Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

TREVOR

T he scent of whiskey and expensive cologne lingers on me like a bad kiss. Trudging out of the downtown Atlanta skyrise, I try to ignore the disapproving stares from the staff. Everything feels a little too raw after a weekend playing pretend. Worn a little too thin from acting. But that’s also the best part. Being someone else, being desired, being wanted because they can’t have me. No one can.

Warm, muggy air slaps me in my face, a stark difference from the frozen air-conditioning of the fancy building I just exited. Pulling my weekend bag a little higher up on my shoulder, I walk a few blocks until I’m sure I’m alone. Never know with fake boyfriends. Sometimes they want to keep me so badly that their brains go decidedly wonky and decide to follow me.

It’s happened a few times. Enough to put me on edge. Forever.

The Boyfriend Experience saved me in a lot of ways. When I hate myself a little too much, I spend a few days pretending to be someone else. Fake boyfriend Trevor is perfect and lovely. Fake boyfriend Trevor has no issues. Trevor is the perfect clean slate of a human just ready to be what anyone dreams for the right price. Escort Trevor can be too. Trevor will be anything if the dollars stack up enough.

Which is exactly why my job works so well for me. Most of the time. Playing pretend makes it easier for me to shut off the parts of my brain that sometimes yell too loud. The meanest parts of my brain.

The ride to the clubhouse is quick despite the congested downtown Atlanta traffic. The driver is thankfully silent, because I don’t think I could take idle chitchat after the past few days at the stuffy penthouse. Giving the driver a hefty tip, I hop out of the car to stride into the high-rise with a little pep in my step. Everything is about appearances. If I sell it well enough, no one will ever question what I’m selling.

“Hey, Scott.” I shoot the sweet older security guard a wicked grin, and inch my way towards the elevator.

Scott eyes me carefully. “Trevor. Coming from a job?”

I salute him with a teasing wink. “Three days. Heading up to see Claire now. Are the other boys upstairs?”

Scott nods, then lets his gaze return to the front entrance. “‘See you on the way out.”

Sending a wave over my shoulder, I swipe my badge to enter the elevator. I lean against the wall with a relieved sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to hopefully avoid a migraine. Fifteen floors are all I’ve got to get my shit together. Shaking my arms out, I paste a grin on my face, just in time for the doors to slide open to The Boyfriend Experience headquarters. Aptly nicknamed the clubhouse. Basically, the place is an entire office floor dedicated to the four of us and Claire, along with her assistant, Davis.

White marble floors, white walls, colorful art pop accents, and the sound of my best friends laughing is enough to calm my frayed nerves. A very particular giggle has my lips twitching up in a smile. Bypassing the main room echoing with laughter, I head back towards Claire’s office.

“Boss lady!” I shout, putting on my most panty-melting, charming smile.

Claire aims a death glare my way. “What did you do?”

I blink slowly at her, hoping to project total innocence. “Nothing?”

She huffs while tapping her perfectly manicured nails against her pristine desk. “When you call me ‘boss lady,’ usually you’ve fucked up.”

“That’s a Pavlovian response you’ve got there.”

A laugh escapes her, despite her clearly wanting to be annoyed with me. I pop my hip and lean against her desk, grinning sweetly down at her. Claire saved my ass years ago. I’d left home with nothing to my name. We’d grown up together in the rich upper crust of Manhattan, but she’d fled out of state for college. Family life hadn’t been good for her either. When I needed a place to land, there wasn't any other option but Claire.

New life, new Trevor, new everything. Thanks to Claire.

Another loud laugh makes me look over my shoulder, but Claire’s office impedes my view.

“I’ve got another job for you,” Claire says while carefully handing me her tablet.

Sweet. The email is already pulled up on the screen for my review.

Name : Beau Callahan

Age : 36 years old

Kinks : Uhm… I don’t really have any. I’ve been told I’m a romantic at heart.

Sex included in boyfriend experience : I don’t think so

Length of time : three days in July for my sister’s wedding

Lodging : My house in Florida

Comments : Hi… I’m not too good with words. But I’m reaching out to hire a fake boyfriend for my sister’s wedding. My dad is sick, and this is my sister’s big day. Everyone’s on me about bringing a date. I don’t want to detract attention from her day. I want to hire a fake boyfriend to be on my arm, support me, and make the day as good as he can. Bonus points if he likes the silent type.

Seems pretty to the point. Weddings are actually some of my favorite experiences. Most people are happy when they attend a wedding. Happy people at weddings have less chances of people being awful little shits. And I hate awful little shits. But the guy seems a little boring. Usually, I get the kinkier johns. The ones that want to call me a slut or enact some weird fantasy that could probably land them on Dateline if they aren’t careful.

“Seems boring,” I point out with a deep frown.

“Maybe it’s time for a change of pace. I can’t always send you to the ones that ask to bite, choke, and call you a filthy slut.”

I wink dramatically at her. “I am a filthy slut though.”

“Trevor,” Claire admonishes me with a steely look.

“Fine. Trip isn’t far. Weddings are easy. There’s not even any sex though. Are you sure you don’t want to send Benji? He’s so… sunshine.”

Claire playfully smacks my thigh. “You know he hates when you call him that.”

“It’s his legal name!”

“Still.” Claire carefully takes the tablet from me. She keeps her eyes on the tablet, finger restlessly tapping at the screen. “I’m sending you on this experience. You need a break. The boyfriends will agree.”

My cell phone picks the perfect time to start vibrating. We stare at each other for a few stilted moments, before Claire throws her hands up in frustration. The phone silences, but the weight of the call is enough to reiterate that she’s probably right. A break to Florida for a few days could probably do my brain some good. I’d rather die than admit she’s right though.

“Whatever.” I push off the desk, flicking her pen off just to rile her up.

Her loud guffaw follows me out of the room. Following the sound of laughter, I drop my duffle bag off by the communal shower entrance before heading towards the main room.

Benji lies on the large sectional, dressed in only low-slung sweatpants, while letting Eli carefully paint his nails light blue. For a moment I stand there, taking in the sight of my best friends. Sometimes it still blows my mind that they decide over and over that I’m worth keeping. Worth spending time with. Worth anything at all for that matter.

“Trevor?” Jackson whispers from beside me.

I jolt and aim a glare his way. “You scared me.”

His dark brown eyes turn shrewd. “Rough weekend?”

Punching his shoulder, I make my way past him toward the kitchen. “Exactly the kind of rough I like.”

“Trevor.”

“My God, why is everyone obsessed with saying my name like a swear word. What have I done to incur such wrath?”

Jackson follows me into the kitchen, radiating the brotherly energy he can never help but exude. He’s not even the oldest. But he’s big brother Jackson, our protector. The one I call when a john gets a little too rough and I’m too scared to call Claire. He’s probably just feeling a little protective after what happened a few weekends ago. At least, that’s how I explain away his behavior away as he follows me around the kitchen like an overly keen puppy dog.

“Back off,” I whisper, annoyed.

Jackson huffs, grips my chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting my face for close inspection. Against my better instincts, I allow him.

“No bruises.”

I tear away from his grip with a scowl. “It was a normal experience this time. I promise.”

Jackson hums, then crosses his giant arms against his broad chest. Shaved head, dark brown eyes, caramel skin, and the body of a professional athlete, Jackson is the agency's favorite top. I can see why. I get it. The man exudes daddy energy despite being only twenty-something. But he should know by now that I don’t require that type of care. I can take care of myself.

“The energy in this room is stifling.” Benji pops the fridge open to grab an energy drink. He looks from Jackson to me, gaze calculating. “Nice few days, Trevor?”

“Uh-huh.” No longer hungry, I head back out to the living room. Plopping down on the couch, I tap my feet against Eli’s. “Are we going out tonight?”

“No can do. I’m playing sugar baby again to that older guy. I’ll be home late.”

“Sex?”

Eli vigorously shakes his head. “Just a pretty thing on his arm. He’s sooooo nice. I’ll be sad when he finds the real thing.”

That’s the worst part of the job. Forming a manufactured connection with someone, only to lose it when they find something real. Rarely happens for me, at least on my end. Sometimes I act too well, and the johns fall in love with me. Those are the times I’m glad we all live in the same high-rise, with tight security down below. Telling someone that’s paid for you, I’m not in love with you too , is inherently dangerous.

“How was your three-day extravaganza?”

“Good,” I answer with a lazy shrug.

Eli arches one eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Made bank. So yeah, good.”

Eli presses his foot hard against mine, before tickling the bottom of my foot with his toes. I kick him until we devolve into a small play fight on the couch. Benji jumps over the back of the sofa, effectively stopping our wrestling.

A few moments later, Jackson strolls back into the living room, dressed in an impeccable black suit. He flicks a goodbye wave toward us.

“Heading out. I’ll be back late.”

“Jeez, I come home and everyone leaves,” I tease.

“I’m not going out,” Benji replies with a small frown.

Jackson playfully flicks Benji’s ear. “Be good, Sunshine.”

“I’ll put a snake in your bed.”

Jackson scoffs. “I’d like to see you do it.”

Benji angrily narrows his eyes at Jackson. A couple of seconds pass before Jackson crumbles under the stare, dipping down to sweetly kiss the apple of Benji’s cheek.

“Just kidding, love you, Benji.”

Benji’s face transforms into pure sunshine, dimples on display, light blue eyes twinkling. Scary how fast the man can go from terrifying to downright angelic. We all watch Jackson leave, turning at the same time to look at one another once the door closes shut behind him.

“So?” Benji asks.

Eli jumps up from the couch in a hurry. “I’ve got to go get ready.”

Benji and I look at each other, then quietly agree with no discussion that we’ll go our separate ways for the rest of the evening. Good for me.

I spend an hour or so in the gym, take a shower, then return to my mostly empty apartment a few floors below the clubhouse. I snuggle down onto the blankets of my bed with my phone to do what I always do when I take a job. Social media stalking my future fake boyfriend.

Beau Callahan has no online presence at all. Nothing. What the hell? What kind of man has absolutely no social media?

All I can find is a business in Northeast Florida for a family farm that hosts seasonal events and lets people pick their own fruit throughout the year. One of those sorts of places. They even have a pumpkin patch in the fall. I absolutely do not get absorbed in looking at all the photos of families picking pumpkins.

But that’s when I hit pay dirt.

Finally, a picture of Beau Callahan. I only know it’s Beau because it’s from the sister I assume whose wedding I’ll be attending. Andy Callahan posted a picture and tagged Clay Road Farms. Beau leans against a fence, a ball cap obscuring a good portion of his face, and he’s petting a night-sky-black horse. But I can see the smile on his lips even from the bad angle of the photograph. Scruff covers his chin, and he’s dressed in worn-to-hell work jeans, boots, and a faded work shirt that has Clay Road Farms blazoned across the back.

The back of his shirt is stretched taut against the solid line of his back. He’s a big guy, almost level with the horse. My stomach does a few flips just at the sight of him. Oh yeah, playing fake boyfriend to Beau Callahan won’t be a pain at all.

The flight from Atlanta to Orlando is splendidly short. Is it a little silly to take a flight for what would’ve been a seven-hour drive? Yes. But also, there’s zero chance of road rage from me if I’m sitting in business class with an Arnold Palmer.

Humidity smacks me in the face the moment I step through the airport sliding doors. The sticky summer heat almost makes me gag, the thick air stuck in my throat. With a heavy sigh, I tie my hair up in a messy bun to prevent it from sticking to my neck.

Families eager to get to the theme parks in Orlando bustle around me. A young girl bumps into my side, and apologizes with a smile, so I just smile gently back at her letting her know it’s alright. I watch her disappear with her family, long blonde curls dancing as she skips while holding her mother’s hand tightly. Happy families. Must be nice.

“Trevor?” a deep voice calls out to me.

My brain takes a few moments to reboot when my gaze finally lands on Beau. My God. It’s like looking directly at the sun. The photo I found of him online holds no comparison at all to the beauty of a man that stands before me. Beau is wildly tall, towering over everyone else at arrivals. Leaning against his truck, his forearm presses against the roof, dark green ball cap on his head. But it’s the warm smile that makes him feel a little less large and a lot more sweet.

A whistle rents through the air from the tired parking cop, which I take as a sign to quickly hustle towards the truck. Beau comes around the truck, opens my door, and gestures for me to climb inside. I hop in with my most charming smile. Beau takes it in stride, smiling sweetly right back at me, then slams his own door shut.

“Beau Callahan,” Beau says with just the hint of a shy smile. He holds his hand out for me, and I take it, giving him a firm good shake. Beau grins.

“Trevor Thomas.”

“Good flight?” Beau asks conversationally as we make our way out of the airport arrivals area.

“It was fine,” I admit, because it was exactly that. “Glad to be back on solid ground though.”

“Don't like flyin’?”

His southern accent isn’t too deep, but I like the way it softens some of his words. Makes him sweet in a way that makes him seem even more approachable.

“I am impartial to flying. It’s always nice to get off the plane at the end.”

Beau hums his agreement, then carefully guides the truck towards a toll road heading away from the airport. Silence envelops us for a little while, enough that I can make out the soft country music flowing from the truck speakers. Despite the family farm branding on the outside clearly making it a work vehicle, the truck is nice inside and cleaner than you'd expect.

Every now and then Beau hums along to the music, relaxing me even further in his presence. There’s something gentle about him, something calming. Some clients raise my hackles immediately, usually for the best. Sometimes I need to be able to protect myself in very vulnerable moments. It happens very far and few between because Claire does painstaking background checks on johns. Doesn’t mean it never happens. Usually, we just don’t tell her the details, instead opting to tell her never book this john again .

I get the vibe Beau Callahan isn’t going to be a problem.

“So, your sister’s getting married?” I ask in hopes of striking conversation so that we don’t sit in silence the entire way to his house.

“Yes, sir.”

And then that’s it. Beau doesn’t elaborate further. So, I’m going to have to do most of the heavy lifting to get him to talk. No problem, he mentioned that in his application.

“How old is Andy?”

“Almost ten years younger than me. She was a happy surprise. She does the advertising and marketing for the farm.”

“That’s fun!” I say excitedly, but his lips just quirk up a little.

“Definitely more fun than my job.”

“What do you do at the farm?”

He puts the blinker on to shift lanes, looking to his right, so I can finally get a good, up-close look at his face. Good God, the man is unfairly handsome. Square jaw, the right amount of beard, full lips, dark brown hair, and dark blue eyes, the color of the sky after a summer storm. I bite my lip as I appraise him, and his eyes flit to my mouth, before slowly meeting my gaze. A gorgeous flush rises on his cheeks as he looks back out at the road.

“I maintain the crops,” Beau explains. “I’m also the boss of all the workers on the farm. It can be hard if we have a low crop year, but I know it’s not really my fault. The land will only yield what it wants depending on the weather and other things out of my control.”

“Sounds like hard work,” I admit honestly.

He taps his fingers restlessly against the wheel again. “Not if I’m paying attention.”

“To what?”

His lips quirk up under his beard. “The earth, my intuition.”

What a nauseatingly endearing answer. We ride the rest of the way in silence, but I don’t feel the need to fill it. Which is unusual for me. Just over an hour later we pull up to a gate that blocks off the entrance to a gravel road. Beau presses a button on a remote attached to the visor above him, and the gate swings open. Dirt kicks up behind us even though Beau’s driving insanely slow. Must be because of the truck.

A house appears at the end of the driveway when we break through a copse of oak trees. The house is stunningly beautiful, although not cookie-cutter, or perfect by any stretch of the imagination. White sidings cover the outside and there’s a wraparound porch. It’s not big, just a modest size, but it looks absolutely lovely. Real farmhouse chic.

“Welcome home,” Beau tells me with a shy smile.

Grabbing my duffle from the back seat, he easily slings it over his beefy shoulder. Wind blows through the trees, cutting shadows across the front yard. Flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors line the edge of the house. Bees flit around the flowers but pay us no attention as we make our way into the house.

Light wood floors, warm honey walls, and family photos hung in a haphazard fashion. Beau’s house screams cozy. It’s less HGTV and more well-loved home. Everything about it works in an odd sort of way. Something painful starts to bloom in my chest, but I push it down, far away where it can’t hurt me.

Beau leads me down a short hallway and gestures at a door on the right. Peeking my head in, I find a small guest room, with a bed covered in a homemade quilt.

“Cozy,” I tell him.

Beau shines with pride. “You hungry? I can cook us something here. Your flight got in a little early and no festivities start until tomorrow. I figure I’ll wait until tomorrow to toss you to the lion’s den.”

“That bad?”

“Ah.” Beau takes off his ball cap and anxiously runs his hand through his hair. “Not bad, they’re just a lot. Especially to outsiders.”

“Well, I’ll have to make them think I’m not an outsider.”

Beau eyes me for a few moments, gaze slightly narrowed. “How old are you? The agency said you’re of age.”

I send a lazy smirk his way. “I’m plenty old enough, Beau. I’m twenty-two.”

Beau whistles, eyes going wide at my admission. “You’re a kid,” Beau whispers in disbelief.

“I’m a forty-year-old at heart, don’t worry about it. You’ll see.”

He thoughtfully rubs a hand over the stubble on his chin, but doesn’t argue, just gives me a tight nod. Awkward energy radiates off of him. I oddly feel the need to fix it.

“How about you show me around town?” I ask, hoping to ease the awkwardness between us. Everyone needs to believe we’re boyfriends by tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner. “You need to pick up your suit?”

Beau heads towards the kitchen. I follow behind him like a scorned puppy.

“Yeah, sure. I do need to pick up my suit actually.”

“Well, we can cross that off our list as you show me my boyfriend's hometown. Give me the works.”

Beau sends a complicated look my way. But I just smile at him. My mission these next few days will be to keep him comfortable, make us believable, and earn my pay. I’ve endured worse.