Cancel it babe—having second thoughts.
My fingertip hovers over the word Send, but I struggle to commit to canceling. The business owner in me fights that finger, that text. The very idea of a one-star review on our private website has my skin crawling.
As I deliberate, my sister’s picture pops up, the ringer playing her favorite song. I pick up on the first ring.
“Hey, Lexi. What’s up? Did you get home safe?”
“Hi, sis! Did you sleep okay after your little spinning incident, yesterday?”
Last night, Sam brought me the contract to sign. She made sure I’m on birth control, which luckily I already am to regulate my periods, and assured me my client had passed our strict background check and health tests. I was so nervous I didn’t even read the guy's name. After she left, I drank down a bottle of wine to rinse down the fear of my first everything with a strange man. “Yeah. I slept like a baby. You?”
“Tom kept me up a little.” She lets out a giggle.
I wouldn’t know anything about that. “Ah, young love. So, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to check on you. And... one more thing.” There’s a long pause. My big sister anxiety goes on high alert. “It’s just a little thing. But I felt bad and wanted to call you right away.”
“Go on.”
“The reception hall, you know the one on the beach dad used to rent to throw his staff Christmas parties?”
“Yes. The Blue Lagoon. I love that place. But I thought they were booked two years out?”
“Well, they just called me. They had a cancellation. I guess I made an impression, or the owner remembered dad, because they called me to fill it!”
“That’s amazing!” The Blue Lagoon would be perfect. And such a sweet nod to dad. I know Lexi is missing him something awful with her wedding coming up. We both are.
“There’s one catch. They want the full payment. Up front. By Monday.”
“How much?”
Another long pause. “Ten grand.”
Today is Saturday.
There’s no way I can get her that much money to her in two days. But I promised to help pay for her dream wedding. And having her reception at a place that reminds her of dad…
I have to make this happen. I can’t let her down. I mentally berate myself for not having the money put aside, for not making sure I could do this one thing for her. But I’m digging myself out of debt, and I—
Wait a minute.
There is one way I can pay.
“Book it. Right now.”
“Oh, are you sure? Miranda, it’s too much money—”
“It would have made dad happy. And it will make you and Tom happy. Book it. I’ll have the money wired to you Monday morning.”
After she thanks me about a zillion times, we say our goodbyes. I glance down at my typed out text to Sam. Read it one more time.
Cancel it babe—having second thoughts.
I hit delete.
There’s no turning back now. I toss my phone onto the bed. Go to my closet and assess. What to wear, what to wear? As I flick through my dresses, I mentally recite my speech that I give to all the new girls.
Ironically, I’m the greenest of them all.
I mentally go over the rules I tell my girls when I’m training them, to coach them about how we run an escort service.
Rule one. Professionalism. Though you may be dressed as a duckling in cosplay, or wearing handcuffs around your wrists, always remember to maintain that professional air. Though the world may look down upon us as working girls, we know we are, in fact, career women.
Okay, so no matter what this guy asks for, within reason, I give it to him. With nothing but professionalism, just like I’ve taught the others I’ve mastered the professional air, I do it all day long.
Rule two. Secondly, always be polite. Retain control, but know your limits. It’s a tricky balance, but after you get a few dates under your belt, you’ll be a pro.
I snort out loud at my own advice. Is it even true? My girls swear by my speech, so fingers crossed…
And of course, I can’t forget my absolute favorite. My own personal motto. One I live by. The tagline the girls of Vegas have come to know me for…
Never. Fall. In. Love.
They chant those words at my training. Whisper them to me when they pass me in the hallways of the Sugar Daddies office. It’s our anthem. Our battle cry. We do what we do, we get paid, we feel nothing.
My eyes land on a white dress. It’s got a fluttery skirt. Capped sleeves. Something a man with daddy tendencies would surely love. I pull it out from the closet.
I hold it over my body, checking my reflection in the mirror.
White. Blindingly white. Virginal white.
For… a virgin.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
And I can’t believe I’ve gotten away with harboring this secret for so many years. I’m overwhelmed with guilt. How could I be such a fraud for all these years?
For a decade, I hired and trained escorts all while keeping my pussy perfectly pure. With a degree in Business Management, a deep love of research, and an overactive imagination, I’ve pulled it off.
Up till now.
I owe it to my girls to rock the fuck out of this night. To blow the mind of this Sugar Daddy. To earn this client’s repeat business.
Thirty minutes later, I’m showered, shaved, lotioned and potioned. Perfume and light makeup. Hair shining like a mermaid. Dressed in my fluttering white dress and silver strappy heels.
I look the part. Now, time to play the game.
It’s only a few blocks, but I don’t want to get sweaty, so I order an Uber. The driver does a double take, his jaw dropping. I take it as a good sign. “Vegas, Baby, please.”
“You got it.” He sneaks glances at me out of the rearview mirror.
I hold in a grin. My nerves dissipate. This should be a piece of cake.
We reach the hotel. I grab my bag and thank the driver. I go to exit the car, but as I stand, the world starts to go fuzzy, dark. “Whoa.” I slump back down on my seat.
The driver turns over his shoulder. “Miss. Miss. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I dismiss his concerns with a wave of my hand.
“You look a little pale. Are you feeling alright?”
Damn. Did I forget to eat again? I’ve been so nervous all day… I must not have. Let me think. What was the last thing I put in my belly.
A bottle of white wine, last night.
Two espressos this morning.
After coffee, remembering I was just hospitalized for not eating, I took the time to make myself an egg white and spinach omelet. Later, I sliced up an apple, too tense for anything heavier.
“I think I’m okay. Let me just rest here for a second. Catch my breath. Do you know the time?”
“Seven-o-five.”
“I’m late.”
“You need to eat something.” He pulls a package from the console. Chocolate candies.
A little sugar. Perfect. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” I open the package, nibbling on them.
“Don’t worry, just rest. Here—have some water.” He reaches in the console retrieving an unopened bottle of water and hands it to me. “Please. Drink this.”
I drink half the bottle of water. Thank him again. I make a second attempt to leave the car.