CAMILLA
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The sudden pounding on my front door jolts me awake, and I grab my phone to see what time it is: eight o’clock. Jesus, I’ve been asleep for less than two hours.
“Camilla! I know you’re in there!” the building manager yells through the door. “Open up! Your rent is late, again!”
As I throw my sheets off me and grab a pair of shorts and a hoodie to cover my body, I groan in annoyance with myself. I knew this was coming. It’s the first of the month, which means rent was due last week… and I haven’t paid yet. Hell, I haven’t paid last month’s either.
I unlock the deadbolt, the knob lock, and push the chain to the side, then open the door slightly, refusing to let the sleazeball in. He’s suggested, on more than one occasion, what I can do in lieu of paying my back rent and that is so not happening.
“Gordan.”
“Camilla.” His beady eyes drag down my body, and even though I’m fully dressed, I still feel exposed in the dirtiest way possible. The guy is beyond gross and should be arrested for harassment. I’m sure I’m not the only woman he propositions when he comes around and makes threats about the back rent. “Do you have any money for me?” His hair is greasy and I can smell the weed permeating his skin. His teeth are a buttery shade of yellow, and I’m forced to hold back my gag.
“Give me a second.” I shut the door in his face and go to my purse, pulling out all the bills I can find. I count it all up, but it’s nowhere near enough to pay one month’s worth of rent, let alone two. Between the electric, water, and my cell phone—that I only keep paid so my dad can get ahold of me—and the money I’ve sent to my dad, I’m broke.
I’m working forty hours a week, but because it took me months to find a job, during which time my measly savings were depleted, I’m behind on everything. I’ve tried to find a second job, but nobody will hire me. I’ve been blacklisted everywhere within a forty-mile radius of that stupid town. I’ve cut back on everything possible, but I just can’t seem to get caught up no matter what I do.
I count the money again, hoping maybe some bills will magically appear, but of course they don’t. I sigh in exhaustion, knowing I can’t continue like this. Something has to change.
Losing his patience, Gordan bangs on my door again. I drop the money back into my purse since it’s pointless to give it to him. I’m going to be kicked out soon anyway, so I might as well keep the money I have to eat with.
“I don’t have it,” I tell him when I swing the door back open.
“You know what this means, right?” he says, stepping into my doorway.
I close the door almost all the way to make it clear he’s not welcome. “It means I need a little more time.”
“If last month and this month aren’t paid by next week, you’re out. Understand?”
“Yep.” I slam the door and then press my back to it, scrubbing my face with my palms, unsure how the hell I’m going to come up with the money by next week. It doesn’t take a mathematician to know it’s impossible without robbing a bank.
Since I don’t have any internet on my phone, and I have the day off, I make a plan to go to the library to look for a second job. It sucks because it’s Friday and that’s the busiest night at the bar, but the bar has been slow, so the other girls who’ve been there longer get the good shifts before me. I quickly shower and get dressed, and am about to head out, when there’s another knock on my door. Since it’s unlike Gordan to visit twice in one day, I figure it’s Yasmin, my neighbor and only friend.
I open the door and find her standing there with a big smile on her face. “Good morning.” Her voice is chipper, too chipper, but since she extends her hand with a venti cup of coffee from Starbucks, I ignore it, taking the caffeinated beverage from her. I haven’t had Starbucks in God knows how long. That shit is for the rich… and I’m far from it.
I inhale the sweet aroma and then take a slow sip, savoring the taste of peppermint mocha hitting my senses. It doesn’t matter that it’s May, peppermint mocha can be drunk all year because it’s that good.
Once I’ve taken another couple sips, I glance at Yasmin. “Why did you buy me this?”
There’s only one reason someone as poor as us buys someone a seven-dollar cup of coffee: to kiss one’s ass before asking for a favor.
“Can’t I just buy my favorite friend a delicious cup of coffee?” She plops onto my gray microfiber couch—one of the few things I was allowed to take with me when I was forced to leave my home. “Oh, I got you this too.” She hands me a brown bag.
When I open it up, I gasp. “Banana loaf?” That single piece of bread is like four dollars! “What the hell do you want?” I sit in my reading chair and break a piece of the bread off, popping it into my mouth. Mmm… so delicious and moist. The sweet taste of the banana and cinnamon…
Yasmin shakes her head. “You’re right, I do have a favor to ask.”
“I knew it.” I side-eye her playfully. “Let me enjoy my coffee and bread first at least.”
She giggles, her green eyes lighting up with mirth. “You’re such a coffee addict.”
“Not coffee, Starbucks. If you had brought me Dunkin’, I would’ve kicked your ass out.”
“True,” she says with a laugh before sobering. “I saw Gordan come by.”
So much for enjoying my food and beverage. “Yeah, I’m a little behind on rent… But I’m going to find a second job.”
“I think I have a temporary… and possibly permanent solution to your problem.”
“Is this your segue into your favor?”
“Kind of…” She bites down on her bottom lip nervously. “But it will also help you… kind of a win-win.”
“Just spit it out.” I take another sip of my drink, sighing at the minty flavor hitting my senses. It reminds me of Christmas, my favorite holiday. There’s nothing she could ask me to do that would ruin what I’m feeling right now.
“I need you to go on a date for me.”
Except for that.
“No way,” I choke out, pounding my chest as my hot drink skates down the wrong tube, making me cough and splutter.
“Camilla, please, just let me explain before you say no.”
“No.” I shake my head. “And I’ve already drunk half the coffee, so black, black, no trade backs.”
She snorts out a laugh. “You’re so crazy. Please, just listen.”
“No,” I repeat. “That escort gig is your thing, and I’m not getting roped into it.”
I met Yasmin at Azul Lounge when the owner took pity and hired me. We worked together for a couple months before she received an offer to work for Fairy Tales Escorts. It’s a high-end escort service that many of the wealthy men in and around Crystal Harbor use. It’s not sleazy like some services, and sex isn’t always part of the deal—unless the woman agrees beforehand—but I can’t imagine having to go on a date with a man I don’t like and fake chemistry between us.
“It pays a grand for the evening.”