“How about this? For starters, you’ll put in the effort to peel back the layers. I’m sure you have the bandwidth to really give it your all. You seem ready to go the extra mile for a deep dive. We can count on you to be laser focused on raising the bar. Without a doubt, you’ll do more than touch base, paying close attention to the low-hanging fruit. Finally, more than anything, I believe in your ability to . . .” His gaze fell to her crotch. “Think outside your box.”
People say first impressions are the strongest. But watching the man of a million innuendos walk away after spanking her at her own game of dirty clichés?
It was a moment Charity would never forget.
6
Charity
Present day
Charity’s compensation with DGI was more than she ever dreamed of, making her fake, no-sex, call-girl status the most respectable job she’d ever had.
When the first nosy neighbor hit her with So, what do you do?, Charity gave the only answer that came to mind, and it was in every way the truth.
Lottery winner.
She’d never take the risk of getting too chummy or drink too much around others. Her job was highly confidential, and she took it seriously. Her kept-woman status was a front. A decoy. She was there to lure out anyone trying to get a prostitute to breach the walls protecting Alex Drake.
Human nature seemed to intrigue the CEO. Monty was a bigger idiot than he was a coward. If a lowlife like him thought of hiring a hooker to go after Alex, chances were he wasn’t the first to think of it, nor the last.
Charity’s job was cemented. She was a lab rat, testing a theory to satisfy the CEO’s curiosity. But that didn’t mean she would slack on the job. This guinea pig was diving into the research full force.
Task one? Spread the word.
Pounding the pavement, she used a street team of people she knew to go viral with the news. If anyone asked for a job and Alex Drake was mentioned, she’d give her informant a thousand dollars to refer the client to her. Yeah, the false positives were staggering, and the few that panned out were unsophisticated enough that Paco managed to somehow remove them from her workload.
Task two wasn’t hers. Mr. Robles took that one. Get her a reputation, one that always preceded her.
Charity’s new online handle? @Pay2PlayGirl. She was the premier escort to the rich and famous . . . hooker to the elite. Thanks to some DGI publicist she’d never met, her social media presence was locked and loaded.
Occasionally, she’d sneak a peek at the feed. Discovering she may or may not have had a date with a royal made her envy the hype.
Day in and day out, she focused less on her job and more on her healing. Self-discovery. Growing. Learning.
For the girl who’d graduated from high school by the skin of her teeth—and the foreskin of a few choice blow jobs—she couldn’t believe she’d be this interested in going back to school. But this wasn’t about the War of 1812 or some protozoa shit. It was about her.
For the first time in her life, Charity let herself dive into the darker sides of her past, eager to push past whatever she found. The days flew by, one psych class at a time. Before long, it wasn’t enough, and she doubled up on her course load.
Little by little, the small doubts and self-loathing that had always cluttered her mind transformed into compassion and understanding—both for herself and others like her. But she still had a job to do.
The phone calls with tips that used to fill her days were less frequent now, but she never strayed from the formula. When her phone’s ringtone tore her from her latest textbook, she answered, “Pay to play. This is Charity.”
A few words into today’s conversation, she quickly agreed to meet the caller in person at a nearby coffee shop. Parsing the bits and pieces from the cryptic interchange, she realized this one didn’t seem to fit the mold.
Color me curious.
Usually, the scumbag wanting a piece of Alex Drake would be a little scuzzier and a little less pretentious. So after she ended the call, Charity scrolled to the first contact in her cell phone favorites, labeled simply player number 1.
“Hi. It’s Charity. I’ve got a live one, but not the usual. Let me know what you want me to do.”
7
Charity
Charity took a calming breath as her snooty companion danced all over her last damn nerve, the woman alternating between pout and frown. Apparently, the triple-shot half-caff cappuccino with almond milk, three pumps of hazelnut, a half pump of vanilla, a drizzle of caramel, and a dusting of mocha still hadn’t exactly met the mark.
“Take this back.”
Accommodating, the friendly waiter whisked away her oversized cup, asking, “Sure. What’s wrong with it?”
“I said a hundred fifty degrees. This is too hot. It destroys the flavor.”
Charity offered the waiter a for the love of God grin. “Thanks, Josh.” His nametag displayed his title of assistant manager.
Sweetly, she smiled back at her tablemate, imagining Josh letting the mug cool in the back for five minutes to fully absorb the flavor of his Mentos-fresh spit. “So, how can I be of service, Miss . . .”
“Just call me Natasha.” Paranoid, the woman said this low, keeping on her oversized Jackie O sunglasses despite being indoors.
Don’t worry. I’ve got your number. “Happy to, Natasha. Since that’s your name.”
Suspicious, Natasha pushed the glasses farther up the bridge of her perky nose as she looked around. “What makes you say that?”
Resisting an eye roll, Charity gestured to the woman’s designer purse. “Your credit card. You already paid for your ten-dollar coffee. Planning a speedy escape? In case the waiter actually wants a tip?”
Wide-eyed, Josh set down the refreshed cappuccino.
Charity grabbed his hand, discreetly slipping him a twenty, then tugged a straw from his black apron. Patiently, she unwrapped it, taking a long sip of her chilled hibiscus tea while she waited for Natasha to speak.
A quiet millennium passed as Natasha scanned the room over and over, then finally lowered her nasally voice to a whisper. “I need you to find out about a man.”
“I’m not a PI. What do you want? His dick size?”
Obviously, I wasn’t hired for my tact. This mole is going in . . . balls to the DGI wall.
Gaping at her in utter shock, Natasha wasn’t winning any points with her prolonged offense.
Charity let loose a huff of mild irritation. “Are you gonna tell me what you want, or do I keep going with twenty questions?”
“I want to know more about someone. About his . . . preferences.”
Nodding her approval, Charity leaned in. “I’m not exactly on an hourly rate. I need specifics. You know, to quote you a price.”
8
Charity
As the security escort led Charity in, Paco’s office seemed different. Or perhaps her memory of that day over a year ago had been tainted. The rich burgundy hues accented by neutral tones and crown molding were vibrant and pleasing, details she’d missed when she was here before.