Chapter 30

Josh isway more competent with aftercare than I am. He has creams and lotions galore, and he's blessed with exceptionally skilled hands to sort my skin out, but as for my insides. My God they're painful, but they'll heal. Eventually. Plus, I know a little bit about internal aftercare myself by now…

Thank you flannel, and thank you, Daddy. I use his method before I use the ointment gift of the founders, and actually, it's not all that bad once I'm done.

"Don't worry, baby. You'll survive," Josh says as he helps me into my PJs, with his knowing smirk that always makes me grin. He doesn't say a word about the state I've arrived home in. No raised eyebrows, or shock horror, so it's obvious this is no new scenario in his world.

He has a best friend in this business, after all.

I'd love to ask Tiff all about her experiences myself, but I don't think these clients were joking around when they said strictly confidential.

I'm over the moon when I get the ping of a review through before we go to bed. This review is marked ‘private', viewable only by me. It feels more like a school report than a product recommendation. Much more personal. I'm shaking, nervous when I click to read it.

You did magnificently, Holly, far surpassing even our highest expectations. Please consider yourself highly regarded. You have upheld your status exceptionally well. Congratulations on a job extremely well done.

I read it out to Josh, as though I've just won an award.

"Smashed it," he says, and gives me a high five. "You're rising to the top, you dirty little megastar."

The founders weren't lying when they told me they'd reorganise my outstanding proposals in respect of my injures. I get a message after my review, asking me to update my availability in the schedule planner. I shift my available dates in the app once Josh has helped me settle under the duvet, and then I'm off like a light switch into dreamland. Well and truly exhausted.

After maxing out on painkillers and a long, deep sleep I wake up to find my diary has all already been sorted. Every proposal rescheduled. Not only that, but when I log into my bank account, I have to do a triple take at the balance.

The Agency founders have reimbursed me for everything they've moved. Everything.

Every. Fucking. Thing.

There's an extra thirty-five grand on top of the sixty I earned.

￡95000 – just like that.

"I can't believe this," I say to Josh, as I huddle against him under the covers. "I just can't comprehend that this is in my bank account. Look. It's insane, right? It's fucking insane."

Josh takes a look at the balance and merely grins.

"You're worth it, baby. They clearly think so, and so should you. I know I do."

There's still a part of me that struggles to believe I'm worth so much – put in cold, hard figures like this. The transformation of my life still shocks me. Only a short while ago I was checking my account to see how many packets of pasta I could afford before my wages went in, but now…

Life sure is a rollercoaster, and I'm sure riding high.

I have a message from Orla to assure me that all of my clients are happy with the diary changes, no issues at all. There is one of my clients I feel sorry for, though. One who has been waiting months for his appointment – literally. A client of mine who likes period play, who booked me up for the earliest possible opportunity once he'd discovered my bookings were open again and my fisting box was ticked, but that has been moved back a month, now. Poor guy, but there is no way I'd be able to play with him in this state. My wounds would bleed worse than my pussy will. That's a bit of an overstatement, but still. I'll just have to make sure the extra month's wait is worth it for him.

Seems that welts are quick healers – even with spike slashes – but bruises are not. My ass, thighs and tits turn into an abstract mix of purples, blacks and greens over the next two days, and they kinda suit me. I do twirls in the mirror to check them out each morning, and Josh takes photos for posterity.

My first gig with the founders will most certainly be one for the records.

Tiff is fresh back to Belgravia from a proposal when she pops in to Josh's – sorry, ours – next. She's looking pretty battered and exhausted herself, but she's got nothing on me this time. I show off my battle scars with pride.

"Ahhh… I know where you've been," she says.

"Yeah, I bet you do. I figured you would."

She pretends to zip her mouth up. "Strictly confidential."

I mirror her gesture, laughing. "Yep. Strictly confidential."

"You should be mega proud of yourself, Ells. That kind of proposal doesn't come easy."

"I just hope it comes again."

"Just give me one little snippet of info," she says. "Did you tap out?"

"Nope," I tell her. "I completed every single second."

I resist the urge to sing the Rocky theme, but she does it for me. She does it with such gusto that I have to laugh, even though it makes my bashed-up tits hurt.

"Judging by the state of your butt bruises, I'd say another proposal is pretty much guaranteed," she says when she's done.

Josh sighs. "Shame I'll never get a go at it. Lucky cows."

Tiff pokes her tongue out at him. "See if you'd be saying that with a fistful of nettles up your asshole."

He laughs. "I'm sure I'd manage, thanks very much."

Judging by the glint in his eyes, I'm sure he would, too. But will I? Seriously? Guess I'll find out.

It's three days after the proposal when I'm fully up and about again, moving freely, albeit still a mass of bruises. It's good timing, since we're heading out for the evening to meet up with a load of Agency friends for a knees-up. Ha. What a pun.

Eb is going to be there and Harlot and Bodica, as well as a guy called Devon and one called Cain – all of which I met at the Christmas party. Bodica is bringing a couple of ex-entertainers she still hangs out with, and there are a few newbies joining us as well, apparently. Lochlan and Mack. I wonder what they're going to make of the rest of us. I remember how nervous I was when I first stepped into the foray of entertainers for real.

I hope it's as great an experience for them as it was for me.

Josh has booked a big table on the upper balcony of the Mulberry – the centre of my world now that Camden and its goth vibe is off the table. Afterwards, I'm sure we'll be heading out clubbing, but I'm not going over to Camden, even if Tiff tries to drag me on a leash. I'm not up to another face off with the duo of doom just yet. I've been trying to keep the whole sorry experience from my mind.

Josh hasn't heard from Carly since the meal at his parents, but he doesn't seem all that concerned about her. Yet. He's sent her a few messages, and they've been delivered, but not read. He gives a sarcastic roll of the eyes whenever I mention her name, but I do keep mentioning it, because it's so wank that he's been caught up in the crossfire. He's the real innocent party in all of this.

"She'll come around," he says. "As per usual, everyone else is at fault, I'm sure. She and her twin flame will have been put in such a terrible situation, and it will be me who should have been more careful. She can suck on it until she quits with the melodrama. She's not a toddler, she just likes to act like one."

I can nod my head as much as I like, but I can't help but suspect that the little cow may have been getting a little encouragement on that front, though. I wonder if Connor has been feeding her bullshit about the whole sorry scenario behind the scenes. I wouldn't put it past him. I wouldn't put anything past him, in fact. Luckily, it seems the need for a relationship with Carly is enough leverage for me to keep his balls in line, and he can fuck off with interfering in mine.

Good riddance is all I can say, yet again.

I put on a deep red dress for the Mulberry tonight, with a high neck for once, to hide my leftover bruises. I curl my hair and do my usual catflicks with a shade of lipstick that matches my dress. And as for Josh – he makes me laugh when he steps out of the bedroom in a burgundy suit, almost exactly the same shade as my outfit. He does a walk like he's on a catwalk, then straightens his jet-black tie, and puts a hand on his hip.

"I think people will tell we're a couple a mile off, don't you?"

I'm still giggling as I answer him. "Um, we look like a performing duo. I could be your magician's sidekick on stage."

"Interesting choice of words."

He steps up close while I'm finishing up my mascara, and rests his hands on my shoulders, leaning in so his mouth is by my ear. The sight of his gorgeous face in the mirror is crazy good, the butterflies never stop, but tonight the flutters are especially alive.

"Funny you should mention a performing duo, actually," he says. "Because it might be quite relevant."

"Relevant? Why? Have you been learning magic tricks while I've been sleeping or something?"

"Not exactly, no." He reaches into his pocket for his phone, and I take hold of it once I've put my mascara back in my makeup case.

"I've been approached about a joint proposal," he says. "One of my regulars wants a taste of pussy for a change. He's offered a double up."

"A double up?"

"Two entertainers at once. My discretion who I invite. I'm sure you've seen threads asking for interested parties for this kind of thing on the Agency forums, but hey, I don't need to, do I? I have the perfect accomplice right here."

I spin in the chair to face him.

"You want us to do a proposal together?"

"Yes, I do. Plus, it was bound to come up on the cards at some point, no pun intended. So, here it is. Our first joint offer. How do you feel about it, partner?"

I've been thinking about this kind of scenario in the background, wondering what it would be like to watch Josh getting fucked by someone else in the flesh – subject to the whim of a client's fantasies, and him having to do the same to me. We'd both be living out a proposal to the letter, performers in the same room, earning money by heeding instructions.

"Think you're up for it?" he asks, and I scan the details on his screen. It says virtually nothing.

User 1543.Male. 34.

Time for a hot,hard duo. See you soon.

Duration:Six hours.

Proposal price: ￡12000 each.

I pull a face,confused by the lack of detail, and Josh smiles.

"Trust me. It's a hardcore one. Vague can be thrilling, believe me."

I hand his phone back. "You already know what the answer will be. You knew before you showed me the proposal."

"I hoped my intuition was accurate."

"Your intuition is always accurate. You can read the weather better than the Met Office."

He clicks on accept in front of me. Proposal scheduled for early next week.

It feels different now it's there in the calendar. I get a buzz through on my phone with the notification, and click on accept.

"Think it will be weird?" I ask him, staring at the tick on my screen.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe. Depends on whether a bout of jealousy pokes its head up from the depths. It's different when it's out of view. No big deal. But when it's there in front of you…"

I ask the obvious question. No elephants in the room for me anymore.

"How was it when you did it with Amy? Did the joint proposals work ok?"

"Fine," he says. "It was great. All fun and games. Until she went off with one of the clients, that is. I think my levels of security might be a little bit below their usual standards after that bullshit."

I can relate to that. Betrayal sure leaves its mark on the soul. My insecurities have been easing day after day with Josh – but I haven't watched him getting passionate with other people in front of me. There's been nothing triggering in the slightest with things going from strength to strength. Will it really be that easy in the flesh, though?

I grab his arm as he goes to walk away.

"Josh, listen. I'm not going to do what Amy did, ok? No matter how hot, or how good, or how loaded the clients get, it won't make any difference. They are nothing compared to you."

His eyes are right on mine. "I've heard that before, baby. Those words, almost to the letter."

Of course he would have. The thought stabs, right in my ribs. Amy must have said it to him over and over again.

"Not from me, you haven't."

"I know," he says. "And I believe you."

"You sure?"

He winks. "As sure as I'll ever be, or there's no way I'd have clicked accept on the proposal. This guy is one of the best. He's rich. And he's hot. It's an honour to be his entertainer. He could have anyone he wanted, paid or not."

"It won't make any difference," I tell him. "There is only one of the best for me. And he's wearing a red suit, right here, right now."

"Thanks, baby," he says, and kisses me gently on the lips to save my lipstick. "And on the red suit note, it's time to go."

We share a cab with Tiff on the way to the Mulberry, so I don't get the chance to ask Josh anything more about the mysterious, mega hot client we've got a double gig with. I rest my hand on his leg while we listen to Tiff telling us about the newbies. She's gushing with news on how she's been chatting with them on the forums.

I give Josh's leg a squeeze because I'm noticing how her voice changes, just a little, when she talks about Lochlan. And she smiles every time she mentions his name. Just in passing, but it's enough to have me wondering.

I'd be so happy to see her grinning, loved up and comfortable with someone she adores. She deserves it. She's dream worthy and worth a fortune. That's in Creamgirl's domain and not Tiff's though, I suspect. I think there is more of a gulf in her confidence levels than anyone would ever realise. As though she's afraid there's a rotten, unlovable part of her buried deep.

I can relate to that. Luckily, I've managed to move on – or I'm trying to, a little by little every day – but I don't imagine everyone gets to heal the darkness of their own inner trapdoor.

Maybe this Lochlan guy will be the one to help her. I've never seen her smile at someone's name like this before, and neither has Josh, clearly. He nudges me when she does it again, barely hard enough to feel, and looks me in the eyes with a smirk. He's thinking the same thing I am.

Josh tips the cab driver and we walk up to the glamour of the Mulberry entrance arm in arm, all three of us. We're escorted upstairs and shown to our table, where Eb, Bodica, Harlot and Devon are already waiting. We exchange massive hugs, and are still in the process of saying our hellos when more people are brought up to join us.

I've still got Eb in a bearhug when I hear Tiff announce, ‘Lochlan and Mack, hey, great to meet you', and I pull away, keen to introduce myself. Until I catch sight of one of them and my blood freezes.

Mack.That's his name. It's the idiot who fucked me on Daddy's sofa, before he got turfed out during the proposal and ran off.

He was a prize prick, and I couldn't stand him from the moment I met him. The guy fucked me as part of a proposal, and it didn't matter that I thought he was an idiot then, because it was just work, but to see him here, in front of me, with that same arrogant tosser grin on his face, is enough that the loathing squirms in my gut.

He may have been my boyfriend at Daddy's house, but now he's just a jackass I have to be friendly with at a restaurant.

I grit my teeth when I smile and give him a wave, Mack, and then I tense up when he takes a seat along with us – snort laughing as he tells everyone how we are already acquainted.

The prick announces it with pride, in front of my real-life boyfriend, as though there is no me at all, just the girl whose holes he was paid to slam.

"We fucked," he tells my friends. "I know her pussy pretty well, and her ass, but not her name."

"It's Ella," I say, glaring at him, but he doesn't give a shit, just carries on recounting the action, loud and abrasive, even though we are in the fucking Mulberry.

He tells everyone about fucking me on a sofa, and having to run away when the sick freak daddy came home, and then he stares at Bodica's tits and gives another snort laugh as he jokes that he wishes it had been her.

I've never been one to preach or protest, or shove my views out into the world, but with this asshole I can't help myself. I swig back some of my wine and find a voice I didn't expect from myself.

"Daddy isn't a sick freak," I say. "He's a client, who pays your wages. And I'm a coworker, not a cheap piece of pussy you can laugh about around a table."

He raises his eyebrows and snort laughs again, like I'm the one who is the asshole, but I won't be rubbished, or silenced. Fuck him.

"I mean it," I tell him. "If you want to take the piss out of our careers, then get yourself a new one. Loads of people would give anything to be given the opportunities we have."

"To be hookers?"

Josh clears his throat, shuffling closer to my side as he glares at Mack. I feel the fire from him. He takes my hand in his, in clear view of everyone at the table.

"To be well-paid, high-class entertainers, I think you mean."

"Yeah, hookers."

"Fine, call it being a hooker if it suits you, it suits me just fine, just don't spout your whiny trap off about it like it's some kind of joke. And stop gloating about fucking my girlfriend's pussy. Gloat about being able to fuck her pussy, instead. Most people don't get that privilege."

"Shut your face, basically," Tiff says to Mack, and her glare is worse than anyone's.

Thank fuck the tension eases a little when the final additions arrive to join us, filling up the table. Kingsley and Bodica's old friends take the attention from Mackass the jackass, and he shuts his face, his snort laughing fading into the background. At least for now.

I ignore him and focus on introducing myself to Bodica's old friends, excited to hear all about them, and Josh joins in with me, conversation flowing just fine.

"I miss being an entertainer," Belle says. "But I don't think Mark would like it all that much if I said I was going back on the books. He didn't like sharing."

Her friend Sasha nods along. "Same. But no, Frank wouldn't like it, either. It's a pain in the ass, but it would be a definite no-no. It would break his heart if he even thought I'd consider going back to it."

Belle laughs to herself when Sasha says that, and reaches in her handbag for her phone.

"He would be playing this song if it happened, both him and Mark, they could sing it together!"

She's scrolling for something, but Sasha is already laughing along with her.

"THAT song! Oh my God, yeah! You've heard it?"

Belle raises her eyebrows, still scrolling.

"Uh yeah, pretty sure everyone on the planet has by now though, haven't they?"

Kingsley laughs as well. "People have been sending it to me every five minutes."

I don't have a clue what they're talking about, staring blank, and so is Josh.

"What song?"

Tiff leans in, overhearing.

"A song? What?"

"It's a song this guy wrote, about his ex being a hooker and breaking his heart. Went viral off the charts a few days ago. He was mega cut up about it. Amazing tune. Seriously."

I get a shiver.

No.

Please don't let my intuition be right. Not this time.

I don't even want to ask about it, let alone have her call up the song on her phone, just in case. Just in fucking case…

She keeps scrolling. Then speaks as she types.

"One in a thousand, it's called.He's gone off the scale. They reckon he's landed a massive deal on the back of it already. People are posting everywhere, trying to find out who his hot hooker ex is." She giggles. "I wondered if she's an Agency girl, actually."

Oh, for fuck's sake. No.

She turns her phone around, and there he is. Connor. With his trusty guitar, and his melancholic rock voice, singing as though his heart has been shredded to pieces.

She was my one in a fucking thousand… the one in my fucking forever…

But I was just one of her thousand fucks, and nothing more.

I thought I was pissed off at wanker Mack, but that's nothing compared to how the bile of rage surges up from my guts at the sight of that video. Fuck it, my cunt of an ex hasn't just wrecked the food at Josh's parents' place for me now. He's wrecked the food at the Mulberry for me, too.

Josh tries to stand up when I do, but I manage yet another be right back, baby, before I get up and leg it, managing to give him a squeeze on the shoulder as a token gesture of I'll be fine. I don't want him to have to see this shit from me. It's cringe enough as it is.

Connor has millions of fucking views of that song. MILLIONS. And it's a song about ME.

I'M the fucking hooker… and people want to know about it. About me. The hooker that broke his heart. Asshole. Fucking ASSHOLE.

Seems like I am making Connor's career after all, aren't I? How fucking ironic.

One in a thousand. Yeah, right. Sure I was. Fucking prick.

I stumble to the bathroom as Tiff and Eb dash after me and throw up my glass of chardonnay straight into the toilet bowl.