Hot Chick for Hire Page 7

Six months later

  I looked at the screen of my cell phone for what had to be the tenth time in ten minutes. What was displayed there told me that Morgan was now even later than she’d been the last time I’d checked and that she hadn’t texted me either.

  That wasn’t like her. During the months we’d worked together at the dubiously named gentlemen’s club she was always on time if not early for her shift.

  I’d rolled in late plenty. Her—never.

  At least that had been the case six months ago when I’d still worked at Camelot with her.

  A lot had changed in my life since that strange and fateful day half a year ago when Siri steered me away from Angel Escort Services and to Guardian Angel Protection Services. Morgan, on the other hand, had actually made it to her intended destination and was now employed by Angel Escort Services.

  Maybe the new job as an escort had cured Morgan’s chronic punctuality.

  Though in the months since we’d both left Camelot, we’d been meeting for girl’s night weekly and she’d never been late before. She was always here at Maxime’s Bistro before me, waiting with a smile and ready to share the latest news over the glass of my favorite wine she’d have already sitting at my place when I walked in.

  Neither one of us missed our night out together if we could help it. With her working as an escort and me getting hired by a security company owned and staffed by a bunch of Navy SEALs, we had a lot of interesting things to discuss so we tried to get together once a week when her schedule allowed.

  We didn’t have to work around my schedule. Zane rarely needed me to work late and since I pretty much had no social life I was available whenever Morgan was.

  No boyfriend and a grand total of three people in my life I could call friend in the true sense of the word left me with lots of time to spend on the sofa watching Netflix.

  Since it had been many months since my last close encounter of the male variety, I didn’t anticipate that changing anytime soon.

  One man was to blame for that situation—Tristan Fairchild.

  A single night with him and I was ruined for all other men. Yet besides the short note he’d left me the day after he’d rocked my world so hard I was still reeling, I hadn’t heard from him.

  We will meet again . . . that’s what he’d written.

  I’d thought it was so sweet. It was also total bullshit, as evidenced by the complete drought in communications since.

  Yup, he’d ghosted me months ago. Yet a girlish, foolish hope inside me remained. I was still keeping vigil, waiting for the specter of my sexy British spy to appear again. I wasn’t even looking to date anyone else.

  Pitiful.

  I sighed and lifted my Zinfandel to my lips, taking only a tiny sip. I’d nearly drained the glass while waiting for Morgan. I didn’t want to order another and sit here by myself looking as pathetic as I felt if she wasn’t going to show.

  Glancing at the phone again, I was about to give up and ask the waitress for the check when Morgan came blowing through the door.

  “Sorry. So sorry. I got hung up at work.” She sat heavily amid a sea of shopping bags.

  I lifted a brow and glanced down at the evidence to the contrary. “Looks like you got hung up shopping to me.”

  Yeah, I was jealous. I was working for the decent but not extraordinary salary of an office manager and slowly whittling away at my student loan debt.

  Meanwhile, Morgan was rolling in the dough from her escort jobs, which obviously gave her plenty of leeway to splurge on a shopping spree.

  She cocked up one dark brow above green eyes that stood out in stunning contrast to the warmth of her latte-colored complexion. Morgan had the kind of eyes that would catch the attention of every man in the vicinity if they weren’t already too busy looking at the rest of her. “Well, if you hate me now wait until you hear this—the client paid for it all.”

  I pursed my lips together and blew out a whistle. “Wow.”

  I really shouldn’t be envious. Besides the huge payoff, and now apparently a new wardrobe, being an escort was no walk in the park, judging by some of the stories Morgan had shared with me.

  Even so it was a walk I might not mind taking—for a little while anyway. At least long enough to get a couple of shopping bags of my own. I eyed them on the floor—a smorgasbord of high-end stores and designers—and my envy multiplied.

  Sure, Zane would probably buy me my own bulletproof vest if I asked him—but it wouldn’t feature the telltale intertwining Cs logo that the bag closest to me displayed. Chanel—whatever was in that bag had cost the client a pretty penny.

  I leaned in and tried to see inside, then sat back again when I saw it was wrapped in tissue paper. I probably didn’t want to know anyway.

  “What kind of job is this?” I asked, half hoping it was something horrible so I could stop feeling sorry for myself.

  “Oh my God. It’s crazy. You’re never going to believe it. I barely believe it.”

  “What is it?” I felt the wrinkle form between my eyes and consciously relaxed the muscles before the crease stuck. I might be an office manager at the moment but the actress and model inside me was alive and well and I didn’t want to be paying for Botox any earlier than I had to.

  She glanced around and then leaned in. “Royalty.”

  “Royalty?” I felt that crease forming again between my eyebrows. Not only did I have no new clothes and no fancy job, but now I was going to have wrinkles too. “Of which country?”

  “One I can’t pronounce. Overseas somewhere.” Morgan dismissed the question with a flick of the wrist.

  “Overseas, like where? Not the Middle East, I hope.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Morgan, that sounds dangerous. Are you sure you want to take this job?”

  “Sure. Why not? The agency wouldn’t send me on a gig they didn’t check out and think was safe. Besides, I’m not even sure where we’ll actually be. I doubt they’d fly us all the way to his country. This prince could just as easily be hosting a party in the Bahamas or Palm Beach for all I know. Though they did ask if I had a passport.”

  I was no skilled operator, as veteran special operatives such as Zane and Tristan would say, but I thought that passport question was pretty telling. And I wasn’t as confident as Morgan that the agency was vetting these jobs as well as they should be.

  With no doubt a huge profit on the line, what were the chances they’d overlook things? Accidentally or on purpose.

  My guess was the chances were damn good. This agency rented out women by the night, like they were cars or tuxedos. I was sure the thing they were most concerned about was the bottom line.

  Morgan had already assured me there was no sex required on her jobs—and yes I’d asked more than once—but being arm candy for a diplomat at a party being held in D.C. was very different than going to a foreign country. Particularly to the Middle East where there was not only a war, but also where women had few if any rights and where Americans could be public enemy number one.

  I shook my head. “Morgan, seriously, I don’t know about this.”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Thank you for worrying about me, but really, I’ll be fine. It’s just for a long weekend for some big party he’s having and then I’ll be back. And once I’m home safe and sound, we’ll get together and I’ll tell you all about it. I won’t be able to show you pictures though. That’s one of the rules. We can’t even bring our cell phones.”

  Now I didn’t even try to fight the frown lines I felt forming on my forehead. No cell phone. No means of communication. No way to call for help. No way for Zane’s computer guru to track her if she disappeared.

  “I want you to give me all the information they gave you. Times. Places. Contact names and numbers. Whatever you have.”

  She let out a long deep sigh. “It’s just the date and time we’re meeting at the office, but fine. I’ll forward it to you if it’ll make you feel better.”
>
  “It will.”

  There was a look of doubt firmly ensconced on her pretty features telling me she was just humoring me. She obviously thought I was crazy, while I was thinking the same about her.

  Whether she believed I was right to be concerned or not, she took out her cell and started to scroll through. “Order me a drink while I look for the email. Okay?”

  “Sure.” And I’d be ordering another one for myself, because this job of Morgan’s had set off my warning bells and I needed something to calm me down.

  Call it innate instinct. Maybe it stemmed from working in the modeling and acting industry where my next audition could be with a perv or a psycho. Or hell, it could be just the Jersey girl in me, but I didn’t trust blindly or easily and I certainly didn’t take things at face value.

  No cell phone, passport required and royalty from an unpronounceable country—Morgan saw nothing fishy about that?

  A perfectly safe job? Ha! My sweet ass, it was.

  TWELVE

  “Shit.” I blew out a breath and tossed my cell onto the kitchen counter in my apartment.

  Trina glanced up from her own phone. “Problem?”

  Her indulgent expression, the one she always wore when she was patiently waiting for me to explain how I’d screwed up and gotten myself into trouble once again, made me feel the need to explain. “Yes. But it’s not mine this time.”

  “Praise God for that.”

  I rolled my eyes at her pulling out her usually non-existent southern drawl for that one. “This is serious.”

  “Isn’t it always?” she asked.

  I widened my eyes. “I’m not joking. I think Morgan is in trouble.”

  “Morgan, the waitress from the strip club you got fired from for assaulting a diplomat?” She cocked up her brow in a decidedly judgmental way.

  “He deserved it . . . and yes, that’s her, but she got a new job and she was supposed to be back from an, uh, assignment over a week ago. We were supposed to get together when she got back but she’s not returning my texts or my calls. I’m worried.”

  I’d specifically left out exactly what kind of job Morgan had gotten. Trina and I shared a lot, including the miniscule space the cost of rents in the area dictated we call home. But we did not share the same values when it came to certain things. Sex being one of them.

  Oh, she’d been more than happy when I’d hooked up with Tristan for one night, but only because I hadn’t been with a man in literally years before that. She probably envisioned me married to him by now.

  Humph. Yeah, that would require I see him again.

  Moving on . . . I knew if I brought home a different guy every weekend, she’d no doubt have something to say about it. If not with words, then definitely with that oh-so-expressive face of hers.

  What was it about southern women? They could level you with one withering glance or a well placed bless your heart. In Jersey we tended to be a whole lot less veiled with our insults.

  Anyway, no way would Trina understand Morgan working for an escort service—even with no sex required for employment. She’d probably kick me out if I’d started working there myself. The lease was in her name. It would be her legal right to. And even with our two years of history together, she just might do it.

  “Did you try contacting any of her friends?” Trina asked.

  I spun to face her. It was a good suggestion. One I should have thought of myself.

  I’d never hung out with any of her other friends but she’d mentioned some of the girls from Camelot by name occasionally so I knew she was still in touch with them. One of those girls might even be the one who’d recommended she look into Angel Escorts.

  “That’s a really good idea.” My head spun as I glanced at the time and tried to figure out when the best time to hit Camelot would be.

  At shift change, I figured. When the day shift was about to leave and the night shift was just arriving. That didn’t give me much time to get over there.

  A loud, lip-flapping expulsion of a breath drew my attention. I glanced up and saw Trina with one brow cocked high. “You don’t have to sound so surprised that I had a good idea.”

  “I’m not. Not at all. I’m more mad at myself for not thinking of it.”

  She frowned. “You have been distracted lately. Everything okay?”

  Besides my pitiful social life, and love life, and modeling and acting career? “Yeah. I’m just worried about her.”

  Trina smiled. “That’s because you’re a good friend.”

  “Aw, thank you.” It was things like that, which made any of our differences inconsequential. “You’re pretty great yourself.”

  “Yeah? Well remember you said that, because I just used up the last of the conditioner during my shower.”

  I leveled a stare at her. “I’ll forgive you, but only because I don’t have time to wash my hair if I want to get to Camelot by shift change. I’ll pick some up while I’m out.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled.

  “You’re welcome. Now, I gotta get ready and get out of here.”

  “Have fun. Try not to assault anyone while you’re there.” She smirked.

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” I scowled at her joking, but actually, given where I was going and my history with the place, it was a valid concern.

  Thank God for my job at GAPS. Without it, I could be the one missing instead of Morgan . . . or at the very least be doing court ordered community service for assaulting a client who’d dared to touch me.

  Yeah, I should really buy Zane a nice gift for hiring me and saving me from myself. I’d look for that while I was out too.

  THIRTEEN

  An hour or so later I stood in front of the door of Angel Escort Services, the feeling of déjà vu strong as I flashed back to months before. Back to when I stood in front of the GAPS office by mistake.

  I’d been lucky that day. If what I suspected were true, Morgan hadn’t been so lucky in finding Angel Escorts.

  Based on what I’d gleaned from my quick visit to Camelot, and my talk with Sapphire, Morgan had gone on this mystery assignment, had promised to call her to dish about it the moment she returned just as she’d promised me, and had been MIA ever since.

  For two damn weeks.

  It all supported my own information and fueled my suspicions.

  Something was going on, something that kept her away longer than planned, and I intended to find out what it was. Perhaps it was nothing. Maybe the prince or sheik or whoever just extended the party because everyone was having such a great time.

  If so, then I’d find that out too and not have to worry anymore. But if something were wrong, if she was in danger, or being held in a foreign prison for some bullshit reason, I needed to know.

  I only knew one way to do that.

  Raising my hand, I pressed the bell beneath the sign instructing me to Ring for Service.

  Service. I smothered a nervous snort at the word. Anyone ringing this bell who didn’t know what the elaborate logo comprised of the letters A, E and S represented might be surprised at what kind of service they were in for.

  The door opened, startling me. In the entry stood a woman. Tall. Beautiful. Definite model material, and dressed to impress in designer clothes that fit her to perfection.

  So, this place was as upscale as the prices indicated. That made me feel moderately better.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes. Hi. I heard you’re hiring?” When she didn’t immediately reply with enthusiasm at the possibility of my working there, I decided to throw in my trump card. “You were recommended by Sapphire and Morgan. I used to work with them at Camelot before I left to pursue my modeling and acting full time.”

  That stretch of the truth did it. I didn’t know if it was the name dropping or my alluding to a glowing career in front of the camera that did it but her fuck off veil lifted, replaced with a spark of interest.

  “Come on in.” She stepped back in gorgeous mile-high heels th
at had me envious because they weren’t mine.

  Inside, the place reeked of class and money. All to impress the paying clients, I was sure, but even if it wasn’t meant for my benefit, I was impressed as shit anyway.

  Warming up, the ice queen moved to a seating area and indicated I should sit, before asking, “Can I get you some lemon water?”

  I don’t know what it was that made tap water with a couple of lemon slices thrown in it so much more impressive, but my opinion of this place lifted another notch. “Um, no, thanks. I’m good.”

  She smiled. “Let me know if you change your mind. So, what did Sapphire and Morgan tell you about us?”

  Time for more stretching of the truth. “Honestly, not a whole lot. Just that you might be looking to take on some more girls. My student loan payments are killing me so I was asking around about jobs that I could do to supplement my modeling income.”

  As I talked I watched for any reaction to my words. Any indication that Morgan’s gig had gone awry. I got nothing but more smiles and a nod.

  I continued, looking to get something out of her, “This seems like a really great place to work. Have you been here long?”

  “I’ve been here for about six months now. I do double duty, since I also answer the phones and man the front desk three days a week. Just like you, I was getting some acting jobs and looking to make some extra money and possibly travel. It really is a great place to work.” Her smile beamed, backing up her words.

  She was legitimately happy here . . . or a really good actress. Still, I had no concrete information about my friend. Was I going to have to actually take a job here just to find out anything?

  “I know last time I was out having drinks with Morgan she was so excited about an assignment she had coming up . . .”

  “Mmm, hmm. We don’t give out details about clients or events, but I can tell you I was very envious I didn’t get to go on that one. I was already booked for that weekend so . . . ” She shrugged, still looking happy as a clam.

  I saw no indication anything had gone wrong. So why wasn’t Morgan answering my calls or texts or emails?

  “I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Morgan since. I’ve been so busy. I really need to get in touch with her and plan another girls' night. She picked up the check last time so I owe her drinks. Is she back from wherever she went, do you know?”