Home > Mr. Garcia(8)

Mr. Garcia(8)
Author: T.L. Swan

It looks like I’m coming back tomorrow.




“Wow.” Porsha looks me up and down. “You look incredible.”

I put my hand over my stomach. “This is crazy.”

“Crazy good,” Porsha smiles.

The chatter of the girls around us fills the room. They all seem so excited to be here. For the last three hours, I’ve been pimped, preened, and I’ve had every damn beauty treatment known to man. My hair and makeup are done, and I’m wearing the most beautiful sequined dress I’ve ever seen.

It’s my first shift in the Escape Club, and I’m just about to walk out onto the catwalk. Kayla isn’t here. Apparently, two new girls can’t start on the same night because of something to do with an announcement.

I think I’m going to throw up. I’ve never been so nervous.

What was I thinking?

“You ready?” Porsha asks.

“N-no,” I stammer.

“You’ll be fine.” She holds my shoulders in her hands. “Follow my lead and do just as we taught you in training.”

I nod. “Okay.”

I can hear the music playing. One by one, the girls go out and do their thing. I can also hear the chatter of the men in the cocktail bar as they watch the fashion parade.

I pick up a cocktail from a table and down it in one.

God help me.

Then, I hear the announcement. “And tonight, we introduce a brand-new Escape Girl. This is her first shift, so please welcome the beautiful Cartier.”

I walk out onto the stage and look around at the men gathered around the catwalk. Immediately, my eyes lock with a man who is standing at the end of the runway.

His face falls when he sees me.

Oh no…

It’s him.

Mr. Garcia is here.







I freeze on the spot, and we stare at each other.

What the hell?

Damn it, no. I don’t want him to see me here.

Wait a minute… what the fuck is he doing here?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Oh my God, and I thought he was nice. What a joke.

Typical. Another man of my dreams who turns out to be a walking fucking sperm bank. Ugh.

I’m so done with men.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I narrow mine right back.

Don’t look at me like that, asshole. I see you for what you really are now.


“May I introduce you all to our newest Escape Girl,” Porsha says into the microphone. “This is her very first shift. She’s completely untouched.”

The hushed whisper of awe falls over the room, and I feel the heat of everyone’s eyes on me.

“Cartier is as intelligent as she is beautiful, I’m sure you all agree, gentlemen.”

I glance around at all of the men that are standing, captivated, around the catwalk. The scent of money hangs in the air. So many expensive suits on well-groomed, handsome men. Each in their thirties or forties.

I wonder if any of them are married.


What the fuck am I doing here?

Damn Kayla and her contagious excitement. Where is she now, huh?

This is a living nightmare.

Just go to a room and go to sleep. I don’t have to do anything with anyone, I remind myself.

“Gentlemen, who’s it going to be?” Porsha asks the room.

The men all smile darkly, drinking me in.

I can almost feel their hunger.

My breath quivers on the intake, and I drop my shoulders and force a smile.

If I’m going to Hell, I may as well go hard.

“Gentlemen,” Porsha says, as if this is some kind of stage show. Well, I guess it is, really. “State your intentions. Who wants to be the very first man Cartier spends the night with?”

The men all begin to move around, and they come and stand in front of me, just like Porsha said they would.

I glance up to the one man that doesn’t: Mr. Garcia.

“Hello, I’m Jonathan,” a blonde man says as he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. His eyes hold mine, and he kisses my hand again. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Hello.” My stomach flutters with nerves, and I force a smile. “Likewise.”

“Bennet.” A dark-haired man smiles. “It’s a pleasure.”

I shake his hand and smile. “Nice to meet you.”

One by one, the men introduce themselves, and Porsha is right: the majority of them are gorgeous. And even if they haven’t been genetically blessed, they all have the ‘It Factor’.

I glance over to Sebastian, who is standing alone and sipping his scotch. His eyes stare straight ahead, as if pre-occupied.

Why isn’t he lined up to meet me? I know he likes me. At least, I thought he did. I glance over at the line of beautiful girls beside me, and the penny drops.

He’s here for someone else. One of them.


“I’ll start the bidding!” a man from the back calls. “Thirty thousand pounds.”

A few of the men chuckle. “Fifty thousand.”

Huh? What’s going on?

“Seventy-five thousand tip to spend the night with me!” one man calls in an assertive voice.

I glance around. There seems to be some kind of auction happening.

Oh crap, they told me about this, I get 25% of the auction price on top of my wage if I accept one of them.


“One hundred!” another man calls.

From my peripheral vision, I see Sebastian place his scotch down on the table and turns toward the exit door.

What… he’s leaving?

I look around nervously. He’s just leaving?

“Him!” I call.

Sebastian keeps walking, and I point toward him. “That man there. The one walking toward the door.”

“Mr. Smith!” Porsha calls.

Sebastian stops on the spot, still facing the exit.

“Cartier has chosen you,” she calls.

Sebastian turns, and his eyes hold Porsha’s before he says, “She doesn’t have what I want.” His voice flat and lifeless.

I glare at him. Asshole.

“That isn’t how this works, and you know it, Mr. Smith,” Porsha says. “Our girls call the shots. If Cartier wants you, Cartier gets you.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet mine, and then his chin rises in defiance. “I’m not interested.”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment. This is possibly the most degrading thing that has ever happened to me. Fuck you.

“Mr. Smith, you play by the rules or you hand in your membership.” Porsha sneers.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, clearly angered, and he walks back toward me. “One hundred and thirty!” another man calls from the back.

Sebastian stands in front of me, inches away from my face, and we glare at each other.

Anger bounces between us. What, exactly, we are angry about, I don’t know. Actually, that’s a lie. I do know.

It’s the fact that he’s fucking here, that’s what. And here I was thinking he was someone special. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so pissed off with someone I don’t even know.

I raise my eyebrow.

He stares at me, and then without a word, he takes my hand.

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