2. Bailey

"Good morning,sunshine. You don't look like you've been on a hot date with a mystery person." Otis, my flatmate, is far too cheerful for six thirty in the morning. Then again, it's the start of his day, whereas I've been up all night.

I shut the apartment door and go to the worktop, where I find a half-full cafetière of hot coffee. I grab a mug and fill it almost to the brim.

"That's because I was volunteering, which you'd have known if you'd come home after work." I sit opposite him at the table. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

"Where were you last night?" I sip the coffee. It tastes good. Deep, rich, and mellow.

"A bunch of us went to the pub after work. I ended up going home with Rich in marketing. That man is a beast between the sheets."

I put my hand up. "TMI."

"I'm going to ask him if he wants to hook up again tonight. Don't wait up for me. Assuming you're going to be in?"

I check my diary on my phone. "I'm not working tonight if that's the information you're fishing for."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Maybe." I rub my shoulder. "Last night was kinda tough."

Otis cups his hands around his mug of coffee and leans forward. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I saw myself in too many people last night. There were too many kids sleeping rough."

"Man, that's tough."

Otis and I met at university. He knew I'd spent a few years on the streets before a charity helped me get my life together. I was lucky, which is why I like to give back now that I'm financially stable. Not that what I do ever feels like enough. If I had even a quarter of the money my clients do, I'd be able to do more.

"You probably need a night or two off. You need to take care of yourself before you can help other people," Otis says.

"Yeah, you're right."

"What's your plan for the rest of the day?"

"Aside from sleep?"

He nods.

"No clue. I might go for a run or play computer games."

"It's a hard life. Spare a thought for me working my nine-to-five."

"Yeah, I'll spare a thought for you while you're getting nailed by Rich in marketing. Or will you be nailing him?" Now the coffee is cooler, I gulp it.

"Both?"

I chuckle. "Have fun."

Otis puts his empty mug on the table. "Right, I need to shower. I'll say bye now, in case you're in bed by the time I'm done."

"Probably will be."

He goes to the bathroom. I finish my coffee and then pour myself another cup. Maybe I shouldn't drink caffeine before trying to sleep, but wasting it would be a shame. I stand by the window. If I squint hard enough, I can see a sliver of countryside behind our concrete jungle. We live close to a tube stop so we can easily get into London. It takes an hour, but it's cheaper than living any closer.

My phone buzzes when I'm halfway through drinking my coffee. I keep sipping it while I check my email. Elite Connections are offering me a job. Which rich or famous person needs a date this time? I've gone to dinner with politicians; film, TV, and radio stars; musicians; the filthy rich, and even royalty. All looking for companionship for a few hours for a multitude of reasons. It's not what I saw myself doing with my life, but it pays the bills and gives me time to do charity work. The hardest part about working for the agency is not being able to talk about it. Otis knows I'm an escort, but he doesn't know the name of the company I work for or the identities of my clients, because I'm bound by a non-disclosure agreement. I work for the elite, and they like their privacy.

As I read the assignment information, my knees wobble, and they give way completely when I see the amount offered. I stagger to the sofa, sit, and read the email twice more to be sure I've understood it correctly. I wipe my hand over my face. Fuck.

"You look like you're trying to catch flies. What's up?" Otis is ready for work in smart-casual trousers and a shirt.

I snap my mouth shut. "I need to decide if I'm going to take this work assignment."

He snorts. "I love how you call them assignments. You go on dates. It's not work at all."

This is more than a date. A lot more.

"Why's it a big decision?"

I can't tell him, yet I could do with his advice. I put my phone face down on the coffee table. "Can I ask you a purely theoretical question?"

"Um, sure. I've got a few minutes." He sits on the other end of the sofa.

"Would you— If someone—" I grind my teeth.

"Spit it out, Bailey. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"If someone offered you a lot of money to marry them for a year, would you?"

His jaw drops. "Come again?"

I run my hand through my hair. "You're right. It's crazy."

"I didn't say that. I wasn't sure I heard you right, is all. Someone wants to pay you to marry them for a year?"

"No. No. I'm curious what you'd do if someone made that offer."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"A life-changing amount."

"For one year?"

I nod.

"Would we just be married, or would I be expected to shack up with them too?"

"You'd have to live with them and do everything married couples do."

He arches an eyebrow. "Everything? Including fuck?"

I wave my hands. "No. No sex."

"Hm." He strokes his goatee. "The no-sex thing is a bit of a bummer. I guess I wouldn't be allowed to have sex outside of the marriage either?"

I shake my head.

"Are we talking about the kind of money that would let me quit my job and be a man of leisure afterwards?"

"As long as you weren't too splashy with the cash, yes."

"Fuck yes, I'd do it. Do I need to look for a new flatmate for a year, or are you going to be covering your share of the rent while you're gone?"

"This was?—"

"Purely theoretical. Pull the other one. I have no fucking clue who you work for, but this isn't an opportunity you should turn down. What have you got to lose?"

"What have I got to gain?"

"Uh, a fuck ton of money. Duh."

Money I could use to do some good in the world. I'd have a year to figure out how to use it to make the biggest impact. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why am I even considering this request? It's crazy.

"Why does this theoretical person want a husband for a year?"

I shrug. The email doesn't give me an explanation.

Otis squeezes my shoulder. "Keep in touch, okay? It would be good to know you're okay."

"I don't know if I'm going to say yes."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it's a year-long assignment. Because it's an utterly crazy request. Because I've never imagined myself getting married, let alone divorced."

"Well, if the money isn't a big enough incentive, think of it as a reset on your life."

"Huh?"

"You can spend the year having a break from it all, deciding what you want to do with your life. And when you're done, you'll have the money to do whatever you've dreamt up." He checks his watch. "I've gotta go to work." He stands, grabs his jacket, and goes to the front door. He gives me two thumbs up. "Do it, Bailey. You'd be mad to turn this offer down."

Or mad to accept it.

"The more you think about it, the more likely you are to get cold feet and back out. Email whoever you work for right now and tell them you're in."

"You're a bad influence."

"Hey, wanna swap places? You do my job, and I'll do yours for a year." He winks. "Take the job." He waves as he walks out the door.

I read the email again. It's a crazy assignment, but what have I got to lose?

* * *

A limousine takes me to a beautiful house in Notting Hill, which cost more than all the apartments in my block. Stone and wood come together to create a modern, trendy feel. I've been to the homes of the rich and famous before. You'd think they'd no longer impress me, but they do. I'm always left in awe, especially when visiting beautiful houses like this one. Some are eyesores, but this house is stunning.

The front door opens, revealing a slim man who can't be more than two years older than me. He's wearing a black roll-neck top underneath a grey, single-breasted jacket with matching trousers. They fit him perfectly, convincing me they're tailored. He has dark hair, which has been styled to one side. One curl defies the gel and flops onto his forehead. Thick brows frame honey-coloured eyes. His clean-shaven jaw is angled before sweeping into a rounded chin. He's handsome in a classical way. His face wouldn't look amiss in a portrait gallery. He has an air of confidence about him. Either he's used to getting what he wants or knows he's gorgeous. My money is on both.

"Hello." His voice is bright and chirpy. He speaks with a Received Pronunciation accent, the kind you only expect to hear on the BBC. "You must be Bailey. At least, I hope you are, or you're in the wrong place." He chuckles at his joke. "I'm Harper."

"I'm Bailey Sharp."

"Oh, are we being formal? I didn't realise. In that case, I'm Harper Carr."

I hadn't been given my prospective client's name in advance, which is pretty typical. He's obviously rich enough to have been introduced to Elite, but his name isn't familiar. I don't know every film, TV, and music star in the world, but I'm pretty sure a name like Harper Carr would have stuck in my mind if I'd heard it before. It has a nice ring to it.

I approach and extend my hand. He's an inch taller than me, and I have to look up ever so slightly to make eye contact.

"I don't think future husbands greet each other with a handshake, do they?" He gives me a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek.

I go with it, even though I haven't confirmed I'm taking the job. Can marrying someone for a year be called a job? I emailed Elite to tell them I was interested but needed more information, and the next thing I knew, I was invited to dinner. I've spent all day alternating between talking myself into and out of accepting.

"It's lovely to meet you," Harper says. "Dinner is almost ready. Would you like a grand tour of the house before we eat?"

"Sure, that would be good." If I agree to marry Harper, I'll live here.

He shows me inside and closes the door.

"Wow." I stare around the interior with wide eyes.

"Gorgeous, isn't it? I couldn't resist it when I saw it. I love the light and the way the space flows. It's far too big for me, but who cares? Mother thinks I bought a house of this size to future-proof. Fuck." He nibbles his lower lip. "Filling this house with kids is one of the reasons she's probably desperate to marry me off."

I raise my eyebrows. "Kids?"

He snorts and waves his hand. "Have no fear. I don't want kids. I don't want to get married either, but needs must. This way."

I'm left gaping and blinking at Harper as he shows me a kitchen with all mod cons. A chef is busy cooking dinner for us and gives me a nod.

"There's a secret here, but I'll show you that later," Harper says. "Look at this little seating nook. Isn't it sweet?"

The ‘little seating nook' is bigger than my lounge. A dining room with a table for ten and staircases going up and down occupy the centre of the ground floor.

"The real lounge," Harper announces.

Like the dining room, the lounge is long and thin and has views of the manicured garden.

The stairs seem to float, which is unnerving as I follow him down to the next level, partly underground.

"There are three bedrooms down here, but I never use them. In theory, they're guest rooms, but my family all live reasonably locally, so why would they ever need to stay?"

He opens two doors long enough to let me glance at the bedrooms inside. Both rooms have windows that open into light wells, with ladders to make a quick escape if necessary. It's dark outside, but how effective are they during the day?

"Every bedroom has an en suite, so we won't fight for space at the sink in the morning." He winks.

Would I sleep in one of these rooms?

"I love this next room." He leads me into a cinema room.

My jaw drops at the size of, well, everything. Between the ginourmous TV, ridiculous number of speakers, huge wrap-around sofa, and plush footstools, you'd definitely get a comfortable cinema experience.

"Wow." I can't think of anything else to say.

"Amazing, isn't it? The next room is where I go to be tortured."

Tortured? Is he into kink?

Next, we visit a studio with wooden flooring and a mirror wall. The room houses a small amount of free-standing exercise equipment and two yoga mats. Patio doors open onto a courtyard garden with palm trees.

"I have a personal trainer. She comes three times a week. You're welcome to join our sessions. I warn you, though. She doesn't go easy on me."

I've barely got time to appreciate the room before Harper takes me to the third and final bedroom on this floor. It's at right angles to the gym and also opens out onto the courtyard garden. I wouldn't mind waking up to that view each morning.

"Up we go."

I don't have any choice but to follow Harper, who's a whirlwind. We return to the ground floor and take the stairs to the first floor. A corridor of wardrobes leads us to what has to be the master bedroom. Horizontal wooden slats on the outside of the windows provide shade and privacy while still providing a view of the garden below.

"This is my room," Harper says as though it's some grand revelation. "You have to see my bathroom."

A corridor separates the two rooms. Wooden flooring gives way to marble on every surface. A free-standing bath is next to the wall-to-ceiling windows with vertical wooden slats. The shower is the size of my bathroom. It's separated by a glass wall, making it feel like one huge open space.

"Look up." Harper stands in the shower and points up.

I join him and look up at a window. During the day, it must drench the shower in light.

Harper stretches his arms wide. "Impressed?"

"Yes. You have a beautiful home."

"You're so polite. It's adorable. Can you see yourself living here?"

It's hard. I might have visited vast, beautiful homes before, but I never imagined myself living in any of them.

"Don't answer that. I haven't shown you your bedroom yet."

I frown. I hadn't noticed any other doors.

I follow him downstairs. The chef is putting dinner on the table. Beef in a rich, dark sauce, with creamed potatoes and vegetables, placed artistically on the plates. My mouth waters, and my stomach rumbles as Harper leads me past the table into the kitchen. One of the walls has been created from large wooden panels. He presses one of the panels, which smoothly pops forward far enough to slide it in front of its neighbouring panel, revealing a hall.

"I debated using this bedroom because of the secret door, but I decided the novelty would wear off quickly."

The bedroom overlooks the garden. Like all the others, it's sparsely but tastefully decorated.

"It has its own entrance." Harper gestures to a door. "So you can come and go without disturbing me. What do you think?"

About him or the house? "Wow." I rub the back of my neck. "It's gorgeous." An answer that could apply to both.

"I'm glad you think so. The agency said you had some questions. You can ask them over dinner."