NicSo, basically, you saw this wedding com- ing from a mile away,” I say, draping my
arm over the back of Elle’s chair.
We’ve been chatting easily through dinner and have just started dessert. It hasn’t been difficult to find things to talk about, especially once I hit the jackpot of something to discuss when I brought up the relationship between her brother and soon-to- be sister-in-law.
A small smile lifts the corner of Elle’s mouth and she crosses a leg toward me, leaning into the closeness I’ve invited between us.
“I guess you could say I’m a psychic or some- thing,” she murmurs, her eyes bright and playful.
She’s cute. Way damn cuter than I expected.
And sexy. Part of me wonders why Christine even felt the need to hire me. Elle’s luck with men can’t possibly be that bad, not when she’s getting into my head so easily.
Unfortunately, I don’t have to wait long to re- member why she’s currently single.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure moving toward us. Before I can respond to Elle’s outlandish and adorable-as-hell claim, a cold, con- descending voice interrupts us.
“Are you sure you want to be eating that cake, Elle?”
I look up to find her asshole ex looming over us, raising his eyebrows at the half-eaten slice on her plate. The blood drains from Elle’s face and she sets her fork down, self-consciously wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
“Well, it is a damn good cake. It’s a celebration, isn’t it?” I ask, my voice light but my eyes steely.
I don’t want to make a scene, but I’ll be damned if this asshat thinks he’s about to ruin this date. I’m a professional, for fuck’s sake. Women pay me to make sure they have a good time, and I’ll be damned if this fuckwad is going to rain on Elle’s parade.
And this isn’t just about Elle. What kind of man would I be if I stood by and allowed this to happen? One prick in an ill-fitting suit isn’t about to ruin my track record either. He’s several inches shorter than me, and his hair is thinning on top. On those merits alone, he’s no prize catch.
“Between you and me, pal, she’s been trying to lose weight for the better part of three years. And judging by the fit of that dress,” he pauses to give Elle a once-over, “it’s not going well.” He claps a firm hand on my shoulder and turns to stroll away.
Before he can leave, I stand, gripping his arm and holding him in place. “Where the fuck do you get off, man?”
His gaze passes over Elle before returning to me. “Not on that anymore.” He smirks as he glanc- es back in Elle’s direction, shaking himself free from my grasp.
“I don’t know how the fuck you were raised, but this isn’t how you treat a woman.”
He doesn’t respond, and his expression stays neutral as he walks away to join his scrawny new girlfriend across the room.
My fists clench at my sides as I draw on every
ounce of restraint I possess not to march over there
and show that prick what a piece of shit he is. But I don’t want to make a scene at Christine’s party. It would only make Elle uncomfortable. Instead, I take a deep breath and force myself to relax.
I straighten my tie and glance at Elle to make sure she’s okay. “You all right?”
“I will be.” She draws a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nostrils. I can tell she’s on the verge of tears and doing everything she can to hold it in.
“He’s wrong, you know.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “About what?” Placing one hand against the small of her back,
I lean in closer and drop my voice lower, just bare- ly above a whisper. “Your curves are sexy as hell.”
The pulse in her throat strums steadily, but she presses her lips together and gives her head a small shake. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to make me feel better by telling me what you think I want to hear.”
My thumb slides along her spine, rubbing the bare skin exposed by her scooped neckline. I feel her skin pebble in goose bumps.
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. I promise, when I laid eyes on you, I had a hard time keep-
ing my thoughts clean. Trust me, what was running through my mind was anything but gentlemanly. You’re sexy as fuck, Elle.”
Her breathing stutters and her gaze swings to mine, wide and curious. “Um, thank you? You are too . . . um, sexy, I mean. Not curvy. I don’t think men are supposed to be curvy, though. More like muscular and fit—which you are.”
She’s rambling. The apples of her cheeks have turned that pretty shade of pink again, and I smile at her for what feels like the hundredth time, de- spite having only met her hours ago. Elle just told me she thinks I’m sexy.
With a grin, I lead her over to the bar, refus- ing to move my hand from her back. I’m guessing, based on her reaction, she hasn’t said this to many men in her life. Which is fine by me. I like being one of the special few.
“Can I get you something else to drink?” I smile at her as I tip my head close to hers. She’s ditched her cake, and I have a feeling she’s lost her appetite.
“God, alcohol sounds great right now. Yes.”
“Something stronger than champagne?” I ask once we reach the bar.
Elle bites her lower lip, squinting as she thinks it over. “I’d better not. I’m not usually much of a drinker. I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow.”
“Probably a good plan, especially since it’ll be a long day with the wedding and reception and all.”
Elle’s a good girl. I like that about her. It’s re- freshing. She’s probably never stepped out of her comfort zone, or hell, even disobeyed a traffic sig- nal in her entire life. And even though her ex is here treating her like shit, she’s composed enough not to get shit-faced. It’s classy, and I like that about her.
I signal the bartender and ask for another glass of champagne for her, and a tonic water with lime for me.
“What about you?” She tilts her head to the glass of tonic water the bartender sets in front of me. “Not a big drinker either?”
“Something like that.” I don’t tell her that I have a self-imposed one-drink maximum when I’m working. But being with Elle doesn’t feel like working. Not even a little bit. And some small part of me knows that’s dangerous.
Being here with Elle, mingling with the wed- ding guests, laughing, sharing a cocktail—it all feels completely natural. I don’t have to fake hav-
ing a good time when I’m with her. It’s so rare for me to completely forget that I’m working. In fact, I don’t think it’s ever happened before.
It probably makes me sound like a pussy, but there’s something satisfying about a woman enjoy- ing me, my company—without me having to pre- tend to be something I’m not. It makes me feel ap- preciated and charming. And the way she’s looking at me now, like I’m her knight in fucking shining armor after I saved her from her ex? Subconscious- ly, I like that a hell of a lot.
Part of me wishes we’d met under normal cir- cumstances. Like at a bar, or a coffee shop, or a bookstore.
I imagine us bumping into each other and strik- ing up a conversation. Within minutes, Elle would be laughing, her cheeks flushing pink. We’d ex- change numbers, and I’d ask her out to dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real date, one that doesn’t involve a pre-set payment amount.
But of course, that’s just a fantasy, because as soon as she found out what I did for a living, Elle’s pretty little face would fall, and that would be the end of that. No one wants a boyfriend who sleeps with other women for a living.
Stupid, Nic.
It’s dangerous to even fantasize about things like that. Elle won’t ever be my girlfriend. I’m here to do a job, save her from her dipshit ex, collect my paycheck, and go the fuck home. Alone. End of story.
She enjoys her glass of bubbly, and when she’s through, we mingle with a few of her relatives. Her ex takes off after a while, and she visibly relaxes once he’s gone.
By the end of the night, Elle and I are leaning on the railing of the restaurant balcony overlook- ing a small man-made lake. It’s a little corny—ob- viously a ploy to make the place seem more ro- mantic—but between the moonlight and the slight breeze moving through her hair, even I have to ad- mit that it’s working.
“I had a great time tonight, Nic,” Elle says, running her fingers over the black wrought iron. “When Christine told me she had a friend from col- lege she wanted me to meet, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I definitely wasn’t expecting someone like you.”
That makes two of us.
I smile and place my hand gently over hers. “I
feel the same way.”
Elle slowly brings her eyes to mine, the look in them a familiar one. Engaged and serious, but soft and inviting. She’s giving me the look. The one that means she wants to kiss me.
A soft gust of wind blows her hair into her face, and I instinctively brush it away, tucking her cop- pery tresses behind her ear. Just as I’m about to lean in, my lips parted in anticipation, I stop my- self.
What the fuck am I doing?
Sighing inside, I pull away and mutter some- thing about the moon being beautiful tonight. The look on Elle’s face is one of confusion mixed with disappointment, but she forces a small smile and nods.
It’s a rule. My number-one rule, actually. I don’t kiss on the mouth. Not on dates with clients.
This job won’t last forever, and at some point, I’ll have a serious girlfriend—hell, maybe even a wife. I won’t be able to erase what I’ve done to make ends meet in this profession. But I do want to save something for the woman I end up with. Something special that hasn’t been tainted by this job, and if a kiss is all that I can salvage, then so
be it.
Although tainted isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe what I imagine a kiss with Elle would be like.
“It’s getting late,” I say, watching the other guests trickle out of the restaurant below us. “Big day tomorrow. Can’t have you staying up too late tonight.”
Elle doesn’t meet my gaze as she nods, then loops her arm through mine.
As I walk her to my car, she’s quiet, probably still confused about why I stopped that kiss. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little confused and dis- appointed myself. This job isn’t going the way I expected.
Twenty minutes later, I drop Elle off at her place. In the car, I asked her to walk me through the plan for tomorrow, and the air between us fi- nally settled again.
By the time she climbed out of my car, we were both smiling and laughing, our connection having returned to easy and comfortable. This is exactly where the night needs to end if tomorrow is going to go well.
At home, I kick off my shoes and hang my dress clothes in the closet. The tux Case bought for me a couple years ago has been tossed onto my bed in a garment bag. He must have dropped it off while I was out. It’s industry standard to have formal wear on hand, and he makes sure all of us guys look good. Hell, that’s what we’re paid for.
I pull my undershirt over my head and toss it into the hamper, then slip on a pair of athletic shorts before getting in bed. Although my line of work can be tiring, I’m surprised by how tired I am. Even when I don’t have sex with a client, it can be mentally taxing, but it doesn’t normally wipe me out like this.
I run my hand roughly over my face, pausing to rub my temples. It’s Elle. Has to be. Something about her puts me on edge and relaxes me at the same time. We’ve only spent one evening together, and already I feel caught in an emotional push-and- pull that’s totally new to me. And dangerous.
I have a job to do. That’s that.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, so I
grab it and check the notification.
Well, think of the devil.
I open the text from Elle. It’s a picture of two dresses laid out side by side on a bed, accompanied by a question.
Plum or silver?
I smile. Some part of me likes the fact that it’s the night before the wedding, and she still hasn’t decided what to wear. And it doesn’t escape my no- tice that she’s asking me instead of someone closer to her, like her mother or Christine.
I examine the two dresses closer, happily re- calling every dip and curve of Elle’s body and try- ing to imagine what it would look like in each one. I’m tempted to text back asking for pictures of her in each one, but I decide not to. Don’t want to come across as too forward. Besides, my memory serves me just fine. But I do realize that both dresses seem to be fluttery and flowy, making me wonder if she’s too self-conscious to wear something formfitting.
I frown at the thought. The woman is gorgeous.
It’s a fucking shame she doesn’t know it.
Biting my lip, I send off my reply with a few swipes across my screen. It’ll be my job to make sure she knows how good she looks tomorrow
night.
As I settle into bed, tucking my arm beneath my pillow, a thought crosses my mind. I’m glad I have another day on this job, with this client. I’m glad tonight wasn’t the last time I’ll ever see Elle.