7. Kylie

Chapter seven

Kylie

M y phone ringing jolts me from a deep sleep, so I take a moment to find my bearings. When it rings again, it's muffled and I realize my phone is buried under my covers. I scramble, searching for it, and end up pushing all the blankets on the floor and by the time I answer the call, I'm out of breath.

"Hello?" Ugh, my mouth is gross. Rolling over, I swing my legs off the bed to sit while swiping my tangled hair out of my face.

"Miss Davis?"

"Yes?" I set my phone on speaker and check the time on the display. I almost have a panic attack at how late it is. I've already missed two classes. "Shit!"

"Excuse me?" I recognize Ms. Wesley's indignant voice.

Now wide awake, I sit straighter. "I'm so sorry. That wasn't directed at you. What can I do for you, Ms. Wesley?" I move to gather my clothes together and head to the bathroom as she talks.

"We have a gentleman interested in your profile and would like to meet with you as soon as possible. I need you to come in and review his terms for your approval so we can schedule the meet and greet."

That stops me mid-reach for my toothbrush as her words sink in.

"Oh," is my brilliant reply. That was fast.

"Well? Can you come in today or not?" She snaps .

Geesh, I need to pull it together around this woman.

"Yes. Yes, I can stop by after my last class. How about three?"

"Very well. See you then." The phone clicks signaling she disconnected the call.

"So rude," I mutter.

Setting my phone on the counter, I rush through my morning routine. I hope to make it in time to turn my paper in. And with having to rush, it leaves me no room to obsess over the appointment this afternoon.

This time when I enter my last class, Danny's sitting next to my usual spot. The corner of his mouth quirks in greeting as I seat myself and lean in to whisper, "You aren't sitting here to distract me from class, are you? I just fixed things with Mrs. Mathews, so I don't need you to get me on her bad side again."

Danny chuckles as his eyes roam over me. "No way. I promise to behave." But then he lifts a strand of my hair. "I like what you've done."

"Thanks." I stoop to pull my book out of my bag, discreetly pulling my hair out of his reach. This is just my luck to have Danny Hendricks show interest right when I can't do anything about it. "How's the job with the team?" I ask to distract him.

"Good. I'm helping with the physical therapy and hope to work my way to the athletic trainer position." Danny taps the armrest as he relaxes further into his chair.

"Oh, wow. I knew you played on the team, but I didn't know what you were studying while in school." His eyes light up and he straightens in his chair.

Crap. I hope I didn't give him the impression I'm interested.

"I love to play, but I'm not good enough for the pros, so I chose an occupation that would keep me close to the game." He shrugs.

I only nod, since Mrs. Mathews chose that moment to call the class to order. I try paying attention, especially after yesterday, but it's hard to focus with Danny's large body sitting next to mine. The girl in me before my dad's illness would be jumping with excitement from his attention. Frankly, I still would be if it wasn't for the fact I'll soon have a boyfriend. Again, the timing of his interest sucks .

Danny will be one more thing that could've been, but never will be. I let out a sad sigh, realizing I'll need to distance myself from him. Which is why when class ends, I make my excuses about an appointment and rush off, but not before I see his disappointment.

When I arrive at the Sweet Connection's office, I check in with Ms. Wesley's mini me. As she leaves to inform her of my arrival, I contemplate what to do about Danny. I'm not sure if he'll be interested in just being friends. If I even have time for friends.

I'm about to chew on my freshly manicured nails when I remember I can't mess them up and cross my arms instead.

Ugh. Danny isn't enough of a distraction for what I'm about to do. The only thing keeping me here is the thought of my parents being homeless.

Unable to sit still any longer, I pace the waiting area. Thankfully, no one else is in the room to witness my anxiety.

I've been trying not to think about what type of man would need to pay for a companion. More to the point, how old he is and what he looks like. If he's too old, I'll have to hide him from my parents. There's no way I can convince them I'm dating a guy their age or older.

Dark, smoldering eyes flash in my head, and I almost wish he's the potential client. At least there's an attraction, and he's somewhat age appropriate.

Sighing, I force myself to sit back down, but the moment my butt hits the chair, the door opens and I jump right back up.

"Miss Davis, come with me." Ms. Wesley barely looks at me, too engrossed in the file she holds.

Well, hello to you too.

My nod is the only response I give—not that she notices. I follow her into her office and she indicates the same chair I occupied last time.

She rounds her desk, placing a folder in front of me as she sits. "As I said on the phone, you have an interested client wishing to meet you tonight. He's gone over your packet and agreed to your terms with the stipulation that you'd be willing to talk about revising some of the terms after you get to know him better, but it isn't a deal breaker for him if you don't agree. He only wants you to think about it. I believe it's a reasonable request. Is this acceptable to you?"

"Um, yeah. As long as I can say no, I'm not against considering any requests he may have." It's a good sign he's given his intentions before the contract.

"Good. Now, the payment terms are here in this folder." She taps it before sitting back and crossing her arms. I take that as my cue to review his offer.

Sliding the document out, I find what looks like a contract. It reads pretty basic, saying the client agrees to all of my terms with the option to negotiate said terms at a later date. He also chose a six-month contract.

The next section is compensation. It mentions how the client would pay my current living expenses such as rent, utilities, car payments and grocery bills.

Huh. I hadn't expected that. I assumed I'd just get a set amount each month.

Next, it states he would provide any clothing, accessories and salon appointments needed to accompany him to business dinners, meetings and/or parties. Also, the client requests the option of taking me out of town when it fits the times I have listed as being available.

I didn't think about needing a different wardrobe for events. I guess it's good he's willing to pay for these things.

When I'm down to the last section of the contract, it talks about monetary payment—and holy shit! I pull the document closer, making sure I'm reading it right. I blink a few times, expecting the number to change. When it doesn't, I lower the document and meet Ms. Wesley's blank stare.

"Am I reading this right? This client is not only going to pay all of my expenses, but in addition, he's also going to pay me twenty-five hundred a week?" I can't keep the astonishment out of my voice as my mind races with the calculations. That's ten grand a month.

Ten. Grand.

That's sixty grand I'll make from this contract alone. I can pay my parents' mortgage for years with that kind of money—long enough to give them a head start on paying down the medical bills. I won't have to take a second contract.

"You're reading it correctly. It's best I tell you now. It's the highest I've seen a client pay." She points at the document in my hand. "When it's time to move on from this client, do not expect this kind of payment in the future." She looks like she doesn't approve, but I'm not sure if she's directing her irritation at me or the money the client offered.

All I can do is nod, not sure what to say. This is such good news, but now I worry more about the potential client. Why would he pay so much higher than anyone else? I swallow, trying to move the rock that’s suddenly lodged in my throat.

"Good, if you're in agreement, be at the club tonight at eight sharp. Give the bartender your name and he'll escort you to the client. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." I glance at the document, but her next words bring my eyes back to her.

"Your dress from the photo shoot is at the front desk. You can wear it tonight. If you both sign the contract, the client will supply your clothes from that point on."

"Do we sign the contract tonight? After?" Sweat gathers on my forehead as the reality of the situation kicks in.

"No. You can stay at the club as long as you want this evening to get to know each other, but then you'll go home. If the client still wants you for his sugar baby, he'll come in and sign the contract in the morning. I'll call you in to sign the contract after. From that point on, all communication going forward will be between the two of you."

"Oh, okay. That sounds reasonable."

"If you don't have any more questions, I'll see you out." She gets up, not waiting for an answer.

I follow her in a daze. The receptionist hands me the dress bag and when I turn to say goodbye to Ms. Wesley, she's already gone. I distractedly say goodbye to Betty before leaving.

This time when I walk out, there are no dark eyes waiting for me.

Get a grip, Kylie. You'll never see him again .

Talia's home for once and helps me get ready for my date. She curls my hair and gives me tips on how to do my makeup since I don't normally wear any. I've thrown up twice already and I have nothing left in my stomach. She tries to get me to eat something, but I'm afraid I won't be able to keep it down.

"Relax, Kylie. It's scary the first time, but trust me, it'll get easier after getting to know the client. Remember, you don't have to sign the contract if you don't like the guy. Nothing is forced on you." Talia lays her hand on my shoulder to comfort me, but it doesn't work.

"I know, I know. I can't help but be nervous when I don't know who this guy is. I don't even know what he looks like, Talia!" I wring my hands together on the verge of hyperventilating.

She places her hand on mine to still them and looks me in the eye. "Let's take a deep breath together, ok?" She raises her eyebrows, waiting for my agreement. We take slow, deep breaths in and out. Smiling, she pats my hand. "There, that's better. Focus on the money you'll make to help your parents."

"Right. Yes. This is a good thing," I say, a bit too fast to come off as calm. Needing to move, I walk to the mirror for one last glimpse of myself. "Thanks for your help with my hair and makeup. You did a great job."

My curled hair looks tousled and dark shadow and liner coats my eyes. It's not something I would choose for myself, but I can admit it brings out the green in my eyes. Normally, I'd be thrilled with how I look—I just wish it was for a better reason.

Talia puts a black wrap around my shoulders as I gather my small purse and dig out my keys.

"Remember to smile and be yourself. Whatever you do, don't insult him. If he ends up being a jerk, just continue to smile and get through the night. These guys are paying for a companion, but they're also aware you have a choice to accept them or not."

"Got it. Thanks, Talia." I hug her before leaving, catching her off guard. We've never been close and I vow to make more of an effort with her. She's quiet, but she also doesn't have any family. Maybe she needs me to make the first move. I decide to invite her to dinner with my parents soon.

I distract myself with thoughts of this until I find myself parking in the lot across from the club.

"Well, Kylie. This is it." I scan the area before gathering the courage to leave my car.

When I enter the club, I take a moment to look around. It's busy, but I don't see anyone eyeing the door for their date. Maybe the guy isn't here yet. Spotting the bar, I walk over to sit down and try not to fidget.

Talia coached me on how to make myself appear more confident, so I attempt to do as she instructed. Pushing my shoulders back, I hold my head high and cross my legs before placing my hands on my thigh. Keeping my attention on the bartender, I sense someone sit down next to me and glance over, right into a pair of familiar dark smoldering eyes.

I was wrong. His eyes are a not a dark brown. Up close, they're the color of melted chocolate.

"Hello, Angel."