Chapter 2

"Another dirty martini?" I ask the pretty blonde at the bar. She's a regular here. Polite. Sweet. And she tips well. She's also with a different man every time I see her. No judgement. The men treat her like she's a queen, and why shouldn't they? I can tell by the way she holds herself; her head held high, an exterior that exudes confidence and an independence that tells everyone she's the one in control. I don't know why that makes me study her whenever she frequents the bar. In fact, I wouldn't mind having some of what she's having.

"I'd love one, thanks, Charli." She smiles.

We're on a first name basis mainly because the staff here have to wear name badges, and my dorky boss even went to the lengths of adding: ‘Just call me…' Right above our printed names. I don't know why he tries to be hip; it just doesn't work when you're fifty-five, with a bad combover in the middle of a midlife crisis.

"No problem, Neve."

It's quiet tonight, but most weeknights aren't all that busy.

I manage a bar in swanky Knightsbridge; one of the only places in London where you need an appointment just to get an overpriced cocktail. I love working here, even if my salary barely pays the bills.

This place sells cocktails starting from ￡25, and our cheapest bottle of wine is ￡85, the most expensive being ￡300. People seriously have more money than sense.

The bar is small but has several rooms that lead into one another. You can taste wine and bourbon. Have an overpriced meal in the quaint little restaurant — the overhead chandelier is rumoured to have cost more than an apartment in Mayfair — The mirrored bar is eclectic with its dark furnishings, heavy curtains and brass light fixtures. Yet, the place screams elegance and class.

I couldn't afford to eat or drink here.

I may have grown up rich, but money swiftly dwindled by the time I was fourteen. I moved back to Australia to live with my grandmother. Alistair never once contacted me after my grandmother insisted I come to live with her. He never fought for me, not that I'd wanted him to. Or maybe I did. Maybe deep down this is why I'm the way I am; a drifter. Never being able to settle anywhere. My fear of rejection is well hidden behind my ability to make people laugh. I'm always the life of the party. I've had to be, in order to compartmentalise all the shit that happened in my childhood.

A shiver goes through me when I think about the last time I saw Alistair. It was after the funeral. He was arguing with my grandmother, telling her she wasn't taking me back to Australia. I guess he must've lucked out, because that's exactly where I ended up. I'm sure he was just confusing his emotions about my mum with actually caring.

I didn't see a penny of my mother's fortune — other than to fund college on an exchange program in the US —because my grandmother kept all of it. Not that I'd wanted to profiteer off my mum's death, but I often wonder where all the money went. My grandmother disapproved of me moving to the US; she also cut me off the second my tuition was over. It didn't matter that I had amazing grades, graduating with a degree in hospitality management. That wasn't the type of job somebody in the Prescott family should be doing. If she had her way, she'd have married me off to the first available rich suitor the second after graduation.

Then she died a few years later.

I go through a range of emotions while my back is turned to Neve. Plastering my smile back on, I place her drink on the top of the bar and she beams gratefully when I add it to her tab.

"Quiet tonight?" Our eyes meet as I look up from the screen. Neve's dressed impeccably in a black and silver shiny dress, heels and a diamond necklace that sparkles under the downlights. Her hair is styled exactly like Marilyn Monroe, except her hair colour is more like honey, not blonde. She's stunning.

"Yeah, mid-week always is." I get the feeling she wants to talk, so I add, "Who's the lucky man tonight?"

A small smile creeps across her face. "I've never met him before, actually." She has one of those posh British accents, like Lady Diana.

I purse my lips. "Ooh, a blind date?"

"Something like that."

"Well, he's a lucky guy," I say. "I find meeting men in this town extremely difficult. They're either a workaholic, married, gay or expect the whole hog on the first date."

She laughs, screwing her nose up. "What's ‘the whole hog' mean? One of your Aussie slang words?"

We've often joked about my accent and the words I come out with that people don't understand.

"Sorry," I laugh. "It just means they expect everything."

"Maybe you're looking in all the wrong places," she suggests. "A knockout like you would have every man's eyes in the room on you. It's my job to know these things."

Her job?

I mean, it isn't as if I don't get hit on. I do. Even here. Especially here. I'm tall, for one, have olive skin and long sandy blonde hair that men seem to love. I have no curves, and even though I eat like a horse, I'm slim and have small boobs.

"I wish. I don't think the men in this town can understand me. Or they don't like my jokes. I've also been told I'm too tall and it's intimidating when the dude is shorter than you."

Neve makes wide eyes. "That is a terrible thing for a man to say."

"Dodged a bullet there," I agree. I start to clean the bar, starting with wiping the bench. There's only a dozen or so patrons so far, and I'm managing by myself until nine.

"Well, I think you're very funny, Charli. Tallness is a virtue, and he was probably just a jealous ass. Any self-appreciating man should think himself lucky to be in your presence."

Hearing her say the word ass in her posh accent makes me giggle. I lower my voice. "If you know any potential suitors that aren't dickheads and assholes, feel free to send them my way."

She studies me for a moment, her mouth opening then closing, like she wants to say something. Eventually, she does; "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

Uh, oh.

I mean, she's pretty and has nice hair and all, but I'm not into chicks in that way.

"Not at all," I lie, picking up a glass to polish it.

The sultry, jazz music in the background is fitting for how cosy the setting is. It also means I have all the time in the world to be a shoulder to cry on. If that's what this is.

"This job can't pay that great, right?"

I'm surprised, but also a little relieved. I don't want to piss any customers off, not in this economic climate — or worse — have someone disgruntled enough to complain about me. "It pays okay." Why does she want to know that?

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" Her voice lowers.

I move closer, intrigued by whatever it is she's going to say. "I'm all ears," I whisper.

Her lips twitch as she leans forward slightly. "I'm not really here on a date."

I frown. What does that mean? "Oh?" I can't think of anything else to say. I mean, she's here in a bar, looking gorgeous — a million dollars to be perfectly honest — waiting for a man. It screams date to me.

"I'm being paid."

I let that sink in. Blinking once. Twice. My throat thickening as I catch on. "Oh," I say again.

She sits back in her chair. "Shocked?"

My eyes are a little wide when I nod my head. "A little, if I'm being honest… I mean, you don't look like a… uh…"

"Lady of the night?" She laughs. "You can say it, it's alright. I'm an escort, Charli." She says it like we're discussing the weather, or what olives do to a martini.

I shake my head. "No. I mean… you look so… glamorous."

"Well, thank you. Trust me, I don't usually go around advertising it, but I couldn't help noticing how regal you are, Charli. You're beautiful. Men would go ga-ga over you at the club."I'm so intrigued by this woman that I'm tongue tied, which isn't like me.

"Thank you. I obviously don't go around advertising it. And élégance is exclusive. There are rules the men have to follow in order to be a member."

"The club?"

She smiles. "Yes. I work for élégance. You may have heard of it. It's a high-class escort agency."

Of course, I'm no stranger to escort agencies. Me and my best friend Ariana bought our other best friend Imogen a magical night with her dream escort at a club in Seattle. She had the time of her life and they ended up falling in love.

"Really?" I move closer, playing a little dumb. "Well, I mean, I think that's a good thing, for your safety and all." But I have a burning question on my lips. "So, on nights like tonight, when you're not at the club, is that like, free-lance?" There is no other way to say it.

Her dainty laugh sounds across the room. "Freelance? Oh, Charli. You really are something." She also doesn't answer the question. "The men I meet here are from élégance. They're my regulars."

Regulars?

I always thought prostitution was so sordid and women only did it when they were desperate for cash. They certainly didn't look like Neve. Maybe I've been living under a rock for way too long.

"Regulars? Wow, so that's a thing?"

"Yes. I mean, the lifestyle isn't for everyone, but it pays well. The men I see are men that I trust, otherwise I wouldn't be meeting them outside of the club. Some of my friends used to do it in college, but it was nothing like this." She lowers her voice. "In fact, I'm not going to glamorise it. It can be dangerous, especially if you go it alone or worse, have a pimp. But at élégance, to be a member not only does it cost a lot of money…"

"How much money?" I'm a nosy bitch, after all.

She whispers, "A hundred thousand is the starting membership fee."

"Holy shit!" I whisper-shout. "So for that, do the guys expect…"

"The whole hog?" She laughs. "Of course, but you get to choose what you will and won't do. And if the client likes you, then it can be a regular thing."

The words are on my lips before I can even stop them. "How much do you get paid… for one night?" My mind reels as we talk about prostitution, pimps and sordid clubs where men pay ridiculous amounts of money to just be a member.

"A full night starts around three thousand, and they pay for dinner and gifts on top."

"Three thousand pounds?" I mouth. My heart rate kicks up a notch at the very idea. I give her a conspiratorial look. "Is that why you said that earlier? About me catching all the men in the room"s eye?"

"To be blunt. Yes. I know how hard it is. Before this, I worked in an office for minimum wage. Now I live in a beautiful part of Surrey and I work my own hours. I can afford what I want. Take amazing holidays. None of that was possible before this." She's unapologetic.

"So what happens if you don't like the guy, but he likes you?"

She shrugs. "So you bang him and give him what he wants. Some girls can do it because you're playing a part. Honestly, for me, it becomes more about the man I'm pleasing and less about the money," she says. "They treat me right. To be a member at the club, you have to follow the rules. The girls are not permitted to make deals outside the club, we're contracted, but really it's for our own safety. One of the girls from work was hit one time, a while ago, and the man was not only barred for life, but they put him up on assault charges. I'm meeting a man tonight, but it's all arranged with the club. They know where I am at all times."

"Holy shit."

"Tell me about it. Which is why we all sign contracts to protect ourselves," she explains. "You don't want to go into anything half-hearted. Some girls are really into being tied up, or spanked, some love being submissive or even dominant."

My head spins.

Is she telling me all of this because she thinks I could do it too? Or am I just her lowly bartender/therapist.

"So on a really, really good night?" I press. I can't seem to let it go. "What's the most you've ever been paid?"

Her lips curl up in a smile. "Ten thousand."

My eyes bulge. "Ten grand?"

She shrugs. "He has certain needs, shall we say, and I fulfilled them. Like I say, we never have to do anything we don't want to do, but it makes things a lot easier if you're open to all kinds of kinks. It's controlled so the women who work there are valued; their safety is number one. It's something unique and that's why élégance is so well respected in the industry."

My head spins. It would take me more than six months to earn that kind of money, if I were lucky.

"That's amazing," I tell her. "Truly. But I don't know if I'd be cut out for something like that."

"I used to think that too. And trust me, I'm not trying to sweeten it. Doing this line of work isn't for the faint hearted." She slides a card over the bar at me. "Daphne is the woman to talk to. If you're ever curious."

I frown. "You really think rich men would go for someone like me?"

She laughs, throwing her head back. "Honey, they'd be fighting over you." She glances down at her phone and pushes her stool back from the bar. "Think about it."

I watch as she turns and greets a man half-way across the bar. He's gorgeous. Well-dressed. A little older than her, but not ancient. He kisses her on both cheeks, then placing one hand on the small of her back, they move into the restaurant.

I try not to stare, but I can't help it.

Glancing down at the card, I flip it over, reading the number on the back and quickly stuff it in my back pocket.

Could I honestly be an escort? I mean. I can't say the idea has ever come into my head. I'll be honest. It hasn't.

And as much as Neve said she wasn't glamorizing it, it kinda sounded like an okay deal. Aside from the fact you have to have sex with strangers. Though, judging by the dude that just walked in here, it wouldn't be a hardship.

I continue to clean the bar, my mind elsewhere while the business card burns a hole inmy back pocket for the rest of the night.