he could take on anything.

  Maybe even his ex, who’d risen like a zombie from the grave with his recent messages—plural.

  The updates Owen had been making to his wardrobe meant he had been using old T-shirts for workout clothes, today being his favorite Spider-Man shirt and a pair of sweats. The gym itself wasn’t anything too large, more for personal training like he was doing or sparring in various fighting styles. There was also a shooting range, something Owen planned to take advantage of once he felt comfortable enough with hand-to-hand, but he liked watching the kickboxing matches most.

  He and Lorelei had a corner of the gym all to themselves. After moving to the center of their mat, he stood normally rather than in a fighting stance.

  “Most attacks won’t come when you expect them” had been Lorelei’s first lesson.

  She came at him from the front, and Owen deflected. Came from the side, and he twisted her to the floor. Came from behind, and he flipped her over his shoulder. All these moves were practiced now and simple enough to execute, because he knew what was coming.

  “A couple more from each side,” she said, but as Owen readied himself, trying to gauge which side she’d attack from next, she didn’t make the move he anticipated but went straight for his left arm.

  Owen seized up when her hands took hold of him, tensing all over, breath coming short, as he tried to remember how to counter being grabbed this way but he couldn’t think—and then he was on his ass.

  His bruises were minor compared to what his ego just suffered.

  “What do I keep saying?” Lorelei said as she hefted him back to his feet.

  “I know. I have to be able to counter even when you don’t warn me.”

  The owner of the gym had encouraged Owen to be honest about his reasoning for training when he was assigned to Lorelei, and Owen had admitted much more than he expected to the kind woman who lent an ear as easily as she knocked him around the mats. Owen’s main goal was to overcome the sensitivity associated with his left arm, not just to defend himself in a big city. When they’d first started sparring, she always warned him before attacking that part of him, but not anymore.

  “You’ll get there. Being vigilant for something that catches you off guard isn’t easy.”

  Owen nodded, thinking of what his mother used to say. “Meet every surprise in life like you had a plan all along.”

  “Sound advice.” Lorelei gently took his arm and squeezed reassuringly—part of the training, to always give positive attention after he’d been thrown into panic mode.

  “Too bad I suck at following it,” Owen said.

  “You’re one of my fastest improving students. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I see a lot of abuse victims who want to push past their trauma. It can take months to be where you want to be. You’ve improved incredibly after only a couple weeks.”

  “I’m not really an abuse victim.” Owen shifted his gaze to the floor. “It was only one time, one injury—”

  “Owen, trauma isn’t measured by quantity,” Lorelei said firmly. “And abuse can be more than an injury. Your experience is no less valid than anyone else’s. That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then let’s go again.” She squeezed his arm once more before releasing it.

  The chime of Owen’s cell phone drew his attention. He hated being that guy, but tonight was the fundraiser, and he kept waiting for something to go wrong. “One sec,” he said in apology and dashed over to his gym bag to check his messages.

  It was another email—from Harrison.

  Please, Owen. Just one phone call.

  Deleting the message like the others, Owen took Lorelei’s advice and channeled his anxiety into something he could use. He ended up on his ass again after rejoining her on the mat, but he wasn’t deterred.

  “Again.”

  CAL didn’t always have expensive taste, sometimes all he wanted was a burger and a chocolate shake, but today he was taking Rhys out for something lavish.

  “Thought I owed you our next meal,” Rhys said as they waited for their table. This place had the best steak in Atlas City, and since Cal didn’t want to eat much before the fundraiser tonight, he needed a hearty lunch.

  “You do, but today I feel like celebrating.” Taking out his cell phone, he showed Rhys his most recent text thread from Claire.

  Balloons and confetti emojis accompanied the message: Dad didn’t make parole.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Rhys said. “Screw your old man. What was he in for again?”

  “Trying to fence stolen goods—to an undercover detective.”

  “Not even a good thief, huh?”

  “Not a good anything.”

  Cal had left Middleton before his father went to jail, but he’d happily declined being a character witness when the request came through.

  His father staying behind bars wasn’t the only reason he had to celebrate, though. It had been a few days since he’d last seen Owen, and he hadn’t shown off his suit for the event yet. Besides being muted to complement Owen’s burgundy look, Cal was shooting for jaw-dropping again.

  “What’s that you said back to Claire?” Rhys asked before Cal could put his phone away.

  “Just that if she grabs a drink tonight, she could try a place called Impulse.”

  “How do you know bars in Middleton anymore?”

  “It’s Scarlet’s sister’s,” Cal said as if that should be of no consequence. “If she’s as talented in her profession as he is in his, Claire will thank me for the recommendation.”

  Rhys eyed him as if there was something left unsaid—which there wasn’t. Not that he’d admitted to himself anyway. “You still playin’ vanilla with this kid?”

  “I am a slave to my client’s wishes.” Cal gave a mocking bow.

  “He not interested in that sorta thing?”

  “He’s interested, just… damaged.” And far too good a man to be as damaged as he was. “Looking for something he can’t get elsewhere, that’s all.”

  “It’s like you got yerself a housewife while you see yer mistresses on the side.”

  “Don’t call him a housewife,” Cal snapped. “And the difference is, he knows about my mistresses and doesn’t care.”

  “Some married couples are like that.”
r />   “You got a client with that arrangement?” Cal recalled an earlier conversation the moment he said it. “Oh right, Frost, wasn’t it?” Named for being an ice queen in conversation, not frigid between the sheets.

  “Nah.” Rhys glanced away. “I was wrong about her. Thought she was two-timin’ her husband, but turns out he’s not in the picture anymore.”

  “Divorcee?”

  “Widow.”

  That gave Cal pause. Rhys’s voice rarely dropped to such a gentle timber. “Sounds more personal than you like to get. Something I’m missing?”

  “She’s a good client,” Rhys said with a sharp turn of his head. “Whadda ya pushin’ for?”

  He liked her. That was new. “Karma is a funny thing, my friend.”

  “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Cal’s name being called saved him from explaining. “Nothing. Come on, let me buy you a beer.”

  OWEN kept telling himself it would not be preferable to spontaneously combust, but between Harrison stalking him and the imminent fundraiser, he was certain something would implode.

  He’d showered after his training that morning, but he’d still had the urge to be cleaner after work before he changed into his suit. Now he was running late.

  His phone chimed, catching his attention from the bathroom. Hurrying out to check it still wearing only a towel, he wondered briefly if anyone could see him through his windows. There was an email from Cal sent a few minutes ago, saying he was on his way, but the newest message was Harry again.

  I’m so proud of you. I want to know how you’re doing in Atlas City. Please answer me.

  Owen had been trying so hard to stay strong, but he could only take so much whittling at his resolve. Sinking down at the desk, he held his phone tightly in both hands while staring at his laptop. He’d barely opened it the past few days, as if it mattered whether he saw these messages there instead of his phone.

  He had to get up and finish getting ready before Cal arrived, but for all his bolstering and forced bluster, he felt nailed to the spot.

  Would it be so terrible if he answered, even if just to tell Harrison to leave him alone?

  The phone ringing nearly toppled him out of the chair.

  “Mario?” he answered.

  “Hey, O, it’s me.”

  “Casey.”

  Alyssa had probably told him to call. She and Mario were more the psychic ones when it came to his well-being, not that Casey hadn’t been there for Owen on numerous occasions. He’d just known him a shorter time, and Casey was far less invasive than the other two.

  “I’ve been trying to stay calm, but I am freaking out right now,” Owen said. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”

  “Calm down. What’s going on?”

  “You know what’s going on. You can’t tell me Alyssa hasn’t filled you in.”

  There was a pause before Casey came back guiltily, “Okay, she has, but I thought maybe you’d want to start over like I didn’t already know.”

  “Not really.”

  “Harry’s being a dick.”

  “He’s messaged me ten times in two days.” Owen sagged into his chair. “How did he get my new email address? I changed everything. Got a new number. Even moved to a new city. Why does he have to do this now?”

  “To get exactly this reaction,” Casey said with endless patience, “because everyone knows how well you’re doing without him. I just wish you had someone there with you.”

  A knock at the door startled Owen even more than his ringing phone, succeeding in upsetting him from the chair, though he managed to stumble to his feet. “Just a sec!” he called. It had to be Cal.

  “Who’s that?” Casey asked, as Owen stood frozen with indecision between hanging up, going to the door, and heading to his bedroom to put on clothes. “Wait, do you have someone? Alyssa didn’t mention anything—”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  A pregnant pause replied before Casey said, “Oh, Owen, don’t tell me that.”

  “It’s nothing bad,” Owen said, keeping his voice low. “It’s… an escort I pay to spend time with me, which was sort of Alyssa’s idea in the first place, but don’t tell her I hired him and have been spending several nights a week with him.”

  This time the pause on the other end lasted a good ten seconds before Casey answered, “You remember I have no ability to lie to my wife, right? I crumble, O, humiliatingly. I’m almost as bad of a liar as you.”

  That would have been a jab if it wasn’t true.

  “You’re sleeping with a prostitute?” he hissed.

  “He’s not a prostitute,” Owen defended, then had to admit, “I mean, he is technically, but I’m not sleeping with him. We just have dinner and talk and cuddle on the sofa. It’s… totally pathetic. Please don’t tell Lyssa.”

  “Owen? Is everything okay?” Cal’s voice called through the apartment door.

  “Just one more second!” Owen called back before lowering his voice again. “Casey, I need him right now. He makes things easier, all this mess with Harry, I… I feel like I can handle it when he’s around, but if Lyssa knows, she’ll want to talk about it, and I can’t do that right now.”

  “Mario doesn’t know either?” Casey asked.

  “Not yet. Just please? Tell her I have friends who are helping and I’m trying to stay calm. I won’t let Harry get to me. I won’t answer his emails. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Casey said with some reluctance, “but I’m calling again tomorrow after this fundraiser thing to make sure you’re doing better. Got it?”

  “Thank you.” Owen sighed in relief, finally trudging toward the door. “I gotta go.”

  “Love you, pal. Never forget that.”

  “Love you too.”

  Owen hung up just as he yanked the door open, not really remembering he was practically naked and not wearing his glasses until he saw the way Cal’s eyes raked down his body.

  “Sorry!” he huffed in a fluster of shortened breath, taken just as off guard by Cal’s appearance because his suit was simple and sharp but all black, and he was wearing black-framed glasses as if he’d stolen them right from Owen’s bathroom.

  “YOU’RE wearing glasses.” Owen gaped at him.

  Cal hardly thought his appearance was the focal point right now. “You’re wearing a towel.”

  “Right!” Despite having seen each other in their underwear for weeks, Owen instantly became more self-conscious. “Sorry! I… uhh….” He started to back up, abandoning his doorway.

  Taking the initiative to enter and close the door behind him, Cal took stock of Owen’s appearance more carefully and noticed the phone in his hand. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Owen’s eyes darted to the phone before he brought it to his chest like hiding a piece of evidence. “My brother-in-law. It’s fine. I just—”

  “Owen—”

  “I’m sorry I’m not dressed yet—”

  “We have plenty of time for you to get dressed. What’s wrong?”

  A deep breath left Owen, and he shook his head, not to deny Cal an answer but as if he needed to shrug off the automatic response to keep his troubles to himself. Bringing his phone up, he furiously swiped through screens, which confused Cal at first until Owen thrust the phone at him.

  Gently accepting it, Cal looked down to discover Owen’s deleted emails, which were currently dominated by message after message from the same man—Harrison Marsh. The nature of the emails made it obvious who he was.

  “This is him?” Cal asked anyway.

  Owen nodded, a tall, lanky bundle of tension with distress all over his face. “He got my new email somehow. He won’t leave me alone. It’s just so… I-I c-can’t….”

  Cal projected his movements as best he could so Owen had all the time in the world to slink away, but when he didn’t so much as flinch, Cal hooked an arm around his shoulders to pull him close.

  “What did he do to you?” Cal asked what he’d been h
olding back for weeks.

  Owen choked on the tears he’d been trying to keep down and sank against him. “He’s in my head, and I can’t stand it. I keep having to tell myself not to respond, when I know even thinking about doing that is insane.”

  It took Cal years to get past the same thing with his father, past not being able to help loving someone but still knowing they’re toxic. “Come here,” he said, pulling Owen to the sofa to sit down. After placing the cell phone on the coffee table, he hugged Owen to his side, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder because he knew how much easier it was to talk without looking at someone. “You can tell me if you want. Only if you want.”

  Another breath shuddered out of Owen to stifle his tears as he sat at Cal’s side with damp hair and a towel around his waist. “I feel so weak acting like this. I’ve been better. I’ve felt so much stronger. I hate that he can still do this to me.”

  “You are strong,” Cal said. “He doesn’t have power over you, other than what you give him.”

  “I know. But he did have power once. For a long time.”

  Slowly, as Owen eased into describing the relationship that led to the night he left his ex for good, Cal pictured it all unfolding like a vivid movie in his mind, with Harrison unfairly taking on the visage of Cal’s father.

  Cutting words to bring Owen down, but not blatant, more underhanded and passive, which made them dig so much deeper for their subtlety.

  Kind words and touches only when it suited him.

  An easily ignited temper, while being just as quick to apologize and make promises he never followed through on.

  Making Owen feel worthless while he took his research for his own.

  Knowing how and when to give Owen a night all about him so he felt wanted and stirred to passion.

  Then night after night without tenderness, taking until he was satisfied.

  It’s no wonder Cal’s mother left a similar man, but Cal pushed those thoughts aside, because this wasn’t about him. He was here for Owen, and he wanted to be everything Owen needed in ways his father always told him he failed at.