Connor Chase
"Wait. You want me to go on a date, an actual date, with Billy Hyde, excuse me, William Price Hyde, the third? Your boss?” I shook my head. Clearly, Bex had lost it. And lost it big time. "First off, it's Valentine's Day. You know I work."
"It'll be a working date." Bex pulled her legs up and under her on the couch and leaned forward. She was eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon. "It's perfect. He's a great guy, something of an ass, I'll grant you, but all in all, a really great guy. It's easy money."
"I'm not worried about easy money. I'm worried about enough money. I've got a list of gentleman callers who are willing to spend top dollar for a night with me."
Bex rolled her eyes and drank her coffee. "Con, get over yourself."
"What? It's true." I rose up and went to the bay window. "Look.” I glanced back at Bex, waiting for her to follow me to the window. "See that? It finally came. I got it yesterday. Do you know how long the waiting list is for a Lamborghini Aventador? 18 months. That, right there, was what I got for Valentine's in 2020. That's a $400,000 car. Plus $100,000 in cash; half a million dollars for one night."
Bex tilted her head then ambled back over to the couch. "Again, Con, get over yourself. Besides, it's for charity."
I rolled my eyes. "Billy Hyde doesn't need charity. He's one of the wealthiest men on this side of the continent. If the west coast fell into the ocean, Billy Hyde's name would float precariously close to the top of Forbes Wealthiest list."
"No. Not for him. It's for the Gala. Plus.... plus, as an added bonus, you can scout around for next year. It's going to be a who's who buffet."
"You make it sound so crass, Bex."
"It's sex for money. Such transactions are only legal in the state of Nevada. And then only if you go to a brothel.” She pointed a spoonful of peanut butter at me.” You, sir, are a criminal."
“Hey, I'll have you know, that sometimes, there's no sex. I provide companionship; I'm arm candy for some and a status symbol for others. And if I like the guy, and I usually do, what's the harm in a little sex. Besides, if all they wanted was sex..."
"I'm just teasin', Con. You know I love you. Like a brother."
"Like a stepbrother, maybe."
"Well, yeah."
I couldn't help but roll my eyes, again. My father and her mother were married when I was 10. The degree of contempt and loathing we held for each other, then, was immeasurable. She was always getting into my room; I was always getting into her makeup. I was ten, I didn't know any better. I wanted flawless skin too, even though I was only ten and already had flawless skin. We eventually grew past our loathing and now shared an apartment, for companionship, or maybe it was to have someone watch the dogs when one of us was out of town. I had a cocker spaniel; named Starbucks and her honey brown ShihTzu was Beans. They were the best of friends unless Beans got it into his head to chew on Starbucks’ ears, then, it wasn't pretty.
"I can't believe you never told me he was family."
"Huh?"
"Billy Hyde. He's family? A member of the rainbow brigade? A…”
"How is it that you, Connor Chase, didn't know? I'd have thought he'd have been a link in the food chain, already nibbled on, definitely a few bite marks.”
I sighed. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not..."
"A whore?" She finished.
My feigned disdain knew no bounds. I flipped her off. And she blew me a kiss.
"He asked me to find him a date. A real date."
"Awww. And you thought of me. How sweet." I fluttered my eyelashes.
Bex sometimes tried to play Cupid. However, I was a bit surprised that she was trying with her boss. She called him an ass, but it was always with a smile, so I knew she liked him. Plus she'd been working with him for eons, in Bex time, anyway. After getting her doctorate in a field of study that had virtually non-existent job potential, she flitted from one job to the next until she landed a position with Hyde Investments. At first, I thought it was going to be another fly-by-night "it's not my thing" sort of affair, but before we knew it, a year had passed and she was still there, still calling him an ass, but I could tell she enjoyed it.
I wasn't always...in this line of work. Nobody ever grows up thinking that they're going to be an escort. In my senior year in high school, I had a five-year plan. It had only two things etched in the sand. I was going to go to college and get a real job.
The first time was a fluke, leaving me feeling a bit insulted, or rather like I should have felt insulted at the very notion that anyone would offer me money to spend the day with them.
I was just out of high school, the proverbial ink barely dry on my diploma. I was sitting at my favorite Starbucks, in my favorite plush brown chair, in the corner, minding my own business, reading Stephen King’s Firestarter for the umpteenth time, and ignoring my college applications. I wasn't aiming high, it was just Fairweather Community College. I could see the campus from my seat in Starbucks.
Suddenly, this guy sat down next to me.
I used to be a big fan of personal space, especially my own which is why I sat in the corner. If I could have moved the matching chair next to the one I'd claimed as my own, I would have.
I was starting to feel a bit awkward. The guy was leaning into my stranger danger space when I glanced up with a can-I-help-you look on my face.
I've always been flawed with a pinch of superficiality. Personal space be damned, I'd thought. He was gorgeous with a brilliant perfect smile, perfect everything really, and a gorgeous Rolex peeked out under the sleeve of an exquisitely tailored dark blue Brooks Brothers suit.
Some thoughts rush through my brain, unbidden when I see someone attractive; most of them exclamatory and lustful, and in my mind's eye, I could see that finely tailored suit thrown, without care, on the floor. I imagined him naked and any number of sexual situations played out before my eyes. It took a great deal of restraint, on my part, to smile without a contented sigh.
One thing led to another; a simple hello, an observation of him seeing me here before on several occasions and wanting to say hello. I'd never noticed him before. I was working part-time at Abercrombie & Fitch and doing a little modeling, which he observed was something he could see. It occurred to me that he was flirting with me. A tentative hand on my thigh threw me for a loop and I pushed back into the plush seat. I ignored the hurricane of butterflies crashing around my stomach.
When he asked me how much, I was confused. "How much for what?"
He was struck dumb for a moment as dawning realization rounded his eyes and colored his cheeks a subtle crimson. He stood abruptly, flustered, and took a step backward. "Oh, my god. I'm sorry. I thought..."
I looked at him, expectantly, with a wry grin. "You thought...?"
It wasn't my first time, not even my first time with an older guy, but it was my first time being paid. It was quick and awkward, despite his exclamations to the contrary. I didn't know what he saw in me. I didn't know what was expected of me. But that Brooks Brothers’ suit lost a few buttons on its way to the floor of his two-bedroom suite.
He ended up giving me a thousand dollars, crisp one hundred dollar bills folded up and placed on the pillow he'd slept on afterward. Inside the fold of bills was his business card and a note saying the room was paid for another night. I stayed and enjoyed my first taste of luxury.
That was a little over ten years ago.
That first year, I was reckless and carefree and a little addicted to the lifestyle and the money. I spent more money than I had. It was an endless cycle of dates (I was still calling them dates,) to pay for this new lifestyle. I'd had too many close calls that could have certainly ended badly. But that didn't deter me.
Bex held a one-on-one intervention after a friend of a friend of a friend told her what I was doing, and what was happening. She didn't tell me to stop, she knew the reality of our situation. She did point out my priorities, asking me if I knew what I was doing, and where I expected to be in five years.
My first Valentine's date was that 2nd year and what this stranger paid me was so ridiculously extravagant, I thought it was a joke. Clearly, holiday dates were where the money was at.
I had a few more holiday dates that year, but Valentine's Day proved to be my most lucrative; an extravagant black-tie affair where affluence was a genetic requirement.
My fifth Valentine's date was the first time that that was my only date that year. At 23, I was a commodity, it seemed, my proverbial star was on the rise and my price was astronomical.