Chapter 3

The week drags on.

All I seem to be able to do is think about what Neve said about the club.

I took the card out of my pocket the minute I got back to my tiny, shared apartment, placing it on my nightstand so it didn't accidentally end up in the wash.

The apartment I share with three other girls — even though it's only a two bedroom — is in Blakefield. Not the greatest of neighbourhoods, but I came here with no excuses. Doing London for a year, albeit on a budget, is something I've wanted to do for many years. And it isn't because of him.

I'd be lying if I said I never thought of Alistair Devereaux. It's not like I could forget.

Whatever correspondence I'd had with him prior to my mum passing, quickly vanished when I went back to Australia.

I wish I'd have been older. Then I never would've left. I love Australia, and I always will, but all it reminds me of is the memories of my grandmother. Of the way she fought for me to live with her — and there I was thinking she actually cared — only to learn that it was all about money and control. That's all anything in life is about, right?

The minute I was back, things only went from bad to worse. My grandmother had always looked down on my mum for getting pregnant at fifteen — and I get it — but what the fuck did I do? I didn't ask to be born. I didn't mean to hold my mother back from reaching her dreams. All I ever wanted was to be close to her. And over the years I've learned that my mum was just a by-product of everything my grandma taught her.

I promised myself even then that if I ever had a kid, I would never make him or her feel the way I did. Like they're a nuisance. A spare part. Something to be seen and not heard.

Stand up straight, Charlize.

Do not answer me in that tone, young lady, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap — oh and she did, plenty of times.

The least I can do after your mother married that awful man is to show you proper etiquette, Charlize. You will do as I say, or so help me…

Grandma's favourite punishment of choice was the kettle cord. She didn't abuse me often, but when she did, I learned to suppress everything deep inside.

Only when I met my best friend, Ariana, in Seattle, and later Imogen in college, did I slowly open up.

I owe everything to them. My confidence was shot by the time I landed in Seattle. Somehow I'd managed to snaffle an exchange student program my university was organizing. It was my one chance at escaping. Since I was already eighteen, there wasn't much my grandmother could do. It was the best thing I ever did and I never looked back.

If dear old grandma could see me now. I chuckle at the thought. If only.

She'd never approve. And my mother? I feel like I barely know the answer to that. She's like a ghost. A woman I barely remember. Only in my dreams.

I imagine that she's sorry for leaving me. That she loved me deep down. That I wasn't the burden and disappointment that Grandma said I was for years and years.

That she's proud of me… she just never got the chance to say so.

Of course, this is an indulgent fantasy, one I've recreated many times.

I sit on the end of my bed and wonder how the fuck I'm going to manage the bills this month.

Chelsea, the girl who has the lease on the apartment, just presented me with not only the month"s rent, but also electricity and gas, needless to say I'm a little short on cash.

We pay for our own food, but food money is the last thing on the agenda. Sometimes I get to take food home from work — if Lochie, an Aussie chef who likes me — is working, but he's only on three nights a week.

Raman noodles have saved me on more than one occasion. Rice is another cheap staple that I buy in bulk.

Both of my friends are with wealthy men, and have money in their own right. I know if I asked them for a loan, they'd give it to me, but my pride always gets in the way.

I've bragged about this trip for so long. I saved for ages to be able to afford the plane ticket. And when I finally picked the date, they were so happy for me.

I know if I told the two of them what I was considering, they'd be slightly horrified.

But I'd be lying if I said it was just about the money.

The idea intrigues me. I'm not even embarrassed to admit that it turns me on. Big time.

I know Neve made it sound all cushy and amazing. I'm not an idiot. I know that for a lot of girls in the industry, it isn't like that. But maybe Neve is right. Maybe élégance is different?

I sit on the edge of the bed with a ￡5 note in my hand. That's what I have left until next week. And when I do get paid fortnightly, I have to keep money aside for the end of the month.

There are no trips to Paris.

No dining out with friends — not that I know anyone aside from Chelsea and Olivia. The girls that I work with have asked me out on a couple of occasions, but I'm embarrassed to admit that I can't afford it.

I also can't afford to get out of this dive.

Then there's the idea that I could go back to Seattle. Imogen and Ariana both have nice places that I could bunk in with until I got back on my feet. That isn't a problem.

But going home now feels like I'm tucking tail and running.

It isn't supposed to be like this. Fighting tooth and nail for every damn dollar — or in this case pound — just to survive.

I remind myself, for what seems like the hundredth time, that at least I'm doing it and with no excuses. I've got a job that covers the bills—just. But short of getting a second day job, which is hard when I start mid-afternoon at the bar, I'm still working for peanuts.

The least amount I've earned is three thousand pounds.

For one night?

I dread to think what she had to do for that kind of money, but if I'm being honest, I'm no prude. I love sex. I love being kinky, not that many men are that adventurous.

Aside from a few one-night stands that were fantastic, I haven't had the best sexual experiences. Men just don't seem to know what women want—they just think they know. It's not nearly the same thing.

I have needs and wants and things I want to explore but haven't. Also, you have to be careful these days, especially on dating apps. I've been on all of them, and let's just say, men can be jerks.

I've also never had a long-term relationship. I'm thirty years old this year, and I've never had anyone permanent. No boyfriend. No long-term lover. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want that. A dark part of me wants so much more. Not for the first time I feel a craving to be needed. Wanted.

For a man to take me in his arms, and for once tell me that it's all going to be okay.

I'm more envious of my friends than they realise . They've both found the men of their dreams, and I'm happy for them. They both deserve it. Ariana and her cheating ex, she was wounded for such a long time. And Imogen, whose long-term boyfriend decided he wanted to see other people. They both thought they'd never get over the heartbreak.

Their happily ever afters make me realise that there are good guys out there. You just have to find them.

I turn the card over.

Three thousand.

I have so many questions.

On the back of the card is a phone number and an email address.

It feels a little impersonal texting, but I'd get tongue tied calling. What would I even say?

Oh, hey. Neve passed your card to me and I was wondering if you have any openings?

I can't help the snort as I slap a hand over my mouth and laugh. Well, if you can't have a good old laugh at yourself, you may as well be dead.

I don't mean to be pushy, but how much is the going rate?

Oh, god. The more I think it over, the more my stupid internal chatter gets the better of me.

I know it's about them getting off, but what are the chances that I'd actually enjoy it? All good questions. Maybe questions I could ask Neve next time I see her.

I mean, we already discussed some serious shit in hushed whispers over the bar, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Wait. Am I really considering this?

I pull out my phone and click into my email app. Before I know what I'm doing, I start constructing an email to Neve's boss.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Job opportunity

Good morning Daphne,

I hope it's okay that I'm emailing you. I got your details from Neve. She encouraged me to apply. Wait, is ‘apply' the correct word? Fuck it... She thought I'd make an excellent addition to the élégance team. Well, she didn't really say that, but she did give me the business card… and she said that thing about me turning men's heads and that they'd love me. That counts, right? I'd love to get some more information, and possibly set up a meeting?

I look forward to hearing from you.

How do I fucking end this? Yours truly?

Warm regards,

Charlize Prescott.

There.

That sounds professional. I even used my full name. Well, I dropped the middle name off since I'm named after my great grandmother, and Enid doesn't exactly scream escort of the year.

I hover my thumb over the send arrow.

I mean, it's unlikely I'll even hear back from her. So there's really nothing at all to lose. Right?

Before I can overthink it, I hit send and my breath catches in my chest.

I don't even want to think about what it means if I do even get a foot in the door.

I'd have to have sex for money.

I'd be a prostitute.

Whether Neve called it an escort or lady of the night doesn't matter. It is what it is, there is no prettying it up no matter which way you look at it.

I convince myself if — and that's a big if — I did end up doing this, I'd only do it for some quick cash. Enough to have a weekend in Paris at a swanky hotel. Move to a nicer place for the last few months of my trip. Indulge a little. I put ‘paying bills' at the very bottom of the list. Bills are boring, but it's inevitable I'd be able to get in front. Get myself a new iPad and phone… shit. What am I doing?

I'm fantasizing about buying myself shit with the money I'd potentially get from selling my body to strangers! I should feel sickened. I should feel something inside of me that tells me this is a bad idea. But strangely, I don't. I mean. If it were a possibility, I'd be nervous. Hell, I don't even know if I could go through with it. It's not as if the dudes probably look like Henry Cavill. Wouldn't that be nice?

Then again, the guy Neve was with the other night was handsome. He was an older man but not repulsive. And she said they treated her right. Like a queen.

I shake my head.

I'm officially nuts.

The worrying part is, it's taken me almost thirty years to really understand that fact.